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THE 


POETICAL WORKS .. 


THOMAS MOORE, 


INCLUDING “ THE EPICUREAN.” 


WITH 


HXPLANATORY NOTES, ETC. 


REPRINTED FROM THE LATEST REVISED EDITION. 


Allustrated. 


NEW YORK: 
THE ARUNDEL PRINT. 


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* 


MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE. 


THOMAS Moore was born in Dublin on the 28th May, 1779. The social circle in which his 
arents moved was neither elevated nor vulgar. His father was a small tradesman, of quiet, 
aciturn character, possessing a vein of humor which he occasionally did not scruple to exercise 
on the priests of his own faith. The poet’s mother, good devout Catholic that she was, regarded 
these sallies of her husband with a pious horror. Moore’s gay, pleasure-loving disposition, passion 
for music, taste for all social enjoyment, and general zest of lite, were derived trom his mother. 
To her tact, also, was he indebted for that varied training which contributed so remarkably to his 
success in society. Ata very early age the future poet was placed at school. Mr. White, an 
eminent Dublin elocutionist, was his master. Richard B. Sheridanhad been White's pupil. From 
this distinguished pedagogue Moore acquired that facility in declaiming which rendered him, 
while yet a mere boy, the delight of those domestic re-unions in which his mother taught her son— 
to associate social festivity with more refined and intellectual pleasures than the hard drinking 
with which enjoyment was then too often identified. Like Pope, Moore may almost, without 
hyperbole, be said to have lisped in numbers. The exact date of his earliest rhymes has not been 

reserved, but at the age of eleven we find him in print, and at the age of fourteen he has 
Pabaine a contributor of poste to the Anthologia Hibernica, a Dublin magazine. Some of his 
verses then published as by ‘‘Master Moore” give no inadequate earnest of his style of song- 
writing. 

The acquisition of the showy accomplishments in which Moore already excelled was happily 
not purchased by the sacrifice of more substantial learning. His classical attainments were more 
than respectable, and his knowledge of the ancient languages was supplemented by a knowledge 
of the more important of the modern tongues of Europe. Italian he learned from the family priest, 
anda French emigrant taught him the tougue of France. By this varied preliminary training, 
Moore was fully prepared to reap all the advantages the removal of these restrictions which had 
closed the University of Dublin against the Catholies of Ireland was now about to confer. In 
the summer of 1793 that institution was opened to Roman Catholics, and in 1794 young Moore was 
entered at Trinity College. At college he prosecuted the usual studies with more than average 
success. The production of Latin hexameters was, however, a task from which on all conveni- 
ent occasions he was disposed to shrink. Sometimes he successfully substituted English for Latin 
verses, gaining the approvalof the judges and the reward of merit. 

In the spring of 1799, University studies are finished. Moore, bidding adieu to Dublin scenes 
and Dublin friends, takes his way to London to enter himself a member of the Middle Temple. 
The money to accomplish this is supplied by his mother, who, ambitious to see her son occupying 
a conspicuous position at the English bar, had long been saving’ every sixpence she could scrape 
together for his legal education. Mrs. Moore appears to have been no believer in a paper cur- 
rency. Tom was not troubled carrying any bank cheques to the metropolis. The needful guineas 
were sewed into the waistband of his pantaloons; und a scapular, which the priest had blessed, 
was stowed away in the same secure retreat. Thus eounaced Tom reached London, and hires a 
lodging at six shillings per week. While yet a student at Trinity College, Dublin, in the hope of 
obtaining a classical premium, Moore had translated the Odes of Anacreon. A specimen of the 
work was laid before the Proyost of the College. The Provost thought the translation good, but 
the subject not one likely to be patronised by the board. This translation Tom earried with him 
to the great metropolis. Not long after settling there he has arranged for its publication, has 
made the friendship of Lord Moira, the Marquis of Lansdowne, the Duke of Bedford, and the 
Prince, all of whom have become subscribers for his work. Dr. Laurence reads the manuscript, 
and pronounces it in many parts elegant and poetical. The English dress in which Moore pre- 
sented the Tean bard is, indeed, more accurate and faithful than the araphrase of Cowley, but it 
is too studiously brilliant to convey the exact idea of the original. Moore’s lines had, however, 
fallen in pleasant places and among partial critics. Everything (he writes) goes on delightfully. 
The full tide of London gaiety roars around him, and never did any son of the muses take more 
Kindly to the pomp and cireumstance of the great Babel. “The first gentleman in Europe” has 
permitted Anaereon to be dedicated to him. The poet thanks the Prince for the honour, but is 
_ assured the honour is entirely his, in being allowed to put his name to a work of such merit. 
Everybody is charmed with Anacreon translated—everybody, save the authorities of his college, 
who do not even so much as subscribe for the werk. For this inability to appreciate merit, Moore, 
with becoming modesty, denounces them as “ἃ corporation of boobies, without even sense enough 
to thank Heaven for anything like an effort of literature coming out of their leaden body.” 

Anacreon is followed by a volume of Poems under a feigned name, which retleeted but little 


Dial. 7/7/90; 


* 


4 MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE. 


credit on their“author, though even so great a purist and so grave a moralist as Sir James 
Mackintosh recommends them. Moore’s social and literary success go together. His singing is 
the rage in every fashionable circle. 

The great people begin to think something must be done for so very promising a young man- 
The translator of Anacreon and the beautiful pianist has deserved well of his country. A laure- 
ateship is offered hjm, but declined, in consequence of unseemly conditions with which the gift is 
clogged. The interest of Lord Moira procures him the office of Registrar in the Admiralty Court- 
of Bermuda. This appointment necessitates a visit to the island. Bermuda was, however, a 
place but little to the taste of Moore, who tarried there just long enough to arrange for the per- 
formance of his duties by deputy. Before returning to London he visits America. Having re- 
turned from his Bermudian and American tour, “ Epistle Odes and other Poems,” by Thomas 
Moore, Esq., appeared in 1806. Fashionable London might go on mistaking the sparkle of sensu- 
ous faney tor the outpouring of celestial passion, but the ‘‘ facile princeps” of British erities is 
not to be so deceived. In the July number of the Edinburgh Review, Jeffrey denounced the work 
with even more than his wonted pungeney. Lord Cockburn, in his life of Jeffrey, has justly re- 
marked, that though meant to be restricted to the poetry, there was a cordiality and a personal 
application in the satire which made it natural for the public, and nearly irresistible for the poet, 
to refer to the man. His scathing criticism is the talk of all London cireles, when, to make mat- 
ters worse, Jeffrey arrives in the metropolis. This was more than the irate bard could bear. A 
hostile meeting was arranged, and, on the 11th August, 1806, poet and critic have met to obtain © 
the satisfaction of gentlemen. ‘ From information received,” the police discovered what was in- 
tended, and the belligerents are apprehended in the very act of proceeding to extremities. In a 
day or two the duellists met amieably at Rogers’, and are ever atterfriends. Jeffrey not only ad- 
mires the genius of his adversary, but formed a sincere affection for the man ; and Moore, in one of 
his prefaces, exultingly tells how, in the most formidable of all his censors, he found the most cor- 
dial of all his friends. Twenty years after this rencontre Moore visits Scotland, chiefly to visit 
Jeffrey; and is so often asked to sing his last new song, “ Ship Ahoy,” that in another preface he 
playfully tells how the upland echoes of Craigcrook ought long to have had its burden by heart. 

In 1808, “Corruption and Intolerance,’’ a satire, was published, andin the following year ~ 
«“The Sceptic,”’ a philosophical satire, appeared; but, it was in the singing robes of the troubadour, 
not the gown of the moralist, that Erin’s bard shone most advantageously. In March, 1811, 
Moore, who had hitherto remained a mateless bird, married a girl of Kilkenny—Miss Bessy 
Dyke. The lady had acquired some distinction on the Irish stage, and possessed remarkable 
personal attractions. Rogers, the fastidious Rogers, calls her the ** Madonna della Sedia’’—and 
** Psyche.” No matrimonial union could possibly have been more suitable to the poet. Uniting 
great sweetness of disposition with great self-control and superior economical talent, Bessy ad- 
ministered Moore’s resources with the utmost skill, while she made his home a heaven of rest, 
where, weary with the dissipation of London lite, he could ever find a peaceful and secure repose. 

In 1812, Moore commenced another series of sitirical effusions. The vein now adopted was 
incomparably better adapted to his genius than the solemn and heavy style formerly attempted- 
His quondam patron, the Prince, has broken with the Whigs, and Moore’s parody on the Prince’s 
letier throws Holland House into eestacy. Nor is it Holland House alone that laughs with the 
satirist. Fourteen editions of the “‘Twopenny Post Bag,’ in which Prince and Minister are 
satirized, areissued within the first year of its publication. In the pasquinades that compose that 
production, Moore is elegant without being dull, and pungent without being truculent. The wit, 
variety, ease and playfuless of the satire directed against Ministers were the talk and the charm 
of every circle. The poet’s popularity has now reached a point where he can make his own terms 
With publishers. His song-writing alone yields him £500 a year. 

London publishers have now discovered that Moore’s name has become a thing to conjure 
with. Murray offers him the editorship of anew Quarterly. The offer is declined, because the 
poet is at work upon an Eastern romance. The record of the negotiation for the publication of 
this greatest effort of Moore’s creative powers is worthy of perusal. Those who faney the poet 
is never blessed with any more substantial reward of his industry and genius than the enjoyment 
of his own splendid visions, will ve agreeably disappointed by this narrative, which we tran- 
scribe as Moore has given it. The poet, his publisher, and Mr. Perry, of the “ Morning Chroni- 
cle’’—who has kindly agreed, on behalf of Moore, to arrange the mutual terms, haye met. “1 
am of opinion ” said Mr. Perry, ‘‘ that Mr. Moore ought to secure for his poem the largest price 
that has been given in our day for such a work.” ‘‘ ‘That was,” answered the Messrs. Longman, 
“three thousand guineas.” “Exactly so,” replied Mr. Perry, ‘and no less asum ought he to re- 
ceive.” It was then objected, and very reasonably, on the part of the firm, that they had neyer 
yet seen a single line of the poem, and that a perusal of the work ought to be allowed them be- 
fore they embarked so large a sum in the purchase. Butno; the romantic view my friend Pe 
took of the matter was, that this price should be given as a tribute to reputation already acquired, 
without any condition for a previous perusal of the new work. This high tone, I confess, not a 
little startled and alarmed me ; but to the honor and glory of romance—as well on the publishers’ 
as on the poet's side, this very generous view of the transaction was, Without any difficulty, ac- 
ceded to, and the firm agreed before we separated that I should receive three thousand guineas 
for my poem. The bargain thus concluded, Moore, stimulated by the confidence reposed in his 
powers, retires from London society to a cottage in Derbyshire, gets crammed with all kinds of 
Oriental learning, and within some four years from the date of his negotiation with the Longmans, 
Lalla Rookh is got up. ‘The suecess of the work fully justified the confidence of Perry. Within 
a fortnight after its publication the first edition is exhausted, and before six months haye passed 


MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE. 5 


* 


a-vay a sixth edition is demanded. Lalla Rookh was the marvel of old Indians. How a man, 

who had never trod the Orient had been able to reproduce “ its barbaric splendours ” with so much 

fuithfulness, was an enigma that baffled solution. 

F What now are deemed the faults of Lalla Rookh, were, on its publication, the essentials of its 
success. Jeffrey hailed it as “ the finest Orientalism we have had yet ;” and from every possible 
source, tributes tothe genius of the bard are poured forth. Moore’s poetical fame, had now 
reached its zenith; but sadly and sternly heis soon to learn the secret of vicissitude. ‘The death 
of his beloved Barbara is the first shadow that falls upon whatis henceforth to be a darkly che- 
quered domestic existence. The sharp griet which, with his daughter's loss, pierced his soul was 
yet unassuaged, when SS er arrives that his deputy in Bermuda has been guilty of embezzle- 
ment, and Meore is responsible for a loss of £6000. In this emergency, Rogers and Jeffrey have each 
£500 ut his service, Lord Lansdowne will become his security, Lord John Russell offers to mortgage 
the Life of his patriotic ancestor, and the Longmans are willing to advance any sum ΠΕΟΟΒΒΒΣΝ 
Moore resolves to reject the kindness of friends, and rely exclusively on his own resources. At 
first matters wore a rather threatening aspect; an attachment is issued against his person, and 
the poet is compelled to retreat to Paris. Ultimately, however, the affair was compromised, and 
the £6000 reduced to £740. ‘Rhymes on the Road,” “ The Epicurean,” a prose story, and ‘‘ The 
Loves of the Angels,”’ were the product of his Parisian exile. ‘“‘ The Loves of the Angels,” in its 
original form, was not quite a judicious production. 

Allusion has already been made to Moore's song-writing ; a more specific reference to that 
special department of poetic effort in which he excelled is now. necessary. In the last days of 
his college curriculum, the poet's attention had been attracted to Bunting’s collection of Trish 
Melodies. In 1807 he entered into an engagement with Mr. Power to produce a work founded on 
them, in which he was to adapt the airs and furnish the words, while Sir J. Stevenson was to pro- 
yide the accompaniments. This work engaged him at intervals throughout more than a quarter 
of a century, and upon it his tame will permanently rest. In pathos, tenderness, play of wit, 
brillianey of faney, and rich adornment, the bard of Erin must ever claim a high, if not the high- 
est, place among our song-writers. It may, probably it must, be acknowledged that thereis too 
ereat uniformity in the efforts of his muse, and that, more frequently than was meet, the poet has 
been contented to hang the garland of his fancy over threadbare conventionalities. But to de- 
mand, as certain critics, in depreciating Moore, have demanded, from the lyrist some wondrously 
complex manifestation of passion, is to mistake the true functions of the song-writer. Moore is 
not the poct of the people in any wide sense of that word. He has not specially voiced the aspira- 

[ tions of the plough, the loom, or the forge. He has no song of which it can be said, as Carlyle has 
sid of Burns’ best known lyric, it might be sung by the throat of the whirlwind. Yet, though in 
some respects Moore wants robustness, it is a gross exaggeration of his one weakness to describe 
him asa mere carpet poet. As the critic listens to ‘The Last Rose of Summer,” ‘ Rich and 
rare were the gems she wore,” ‘‘Go where glory waits thee,”’ sneers are transformed into admira- 
tion. Such soul-stirring, soul-melting effusions fully justify the boast of the bard :— 


Dear harp of my country! in darkness I found thee 
The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long, 
When proudly, my own island harp, I unbound thee, 

And gave all thy chords to love, freedom, and song! 
The warm lay of love, and the light note of gladness, 

Have waken’d thy fondest, thy loveliest thrill ; 
But, so oft thou hast echo’d the deep sigh of sadness, 

That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still! ” 


In 1823 Moore published his ‘‘ Fables of the Holy Alliance.” Almost immediately after the ap- 
pearance of this work, which certain timid friends feared might te a him to a government 
prosecution, he accompanied Lord Lansdowne on atour through Ireland. On his return from the 
Green Isle, he published ‘* Captain Rock,’ a historical summary of the misgovernment of bis-na- 
tive country, and an attack upon the Irish Church. In the October of 1825, the ‘‘ Life of Sheridan,” 
on which he had long been occupied, appeared. This life is obviously the fruit of solid study; 
facts are carefully elucidated, and the compact narrative presents the reader with all the world 
cares to know of Sheridan. Where it fails, it is not from any lack of industry, but from the lack 
of pictorial power. Moore could do admirable justice to a given range of sentiments, but he was 

: destitute of the capacity (so iny Uuable in Ὁ biographer) which realizes a vivid image of charac- 
ter. The “ Life of Lord Byron* was Mcoro’s next prose effort. Though not perhaps containing 
any single passages of equal power to some that may be found in his ‘Sherilan,” the work ex- 
hibits a greater mastery of th craft of the biographer. Byron was followed by ‘The Life of 
Lord Edward Fitzgerald.” Whig friends began to suspect that the guest of Belgravia was mak- 

ing too near an approach. to the ‘*Croppy Boy.’’ Disappointment has somewhat soured his spirit, 

= anid though he talks nothing but the truth of his patrons when chafing under supposed neglect, it 
is probable that, but for that imagined want of consideration, the truth would not have been so 
frankly told. In cherishing this petulant spirit, it soon became manifest that Moore was mistaken. 

Old friends had not forgotten him, as the following epistle from Lord John Russell, dated 7th 

May, 1835, will prove :— 

_ ** My dear Moore,—I have been too busy, since I last saw you, to be able to write on any but 

public concerns. Having, however, a little time to spare to-day, I wish to consult you on your 
τς own private affairs. Iam now in a better position than I formerly was for serving my friends; 
still, there are very few opportunities of finding any situation that will suit a gentleman who does 

not belong to a profession. It has occurred to me that a pension for one or both of your sons 


6 MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE. 


might he a source of comfort to you in days of sickness or lassitude. But perhaps, on the con- 
trary, the offer might be displeasing to you, and I do not like to speak to Melbourne about it with- 
out consulting you. If you have anything else to suggest which is more agreeable to your 
wishes, pray tell me freely as an old friend, and I will answer you as a friend, and not as a min- 
ister. 
This kindly epistle was received by Moore with feelings of ‘‘ surprise, joy, and thankfulness.” 
In his reply, the poet intimates that be had begun to suspect Swift was right when he said ‘he 
never knew a ministry do anything for those whom they had made the companions of their 
leasures.’’ Lord John’s letter, however, had shown him his mistake. After mentioning that his 
istory of Ireland had been a very poor job, realizing only £750, from two years and a half of 
employment, Moore left matters entirely in the hands of Lord John Russell. The result was, 
that on the 24th August it was notified in the public prints that, in consideration of eminent 
literary services, Thomas Moore, Esq., had received a pension of £300. This pension brought 
joy to the heart of Bessy, who thus writes from their cottage in Sloperton, on the news being first 
roken to her,—‘‘ My dearest Tom, can it really be true that you have a pension of £300 a year; 
Mr., two Misses, and young Longman were here tu-day, and tell me that they have seen it in two 
newspapers. If the good news be true, I shall then indulge in butter to potatoes. Mind you do 
not tell this piece of gluttony to any one.” ‘l'hree years after this, the poet again visits Ireland. 
His great popularity has lost none of its freshness. When he got on board the Dublin packet, at 
their united request he has to kiss all the ladies on board, not excepting an elderly female, who 
had been left out of the calculation, and gallantly came to his cabin to repair the omission. » When 
he set foot on Irish soil, he was received with the most enthusiastic welcome. His progresses 
through the country were everywhere ovations. He is called out at the Dublin Theatre; ‘Come, 
show your Irish face, Tom,” the galleries shout in chorus. At Bannow he is received by horse- 
men with banners, triumphal arches are erected in honor of the poet. The contagious enthusi- 
asm has even penetrated the serene regions of Quakerdom. Some very beautiful ladies of the 
Society Friends ‘‘ should like to have two lines of thine with thy name to them.’ If the breath 
of popular applause could confer happiness, then had Moore reached the summit of earthly 
felicity. The post-horns of Europe are filled with his fame, peasant and peer are alike forward to 
do homage to his genius; but happiness is not in all this. He has had his reward. , What he 
aimed to accomplish he has accomplished. But something is yet wanting. Fashionable life at 
length begins to pall, and the poet begins to babble of his quiet garden and study, where, in the 
mute society of his own thoughts and books, he is neither offended nor wearied. Alas! Tom, it 
is now too late. At sixty aman does not easily revolutionise his tastes or his habits. The psalm- 
ist has with equal truth and poetry described hum in life as “like as yesterday when it is past, or 
as a wateh in the night.” But brief as is nian’s allotted span,—ere he goes hence, he has often 
lived long enough to have outlived the capacity for enjoyment. ‘The butterfly-wing is faded 
before the summer is over, and the humming-bee droops in the heart of the roses.” So was it 
with Moore. 

We noted the first shadow that fell upon his household in the death of his beloved Barbara. 
Since that day, once, twice, thrice has the insatiate archer plunged that household in gloom; and 
now, in 1846, we find this sad entry in his diary: ‘The last of our five children is gone, and we 
are left desolate and alone. Not a single relative have I now left in the world.”’ The blow sent 
him weeping to the earth. Health was affected, spirits crushed, and mind impaired. “In that last 
sad year of Southey’s existence, we read of how the poor scholar, whose mind had become an utter 
blank, would still walk round his library, gaze intently on his darling books, take them down 
mechanically, affect to read them, and put them back again unread. ‘The last days of Moore are 
in a certain sense even still more melancholy. ‘‘ His memory was perpetually at fault, and 
nothing seemed to rest upon his mind. He made engagements to dinners and parties, but usually 
forgot the half of them. When he did appear, his gay flow of spirits, happy application of 
humorous stories, and constant and congenial ease, were all wanting. The brilliant hues of his 
varied conversation had failed, and the strong powers of his intellect had manifestly sunk. There 
was something peculiarly sad in the change. It is not unusual to observe the faculties grow 
weaker with age; and in the retirement of a man’s own home there may be no “ὁ unpleasing 
melancholy ’’ in the task of watching such a decline; but when, in the midst of the gay and con- 
vivial, the wit appeared without his gaiety, and the guest without his conviviality—when the fine 
fancy appeared not so much sobered as saddened, it was a cheerless sight, 

“ The harp that once in Tara’s halls 
The soul of music shed, 


Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, 
As if that soul was fled.” 


The great darkness which had settled on his spirit continued to deepen, and on the 25th 
February 1852 he died. The churchyard of Bromham, a village of Wiltshire, is the last resting- 
place of the bard. 


CONTENTS. 


380d OAD AO OSD ACID SCOOROR OECD CEO LOD BECO GUr SOUS CROaoULGIC pour ΠΤ Ὁ) 


PREFACES TO THE COLLECTED EDITION 1N TEN VOLUMES, PUBLISHED IN 1841, 1842...17 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE, WITH NOTES. 


TNX TO The: Οὔδηξος ον <n. ce ec scessvcdoves 
An Ode by the Translator................. 
Corrections of the preceding Ode, suggest- 


ed by an eminent Gree 


scholar...... 


Remarks on Anacreon...........f..eeee0s 


XXI. 
XXII. 


XXIII. 
XXIV. 


XXV. 
XXVI. 


- One day the 


ODES. 


- I saw the smiling bard of 


pleasure..........2...--.50 


. Give me the harp of epic song 
. Listen to the Muse’s lyre..... 
. Vulean! hear your glorious 


ER Kees tarsralu hicleavaiernemiereteiovsts nis e 


. Sculptor, wouldst thou glad 


my soul 


. As late I sought the span- 


ΙΒ ΡΟ ΘΥΒ. τ νον ate we a eere 
The women tell me every day 


- I care not for the idle state... 
. I pray thee by the gods above 


How am [to punish thee..... 
ΤΟΙ me, gentle youth, I pray 
UB Meena aceite caste iaciels 


- They tell how Atys, wild with 


I will, I will, the conflict’s past 


. Count me, on the summer trees 
. Tell me, why, my sweetest 


Gli igodnsddace oadedaceecas 
Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
And now, with all thy pencil’s 

truth 
Now the star of day is high.. 
Here recline ion gentle maid 

uses twined the 

AMOR eateries aoeslccts eee eae 
Observe when mother earth is 


i 


ry 
The Phrygian rock, that 
braves the storm........... 
Toften wish this languid lyre. 
To all that breathe the air of 
MOMVOMeesterisc ς σὰ ἦρ eine se 
Once in each revolving year.. 
Thy harp may sing of Troy's 
GIATIOS . ccc cccccscesccccccce 


XXVIII. 
XXVIII. 


XXIX. 
XXX. 


XXXII. 
XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 
XXXV. 
XXXVI. 
XXXVII. 
XXXVITI. 
XXXIX. 
XL. 
XLI. 
XLII. 
XLIII. 
XLIV. 
XLV. 
XLVI. 
XLVII. 


XLVIII. 
XLIX. 


PAGE 


We read the flying courser's 
As, by his Lemnian forge’s 

ΠΕΡ ΠΥ Siete mielein ole 
Yes—loving is a painful thrill. 
’T was in a mocking dream of 

Wii Smeets ΤΙ ΠΟΥ ΠΟΟΝ 
Arm’d with hyacinthine rod. . 
Strew me a fragrant bed of 

LO RVOSic cate cul Jala Revels τυ νος 
*Twas noon of night, when 

round the pole......--.+.+++ 
Oh thou, of all creation blest. . 
Cupid once upon a bed....... 
If hoarded gold possess’d the 


’Twas night, and many a cir- 
Cling: bowl settles sec bie sate 
Let us drain the nectar’d bowl 
How I love the festive boy... 
I know that Heaven hath sent 
MOHCLE. ὅν τ τυ ade sects ncisetle 
When Spring adorns the dewy 
scene 
Yes, be the glorious revel mine 
While our rosy fillets shed.... 
Buds of roses, virgin flowers. . 
any this goblet, rich and 
dee 


ee ----Ο 


ΠΟ ΞΟ 


When my thirsty soul I steep. 
When Bacchus, Jove’s immor- 
ΤΑΙ OV τε τι τον olaetsmaie's 


. When wine I quaff, before my 


. Fly not thus, my brow of snow 
. Away, away, ye men of rules. 
. WhenI behold the festive train 


Methinks, the pictured bull we 


. While weinvoke the wreatlied 


SPT Gas see leg sie alain wei ον τς te 


. He, who instructs the youthrul 


CTOW ep eee cence cence csesece 


. Whose was the artist-hand 


that spread..... 52 .cs. cence. 


8 CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

When Gold, as fleet as zeph- 
yr's pinion 

Ripen’d by the solar beam. . 
Awake to life, my sleeping ας 
shell 
Mom 5. endearing charms ΠΩΣ 

e 

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught 103 
To Love, the soft and bloom. 
Ane der va cstsieniiceieiss seis 
Haste thee, nymph, whose well- 
aim’d spear 
Like some wanton filly sport- 


LVI. 


LIX. 
LX. 


LXI. 


LXII. 
LXIII. 


LXIV. 
LXV. 
LXVI. 


LXVII. 
LXVIII. 


LXIX. 
LXX. 
LXXI. 


LXXII. 
LXXIUII. 


LXXIV. 
LXXV. 


i er 


Se ee ee ere | 


aay 


103 


To thee, the Queen of nymphs 
Ghia O Ams ae πε λον τ τς 104 
Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn. 104 
Now Neptune's mouth oursky 
Geform Seamaster cts <class 


Fare thee well, perfidious maid 105 
Awhile I bloom’d, a ἸΒΡΕΣ 
flower 
Monarch Love, resistless boy. 
ἜΡΙΣ οἱ Love, whose locks un- 
rai Gabbe Adtab suboapeeogae 


ΟΞ - 


Τοῦ 


LXXVI. Hither, gentle Muse of mine.. 106 

LXXVII. Would that I were a tuneful 
stale ote sichatsteyeretoler-fere stetetote ate 106 

LXXVIII. when Cupid sees how thickly 
TONGS ens spanbdeto sons eo Sone 106 
Cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray....... 106 
Let me resign this wretebed breath....... 106 
I know thou loy’st a brimming measure... 107 
I fear that love disturbs my rest .......-.+ 107 
From dread Leucadia’s frowning steep.... 107 
Mix me; child, acup divine............... 107 

EPIGRAMS FROM THE ANTHOLOGIA. 
OTC ΤΡ το ον ween eile sieielnie's) ἐς πε τε το 107 
Avturatpov Σιδωνιον, εἰς AvaxpeovTa...... 107 
Tov αντον;, εἴς TOV QUTOV...e0eeeeeeeeceeeee 108 
Tou GuTov, εἰς TOV αντον.-......Ὁ.«οὐο..9 9 66. 109 
Tov αὐτοῦ; εἰς TOV αὐτον..ς-« τὸ «τς «το. κι. 109 
JUVENILE POEMS. 

Fragments of College Exercises.......... - 112 
Is there noc all, no consecrating cause.... 112 
BVMELIG Livrotcta state Sore tatone ss Shi sig (o,aietovelns ove ator wipilSct 112 


To a Boy with a Watch. Written for a 


ἘΠ ΒΗ ΣῊΝ ταις γεν ον δάνδρον ες ὁ ρου 113 
τ eaten ira era esa ραν fel leleiciese Wit" tue ote 113 
ΠΥ Meier das hore Mans oc toe Soho Sele oh .c\a6 113 
OM M ewe cnet men let Neale neous’ pete mabe si 113 
ΠΡ ν yore cat eag eee Bin lplaeveionne awe at 114 
Reuben and Rose. A Tale of Romance 114 
ACUI O ΡΠ, ΠΡ 115 
SUCH AMET type Hs; τὴν Ἀν ας να vind bom 115 
To Mrs. Buds "ewes , on some calumnies 

against her character..........0..000 115 
AMNGCTOONTG...0.0sccccvdseelee πον ΒΔΑ] 116 
PLP OF geese a harts Pasa = aigswip alba’ sig tig ers ies 116 
Co Julia, in allusion to some illiberal eriti- 

PURULS acer ae Eid a εδονν στον «a's oa he τὰς 116 
το ας ΡΜ meee el 110 


The Shrine...’ ΤῸ ἢ νον το ΟΣ ἘΝ ΣΟ ἮΝ . 116 
To a Lady, with some manuscript Poems, 
on leaving the country..............+. 11 

ΤῸ BULL 8 τος τος νον τ ον ΠΕΣ ΡΣ 

ΠΟ ὐ ον οτος, Denese sence ρος ΤΣ Be 

Nature’s Labels. A fragment 
To Julia. On her birthday............... 
ASRefiection at Sea... .10...2 «+ serene 
Cloris‘and Fanny. =. <'- <(-..>-:cists <<ereue eee 
Mhor Shield τοῖς σον τς 010 wmeicseele cole eee 
To Julia, weeping. τς ἐτοῖν. ον «cece eee 
Dreams. Το 
To Rosa. 
SONG facies τ ce ee eee eee ee 


a id 


Sue) oe 0 © ὁ ὁ ὁ ὁ. 8 8 8 δ᾽" Ceces we wae niece 


On the, Death'of a Lady=. τον τ τς τ ΡΝ 
Inconstaney Εν το στον... - 
The Natal Genius. Adream. To......, 
the morning of her birthday.......... 
Elegiace Stanzas, supposed to be written by 
Julia, on the death of her brother 
To the large and beautiful Miss . ... 
in allusion to some partnership ina lot. 
tery share. Impromptu.............. ] 
ASDA τος τιον οἰ eviccc « sie'sisiatseeisteieerataee 
Lo basses 


eae of a Virgin of Delphi, at the tomb of 

her mother 
Sympathy... “Lo Julia.<. 27.2 τε irs 
AUG hd Nel ες στρ προ τ moa coer ΣΡ ΤΡ 4 


ΟΠ ---Ξ- 


To ae 


ee ee ee -- 


The Seen 
To Miss .. 


+ on her asking the 


author why she had sleepless nights... 125 
The Wonder...... Ὄπ e es 125 
1 BY ae COO ODED CURSOR DE BOOORG OC I= bODSOo6 126 
AMIACLEONEIC! <j cic) oc 0i0\ei~ /« vinls| cialeieis eeieiemtat 126 
The Philosopher Aristippus to a Lamp, 

which had been given him by Lais. 126 
To Mrs , on her beautiful translation 

of Voiture’s Kiss.... ....scssereees . 127 
FROMMER το πΠ τ΄ .-- 123 
SU ee DOS In SOUND OUUOInOaGoaa sa τς 00. 28 
THOS ἘΠ 0/01, cite tole enna eee 128 
Written in a commonplace book, called 

‘The Book of Wollies”’.s.'csispante sean 128 
EL O)ROS Bi (s/cioielein.ciers.onaie οἶμον info eiela\whn (ela ΤΣ ΣΡ ΤΣ 129 
Light sounds the Harp...............s... 129 
From the Greek of Meleager........-..+.-- 129 
SOM» ἔπ o/sia, vine ood a1a:6 so sels ia’tls\e'elataeinicteltwintamnta 130 
The Resemblance: ὁ. τ sisins cou θα δον ον ἢ 130 
PANNY,/COATOSEs: os τοῖο τινα» |e e's sete be eeraeele 130 
The Ring. Os ὁ yee igebry εν ΕΘΝ ΠΝ 
ΤῸ the Invisible Girl. ζῶν soj'dsars gional νον teeta 131 
The Ring. A. tale..c......-essecesecvcces 132 
ROW) πολι ++, on seeing her with 

a white veil and a rich pri ΡΟ τὸ: 135 
Written on the blank leaf of a Lady’s com- 

Monplace DOOkK.%....s\e asicawiv.« Heslciemieiss 135 
To Mrs. Bl—, written in her album....... 135 
To Cara, after an interval of absence..... 136 


To Cara, on the dawning of a new-year's 
GAY? vai Heie.sine Shee Πα ΚΟ ότι ΝΑ . 1οῦ 


° 


CONTENTS. 


NER SERN cente vies so 5v LOL νι . 136 
The Genius of Harmony. An irregular ode 137 


I found her not—the chamber seem'd..... 139 | 


To Mrs. Henry Tighe, on reading her 
“Psyche” 


. 139 
From the High Priest of Apollo to a Virgin 


ΟΞ 


ΠΡ ΙΗ του το ἐγ το. seis vin τ φρο ὁ πιοῖς 140 
PETAR MON tis ον στο ὁ εἶδον ἐος ΑΚ σας ας το ας 141 
AMM THEM EHOUCTE. τς se tice se cosie cle « breleere 141 
ΟΝ dialed cielo be, pYaipioYaisiais δι εν οθον» εν ον 141 
ρος ἐξ Craigie = Tele naples Pe ΣΕ, ΔῸΣ 142 
SENOMGHLAID DUG. ἘΌΝ, τς civncecias τοῖο σον ore 142 
Imitation of Catullus to himself........... 142 
Oh woman, if through sinful wile......... 143 
BIAS ARATE iste folaivia'otel wis ἐτοῖν etelave ciclo-c\clers « «vel « 143 
Epigram, from the French.......... Slee ov 143 
On a squinting Poetess..............+0-+ 143 
ΕΣ tears ee co ΠΟ τας ASO REOOOC 143 
1G) 1 SS 08 See Renee δὴ} 143 
PRBS RIDIN ete τε τ ΟΝ vinl aleeiniaiviele Sos) 1a 143 
To a Lady on her singing................ 143 
Song. On the birthday of Mrs. ——. Writ- 

ἐδ ΘΙ πα: L799. τος τς τον τον es wes 144 
ΕΝ τῆς ττολνι τ ὐτῆμεῖς δος 144 
Morality. A familiar epistle. Addressed 

to J. Atkinson, Esq.,M. R. LA...... 144 
MD e LEN -GALOMGYTOC's). wags τ 145 
Peace and Glory. Written on the approach 

πο τος προ τοῖον ν τσ τ Ἐπ elcid 140 
ΡΟ τς Ὁ -ejsisteie cecolcien es 146 
TOVG, ANG IRCBSON. «2! occ cesses cece Jets 147 
Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear........ 147 
BMPR Ie lgie/Palcleteistelvia'slel viele sic.cicle τ ρτρίτ τ aes 147 
a en Girl's Dream of the Blessed 

Blands: Tovher lover... 2.csctseoee 148 
To Cloe. Imitated from Martial......... 150 
The Wreath and the Chain............... 150 
EEO) ΤΟΣ ον δον: ΠΣ 
PRS eeM cree BOE IOLNTO sac τ ννο ον. σον sine oe 151 


Fragment of a Mythological Hymn to Love 151 
To His Serene Highness the Duke of Mont- 
pensier, on his portrait of the Lady 
Adelaide Forbes..................... 152 
The Fall of Hebe. A dithyrambic ode.... 152 
tin PRIANCUCAIS so ας c's bine c τ seis cls sieniscte 155 


To Miss Susan B—ckf—d. On her singing 155 
Im Fda on leaving some friends...... 156 
τ τπρ  ΓΟν τον το τρίτο wena sis 156 
10) 0 On Aoi eR BORO DOODOCOASORCGAEIC 156 
UNE irra ea anisreini ns ance ann ee sclees te 157 
το βελῶν Ce Siete Ce POS SOROC Cen Oe Orr 157 
A Vision of Philosophy...........-..00. 157 
JLT) as WE Des panini HOCBEEer wipes’ sia,nieie 161 
To Lady Heathcote, on an old ring found 
BieLunbridee: Wells. ον a. ce cca. τον 161 
The Devil among the Scholars. A frag- 
PIVEN Letete) aia! serwiate < Cicin/ele sc'sie's ΚΣ τ ΟΣ 162 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


To Lord Viscount Strangford. Aboard the 
the Azores, by 


TRGOMU ET ον cic. vle'sinvie'sle ke elt Ὁ elm δον dle 166 
TANDHS.. τον οτος ihn fava hrat ustetan acme es 167 
πο ΠΟΤΕ VINE IBN» ciscicccseckelcecccceccsae 168 
To Miss Moore. From Norfolk, in Vir- 

PAA MNO VsrT EU Gucci cscs tsc.c τον 168 


A Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp. 
Written at Norfolk, in Virginia...... 170 
To the Marchioness Dowager of Donegal. 


From Bermuda, 1804..............0005 170 


9 


PAGE 
To George Morgan, Esq., of Norfolk, Vir- 
ginia. From Bermuda, January, 1804. 172 


Lines written in a storm at sea........... 174 
Odes to Nea:— 
Nay, tempt me not to love again........ 174 
I pray you, let us roam no more........ 175 
You read it in these spell-bound eyes.... 175 
A Dream of Antiquity.................. 175 
Well—peace to thy heart, though anoth- 
CXS) Airy DG cers Ἐπ ot koeles careless te 177 
If I were yonder wave, my dear........ 177 
ΠῚ SNOW SPIT bai ce eerie te alee ele teletasieiers 178 
Istole along the flowery bank.......... 17 
A Study from the Antique.............. 179 
There’s not a look, a word of thine...... 179 
To Joseph Atkinson, Esq. From Ber- 
WU ea ΤΣ ΝΑ, asians sete Anema 5.19 ΤῸ 179 
The Steersman’s Song. Written aboard 
the Boston frigate, 28th of April...... 181 
EO the ΠῚ γ ΘΗ νη τε cas ses neem ee tee ΤΡ τος 181 
Τὸ the Lord Viscount Forbes. From the 
City OF “Washington... ce .cccie sie oe ow 181 
To Thomas Hume, Esq., M.D. From the 
city of Washington.................. 184 


Lines written on leaving Philadelphia.... 186 
Lines written at the Cohoes, or Falls of the 


Mohawk rivera. +2 sive dvs stcieeline sees 187 
Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods..... 187 
To the Honorable W. R. Spencer. From 

Buffalo, upon Lake Erie.............. 188 
Ballady Stan ΖΒ. τ πεν δ elects crores τὸ 190 
A Canadian Boat Song. Written on the 

Fiver St-oawlrence: τὸ cicccess ou ΠΡ τὴν 190 
To the Lady Charlotte Rawdon. From 

the banks of the St. Lawrence........ 191 
Impromptu, after a visit to Mrs. —, οὐ. 

Montreal. ....-... ΠΡ τς Ἔσο τι 194 
Written on penne Deadman’s Island, in 

the Gulf of St. Lawrence, late in the 

evening, September, 1804............. 194 
To the Boston frigate, on leaving Halifax 

for England, October, 1804............ 195 


CORRUPTION AND INTOLERANCE. 


Two POEMS. ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISH- 
MAN BY AN IRISHMAN. 


CORRUPTION’ οἷς cs.cieso1 waalbivewiaetetesisiatinas 197 
INTOLERANCH. ~<A: ‘Sative:):~ ccs cece 204 
AD PONGEK cians os «ab ον τος sesleanie star τ 208 


THE SKEPTIC: A Philosophical Satire. 
TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 
By THOMAS BROWN THE YOUNGER. 


Dedication. ToStephen Woolriche, Esq.. 215 

[ey (AH Scie Bacher aC OL eecmet). j- 216 

Preface to the Fourteenth Edition. By a 
Friend of the:Author......... ..sese 216 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS, ETC. 


Letrer I. From the Pr—ne—ss Ch—rl—e 
of W—Il—s to the Lady B—rb—a Ash- 


LOY eo via ερεξώνν ον ds Diaratneee pia eames 217 
Letrer II. From Col. M’M—h—n to 
G—ld Fr—ne—s L—ckie, Esq........ 218 
Postscript Ss ss-.'el stewie ον στ τον τὶν ἘΝ seat 219 
LETTER ΠῚ. From G—ge Pr—ce R—gt 
to the E— of Y—th................ 220 


10 


PAGE 
Lerrer IV. From the Right Hon. p—tr— 
ck D—gen—n to the Right Hon. Sir 
J—hn N—ch—| 221 
Letter V. From the Countess Dowager 
of C—rk to Lady——..---+++++++++++5 
Postscript....-------eeese ssc ere st 222 
Lerrer VI. From Abdallah in London 
to Mohassan in Ispahan 2% 
Goazlincverec cies ce -celepesioe me Ξ τ τος gerennie = 
Lerrer VII. From Messrs. L—ck—gt—n 


BS Shi πῶς SION Cet OOO. OG 


and Co. to ——-——, Esq..--.-++++++-> 224 
Lerrer VIII. From Colonel Th—m—s to 
-- S—ff—ngt—n, Esq.-.-.+--+++++++> 225 
APPENDIX. .ccs2c0 coceccccerses cocseesee® 226 
Letter [V. Page 221.....-------++e++: 226 
Letter VII. Page 224........---+++++ 227 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


The Insurrection of the Papers. A Dream. 230 
Parody of a celebrated Letter....-------+ 230 
- Anacreontic to a Plumassicr...-.--+++++++ 232 


Extracts from the Diary of a Politician.. 233 
Epigram...--+.s.+eercsecesssrenie ces saes 233 


King Crack and his Idols. Written after 
the late negotiation for a new M—n— 


SULY. oc ccc cece ccc acciecresecmccsieeeseccs 234 
What's my Thought Like ?.....--.---+-.- 234 
Epigram. Dialogue between a Catholic 


Delegate and His R—y—l H—ghn—ss 

the D—e of C—b—l—d 

Wreaths for the Ministers. An Anacreon- 
RIOR e rele celebs cleisevaieis sib eke ite “le)aieloiesele.s 234 

Epigram. Dialogue between a Dowager 
and her Maid on the night of Lord 
Y—rm—th’s féte..... Ὁ κε eee ee eee eens 235 

Horace. Ode XI. Lib. 11. Freely trans- 
lated by the Pr—ce R—g—t....------ 235 

Horace. Ode XXII. Lib. 1. Freely trans- 
lated by Lord Eld—n......--++++-++++ 236 

The New Costume of the Ministers......- 

Correspondence between a Lady and Gen- 
tleman, upon the advantage of (what 
is called) “having Law on one’s side.” 237 

Occasional Address for the Opening of the 
New ‘Theatre of St. St—ph—n, in- 
tended to have been spoken by the 
Proprietor in full Costume, on the 24th 


of November, I812.......++++eeeeeeees 238 
The Sale of the “ΠΟΟ]8. - «αν τ τ λιν τσ εν τα στ σα 239 
Little Man and Little Soul. A Ballad..... 240 
Reinforcements for Lord Wellington....-- 240 
Horace. Ode I. Lib. 1Π. A Fragment.. 241 
Horace. Ode XX XVIII. Lib. I. A Frag- 

ment. ‘Translated by a Treasury 

Clerk, while waiting dinner for the 

Right Hon. G—rge R—se..-- +--+. +++ 241 
Impromptu. Upon being obliged to leave 


a pleasant party from the want of a 


air of breeches to dress for dinner in. 241 
Lord Wellington and the Ministers..----- 241 
IRISH MELODIES. 
Dedication to the Marchioness Dowager 
Of Donegal.......seecereecceeeesecere 242 
PYCLACO. 10. ccc ccc ccncvceneternneesce cs Q42 
Go where Glory waits thee....--.+-.++5++ 242 
War Song. Remember the glories of Brien 
HHO αν δ. sc cccccccesscvssescecevese 243 
frin! the Tear and the Smile in Thine 
BCS... ee cccecececccscenccseeceseenss 243 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
Oh! breathe not his Name.....-.-+-+++++ 243 
When he who adores thee......++-++++5+ 243 


The Harp that once through Tara’s halls... 
Fly not yet....-.-.22-seeeeeceeeeeecsee es 
Oh, think not my spirits are always as 


light. <0. 2.00 02sec eeeeees ΑἸ λει τς 244 
Though the last glimpse of Erin with sor- 
TOW LS€C..... ee νον cece ees reeeecnes es 245 
Rich and rare were the gems she wore.... 249 
‘As a beam o’er the face of the waters may 
σίου. ooo eee e τον το σον nsec ene eeeemecres 245 
The meeting of the Waters.......--++-++> 245 
How dear to me the hour...-..----.+++++ 246 
Take back the virgin page. Written on 
returning a blank book......---+++++- 246 
The Legacy..-.--s.seee cere ser seeseseeens 246 
How oft has the Benshee cried ?....--.-+- 247 
We may roam through this world..... Bent: i 
Eveleen’s Bower.....----++++seesseeeeees 247 
Let Erin remember the days of old....... 248 
The Song of Fionnuala.......++-+++++++++- 248 
Come, send round the wine........+---+++ 249 
Sublime was the warning...-- .-s+sssss++ 249 
Believe me, if all those endearing young 
CHATS 2c tas ΠΠρέψὁ“«ΨἕΨ«Ἄιορ. πους 249 
Erin, oh Erin......--eseeeeeeeee Ἐπ τ ἘΣ 250 
Drink to her.....--+++ee+eeee PO ΤΥ ΠΩ DI 250 
Oh, blume not the Bard......-.- BGec sade 250 
While gazing on the moon's light....------ 261 
Tl Omens......---+eeeeeeces Piecoo Osea 251 
Before the Battle. .....--.-+-- 2 


After the Battle..........+-eeeeces Pai be: Q 


Tis sweet to think ἑ 
The Irish Peasant to his Mistress....--- ++ 253 
On Music.......--e 2s eeeee eee ereecrseee eee 
Tt is not the tear at this moment shed..... 253 
The Origin of the Harp....+-++++++++0++* 254 
Love's young Dream..-.-+++-+++++ Ἢ 
The Prince’s Day....+--++++++++ 
Weep On, Weep ON. .---serseeeseeese esters 
Lesbia huth a beaming €y@..---++++++++++ 
I saw ΤΟΥ form in youthful prime 
By that lake, whose gloomy shore...-.---- 256 
She is far from the land......--+++.-+-+++- 256 
Nay, tell me not, dear....-.++++++eeeeeee= 257 
Avenging and bright....-.+++++++++* ἘΠΡΕΧῚ Meee 
What the bee is to the floweret..--.--+++- 257 
Love and the Novice......++s+eesreerees 258 
This life is all checker’d with pleasures and 
WOCBs « occace cic csce ols cone acvineinis inane 258 
Oh, the shamrock.....+-+++eeeeerereeeees 258 
At the mid hour of night... -++sseeeerees 259 
One bumper at parting..-+++++eerseeeeees 259 
Tis the last rose of SUMMEY..---++++++++- 259 
The young May MOON..-+++++++++seeee++* 260 
The Minstrel-boy...--.+:++ssereresssreet? 260 


The Song of O’Ruark, Prince of Breffni.... 
Oh, had we some bright little isle of our 


OW Lvs cand cc cafeatinistolaiin sin λὴ.05|7.05- 261 
Farewell! but whenever you welcome the 

ΡΠ ΠΌΛΟΣ οὐ 261 
Oh, doubt me NOt. ...--+seerese cesses sees 262 
You remember, Ellen....--+ss+seeeeseteree 262 
Τ᾽ ἃ mourn the hopes...-.-e+seeeerrseeeeer® 262 
Come o'er the 868. ... 0... 562 5955 5559 ταν ἘΣΧΟΙΝ 
Has sorrow thy young days shaded....--- 263 
No, not more WelcOMe..-+.+eseereees see 263 
When first I met thec.....sseeeeeseeeeses 263 
While history's MUSC..+++eeeeeeereerreese 204 
The time I’ve lost in WOOINE..-+-+++e4e+5* 264 
Where is the slave }...++eeeeee a ake πα γος ee 


CONTENTS. 1 
PAGE NATIONAL AIRS. 
Come, rest in this bosom........... Sees 265 PAGE 
"Tis gone, and forever,.....-0.--eses secre 200 | Advertisement.) 2. τον προς sees wosccens 204 
Massy, trom the beach... ..5....s..ces.s00- 265 | A ‘temple to Friendship. (Spanish Air).. 294 
ΠΤ Θ᾽ ΒΠΙΠΉΏΘΥ LOL. ᾿ς Ὁ τος «οἶος en cercsne 266 | Flow on, thou shining river. (Portuguese 
Dear harp of my country............+..+-- 266 UW Wad στε σαν, Ἐν Gna Denies aaa 294 
ΡΠ ΙΒ MAT [Yin τὸν τατος wie το τ εὐ vie πὰρ προοις 207 | All that’s bright must fide. (Indian Air.) 295 
Inthe morning of life... 2.2... 1 .Ὁ- σοοσοον 267 | So warmly we met. (Hungarian Air).... 295 
ΠΥ ΒΝ «ately s vikisie c'e σον: οἷς ciele's vies): 267 | Those evening bells. (Air—The Bells of 
Whenicold in the carth.......0...-......- 268 St. Petersburpli)as-..-a1.28 | ee eines 295 
HRGMIGUUDOT DNCOs 6 caw ccc acd svececes venice 268 | Should those fond hopes. (Portuguese Air.) 295 
ΗΘ DOW lis. <1s0-00is:c'e siete τον οι ιν aca 268 | Reason, Folly, and Beauty. (Italian Air).. 296 
Whene'orI see those smiling eyes........ 269 | Fare thee well, thou lovely one! (Sicilian 
ΠΟΥ τη. τος τῆ τὴ τς ἘῸΝ ἰδ ln,ojaye 269 LAID) ον τις ἐν προ a oa ΡῈ Ἐπ ον 296 
ΠΟ ΒΟ ΘΗ ΤΥ ΥΘΗ τς τος c ace dee ϑυτο νος οος 269 | Dost thou remember. (Portuguese Air).. 296 
Morgeet Not the field... ς «τος νον τιον νος ἐς 270 | Oh, come to me when daylight sets. (Vene- 
They may rail at this life................-. 270 ΦΙΒΉΑ Στ ταν τς τς ΤΡ “290 
Oh for the swords of former time........ 270 | Oft, in the stilly night. (Scotch Air)..... 297 
St. Senanus and the Lady................. 270 | Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing. (Rus- 
RPIOIAN COO INO s <s:e- os ον δε e'e'sc'g)cic,0.siniais 271 Sian Air)is cattle reece coe ἐλ 297 
ἘΠ RESON wisictn'e) sin τον τεσσ: τ εῖσος πες 271 | Love and Hope. (Swiss Air)............. 297 
ΠΡ ΡΥ ΠΡΊΝ τς αν sicins eae sities. ΝΣ τ ἴσιο τοις 271 | There comes atime. (German Air) ..... 298 
REINS REO PAS CUP a/<tnieiere\aem τς οτος νοσν οτος 72 | My harp has one unchanging theme. (Swed- 
The Wortune-teller...........0..20. 220.00 273 TINE bY aac dooenindeonon GOO OBeCS Sec 298 
ΠΡ ΡΒ τος πον Ὁ iain’nle,claieve dials wiaiaje's§ hee ὃν 273 | Oh, no—not even when first we loved. (Cash- 
OWMoriohiue's Mistress... 0c. tees e eas 273 MOeTIAN ΤΥ τ τὶ centers 298 
SPAT CART Tao te ele stale le’ ΡΥ ΡΟ 274 | Peace be around thee. (Scotch Air)...... 298 
ΠΗ ΗΠ ΠΡΌ MO. ss \oc0c% tcc νοτιν εν Ses cine de 274 | Common Sense and Genius. (French Air) 298 
Thee, thee, only- thee. -........... cece ee 274 | Thea fare thee well. (Old English Air)... 299 
Shall the harp, then, be silent............ 274 | Gayly sounds the castanet. (Maltese Air) 299 
Oh, the sight entrancing.................. 275 | Love is a hunter-boy. (Languedocian Air) 299 
SIRES UUIMMISLANCD van a's wise ae oealecleciesincieses 275 |Come, chase that starting tear away. 
*T was one of those dreams................ 276 (HWrenchAur) essere ctcentee saeceie 300 
Wairest opus On Awhile!) Ὁ. τ λο δος δος 276 | Joys of Youth, how fleeting. (Portuguese 
Quick! we huve but asecond............. 277 VAIN) (an ΘῊΡ toma sicae apis tee maa eetar 300 
And doth not a meeting like this.......... 277 | Hear me but onee. (French Air)......... 300 
ΡΠ. MOUNGAIN! SPTICO sce. - 26ἐν ως «νονν οὐς 278 | When Love was achild. (Swedish Air).. 300 
AB vanquish’ ds ΤΠ ΤῊ. 0 τος νος τον c secs cece 278 | Say, what shall be our sport to-day? (Si- 
BROMUS OUP cles clelse v.cicisirin apse vce cme 278 CULAMVAUD) lcaerereretoloins ieee araleeca atic ioe 300 
They know not my heart................. 279 | Bright be thy dreams. (Welsh Air)....... 301 
I wish I was by that dim lake............ 279 | Go, then—'tis vain. (Sicilian Air)........ 301 
ETSERNN CUOMO VO teiniaicts alnsie'aa cles eXse ον ον τος 279 | The Crystal Hunters. (Swiss Air)........ 301 
Sing, sing—Music was given.....-....... 280 | Row gently here. (Venetian Air)........ 301 
Though humble the banquet.............. 280 | Oh, days of youth. (French Air)....... -- 302 
PSI PURE MV GEUMELAT DS τον ταν τυ ον στθυν τον 280 | When first that smile. (Venetian Air).... 302 
Song of the Battle Eve................... 281 | Peace to the slumberers! (Catalonian Air) 302 
PRROMWANGELINE BUG). ccs ΟἿΣ τους νος; 281 | When thou shalt wander. (Sicilian Air).. 302 
Alone in crowds to wander on............ 281 | Who'll buy my Love-knots? (Portuguese 
I've a secret to tell thee......:........... 282 ATL) Acacias revs ss oan stadec omnis mebeen 302 
RM PUOMTANISIAl. το ον cece eet. dace. res 282 | See, the dawn from heaven. (To an Air 
SENG NIPNG ANC... <.0-ccisc cccccccceses cs 282 sung at Rome, on Christmas Eve)..... 303 
There are sounds of mirth................ 283 | Nets and Cages. (Swedish Air).......... 303 
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore........ 283 | When through the Piazzetta. (Venetian 
Lay his sword by his side................. 283 X11) ον AERATED τα HOO TOUS Ace σοί ἐδ 6: 
Oh, could we do with this world of ours... 284 | Go, now, and dream. (Sicilian Air)...... 304 
The wine-cup is circling.................. 284 | Take hence the bowl. (Neapolitan Air).. 304 
The dream of those days................2. 284 | Farewell, Theresa! (Venetian Air)...... 304 
From this hour the pledge is given........ 284 | How oft, when watching stars. (Savoyard 
Silence is in our festal halls............... 285 πα τ ΡΣ ΡΣ γε concen 304 
APPENDIX : When the first summer bee. (German Air) 305 
Advertisement prefixed to the First and Though ‘tis all but a dream. (French Air) 305 


Second Numbers...........eceesecees 285 
Advertisement to the Third Number.... 286 
Letter to the Marchioness Dowager of 

ὌΠΙΘΕΝ prefixed to the Third Num- 

κεν cimecidaecienceee ed 
Advertisement to the Fourth Number... 291 
Advertisement to the Fifth Number.... 292 
Advertisement to the Sixth Number.... 292 


Advertisement to the Seventh Number.. 293 
Dedication to the Marchioness of Head- 
fort, prefixed to the Tenth Number.... 293 


When the wine-cupis smiling. (Italian Air) 305 


Where shall we bury our shame? (Nea- 
pPolitan Air). on: cacemwadeseiniateee ta 305 
Ne’er talk of wisdom’s gloomy schools. 
(Mahratte Ain) 22. ocicm eins te nerae sclera 305 
Here sleeps the bard. (Highland Air).... 306 
Do ποῦ say that life is Waning............. 306 
The Gazelle: sone cneee ΡΝ genio 306 
No—leave my heart to rest............... 306 
Where are'the visions... τς τς was. ncsr sees 306 


Wind thy horn, my hunter-boy............ : 


CONTENTS. 


12 

PAGE 
Oh, guard our affection............ or307 
ESM ers OhtSIMM DEL =: cis \criere =e ce λει τς ἐπρς ον 307 
Bring the bright garlands hither.......... 307 
PUTIN O VAD Ps SIMON eye τ τ κα a (eieein,ctele ove τς σῖτος 307 
ΠΟ ΒΡ ΠΟΊΤΠΟΥΘ: ᾿ς «τὸς ni ovelafeicl es siertcelsls ὡς 307 
When abroad in the world................ 308 
Keep those eyes still purely mine.......... 308 
Hope comes again............eeeces cess 308 
Osay, thou best and brightest............ 308 
When night brings the hour.............. 398 
πο πο WO, COOMA ans comic εἰς oc wn 0/0 «10 309 
Fear not that, while around thee 309 
When Love is kind............... 309 
The garland I send thee......c2.se.ccses 309 
POW a Balen OO ὅ π|ο 5 τ τος τ τς τρια ἐστ civics 309 
Spring) and, AutomMN......0.00..cec eee ces 310 
HRM EBALOUO pysisisscisinic viets’etolaleltaicls crers'sleicia οτος 310 

SACRED SONGS. 


Dedication to Edward Tuite Dalton, Esq. 311 


Thou art, O God. (Air.—Unknown)...... 311 
The bird, let loose. (Air.—Beethoven).... 311 
Fallen is thy throne. (Air.—Martini)...... 311 
Who is the maid? St. Jerome’s love. (Air. 

= BECUOVEN) sails alewiciee neice eieels es ejelsnaie 911 
This world is all a fleeting show. (Air.— 

ἜΣ τ τ ΠΣ τὰν τε» ὅς ΘΠ ς ΟΞ, ΠΥ 71. 312 
Oh Thou who ary st the mourner’s tear. 

(PAMIC—SELy ie) aroisys ο τον τιν τ τις τς τὴς ἦν slave 313 
Weep not for TORS. (Air—A vison)... = 813} 
The turf shall be my fr: perant shrine. (Air. 

=~ SUGMEMNOM a) ae ἘΣ elelan ote cisveiia'e ete oss siete 313 
Sound the loud timbrel. Miriam's song 

PASE ——vASV ISOM) eslcierare wistoveisrmelescre.cheietaieisis 314 
Go, let me weep. (Air.—Stevenson)...... 314 
Come not, O Lord. (Air.—Haydn)....... 314 
Were not the sinful Mary’s tears. (Air.— 

DtemensOMesmeagee ee sistcieicyay tice sie Aes 314 
As down in the sunless retreats. (Air.— 

ΕΠ CTD) τ. Ὁ aleralaistele cls elfaicls afeyetalefelorne 315 
But who shall see. (Air.—Stevenson).... 315 
Almighty God. Chorus of priests. (Air. 

Ἐν ΟΣ ἢ), ἘΣ τον Δ ΣΈ, ee aisle te cre ieiava 315 
Oh fair! oh purest! St. Augustine to his 

Εἰθίους . (AlY—MOOLE) οἴου ταῖν τἰς τιν ἐνίας 315 


Angelof Charity. (Air.—Handel) 
Behold the sun. (Air.—Lord Mornington) 316 
Lord, who shall bear that day. (Air.—Dr. 
BOY GG) histo » alc svercias τοι φ οἰ it's τοῖα οἷα οἷς οἴει 316 
Oh, teach me to love thee. (Air.—Haydn) 317 
Weep, children of Isracl. (Air.—Steven- 


RUD) eteteteters ie el in aloiate sie clatele ota aipice οἴεται sche 317 
Like morning, when her early breeze. (Air. 
=I SOOLIO VOD) “Ὁ τς τ πεῖν vinisejeiate,s alaiooleie.e OL 
Come, ye disconsolate. (Air.—German).. 317 
A wake, arise, thy Light is come. (Air.— 
SSL CLS) ΟΣ ΠΡΟ, "a= ain oininiajait oilers 318 
There is a bleak desert. (Air.—Crescen- 
ΡΝ ὙΠ πον αἶνον ον τῷ 918 
Since first Thy word. (Air.—Nicholas 


ENGINE) cetiia, < witis w ateierane ete ialolnicicic ¥eicie 319 
Hark! ‘tis the breeze, (Air.—Rousseau). 
Where is your dwelling, ye sainted? (Air. 

LAOS ici h labs Wares to did sa otek alone siciae 
How lightly mounts the muse’s wing. (Air. 

AMON VINOUUS) lay sia we δος ως sfeidem em ἘΝ» ai 319 
Go forth to the mount. (Air.—Stevenson) 320 


319 


Is it not sweet to think, hereafter. (Air.— 
τοῦ ΣΝ ΟΡ is. oes ΓΘ ΜΝ ΤΟ 390 
War against Babylon. (Air.—Noyello)... 320 


PAGE 
The Summer ἘΠ 6: τὸ. Ὁ τῶ cece creme 321 


Dedication to the Hon. Mrs. Norton.... 321 
EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


TSt ΕΘΗ GS. oc cl tcterctsleteie elessigierelelslegieeeetens 331 
Second Wy ening 2 cre πε - nleioms=sioletatetaeeniale 339 
LEGENDARY BALLADS. 

Dedication to the Miss Mielainge®. . 349 
The Voice.. eicrsisieierernieatarae oes ΒΟ, 
Cupid and Psyche. ieee αν το eielt cel rele . 349 
Hero and Leanderss-c2 msec eee 350 
The Leaf and the Fountain............... 850. 
Cephalus and Procris.... 520.2 τες ce emacs 351 
Vonth and Αρθτν: τ τες ΤῊΣ Bag δ τς 351 
The Dying, Warrior cs. τον απο ΠΡ 
The Magic Mirror... << τε σου τ τ 351 
Mh er Bilevinntraciacseletercton eye reeratetets Ramicone.o 352 
The high-born Ladye.....5.. ον το eceeana 352 
The Indian ΒΟΒῦ τις. c.j.venecsaetel eee 353 
The Stran wer. « oj <\sjaretctetwins το τις τ ΕΣ 353 
A Melologue upon National Music........ 354 

Advertise Ment. ς τς τος τοςς τον τος ΤΠ 354 

SET OF GLEES. 

MUSIC BY MOORE. 
The Meeting of the Ships................. 356 
ἘΠῚ: hip; uma years reseferslaie wietayoletare/dtetaretuterera 356 
Push WHUSh el τ τες τ τος ΣῊ 357 
The Parting before the Battle............ 357 
The Watchman: AC ἙΤΊΟ,. τος το aesicredicee 397 
Say, what shall we dance? ... 00... τ 337 
The Evening Gun...... ἜΣ... 398 


BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS 
POEMS, &c. 


To-day, dearest! is ours..... 5...ccescess 358 
When on the lip the sigh delays.......... 358 
Here; take my, heart. <3. «το τὲ ιν νοις τσ τς 358 
Oh, eall it by some better name........... 359 
Poor wounded heart............seee- ie OOS) 
The: Hast ENG eye cic efees)c\ese'= aceseiatela sinteialeve 359 
Poor broken Mo wer..~s «ἐς ὁ sesteisicieislelieirs 359 
The pretty ros®-tree.... os. crisis 809 
Shine out; ΒΙΆΤΒ ἢ. οἷς κτςς ἐς «fesse eleeiae neers 360 
The young Muleteers of Granada......... 360 
Tell her, oh, tell her........-+e++-e+seeee 360 
Nights Of MUSIC. 6 νον 01s occ 4 eae 360 
Our first OUNE LOVE. . «ὁ τὸ 50s s/ejsress) εἴρια κα 900 
Black « patible ΘΥ͂ΘΒ ες τονε τος τον coetca cot 361 
Dear Hany. sa. orci. cisisiseis τεσ sieiaierasets 361 
From life without freedom........+..++++- 361 
Here’s the bower. ... «ον. εν ewiecsieeecs wees 361 
I saw the moon rise clear. (A Finland 
ΤΟΥ͂Θ᾽ ΒΟῚΡ))-ι«- on no's) φρο θα ΕΣ elsivisis 362 
Love and the Sun-dial........... ΚΣ ais) 
TLove.and Time). τον τὰς το εν σον τα το 809 
Love’s light Summer-cloud..........++.+- 362 


Love, wand’ring through the golden maze. 363 
Merrily every bosom boundeth. (The Ty- 


rolese song of liberty)........+..02s0: 363 
Remember the time. (The Castilian maid) 333 
Oh, SOON: ΤΟΙΣ. «οὐ 010,60 ὁ sje cies ee ence able sisie 363 
ΕΝ πε 00 364 
One’ dear SMC... . ον οτος ον cine oboe tiene 364 
Yes, yes, when the bloom.........0.+se00s 364 
The day Of love.......sseee verses ee ceeees 364 
Lusitanian War Song........e. ee essere 364 
The young TROBO τς δ τιν κοὐ δ᾽ εἶν πον ἀπ ΡΣ 365 
When ‘midst the gay I mect......+.-.+6+s 365 
When twilight dews........-..0+s πριν 365 


CONTENTS. 13 
PAGE PAGE 
ΤΟ Υ̓ΘΗΒΙΟΗΣΙ aie κο δον ον τις ν ὁ νι ἢ τ ξεν ον οἷος 805 ΝΟΡΎΓΟΣΙ LER: τὰ δ ὁ τ θὲς παν stole mb nt τος Ve 381 
ΠΟ ΠΟΡΌΥ, ONCE. << «Ὁ criss οἶο το sis τοῦ ce οὐκ τος ΠΡ. Ges) ΘΉΒΗΝ aioe εν κὐλ ον πον, oy alatore 381 
IPRA ΠΟΥ͂Ν γον δε ait « hie v,aicee aie’ ὉΝ οὐδ ον α 365 | When Love, who ruled. ὁ «οἷν νι ἐδ ἐν τὲ ὅσας 381 
Let joy alone be remember'd now......... 366 | Still thon fliest.............-.. yiciatisiageetel 382 
Love thee, dearest? love thee?........... 366 ΠΡ first front) Γαδ ΣΟ ΡΟΣ ΡΝ cs 382 
Mp nGTD ANC LUGCS .. oi. cocci tween το τὰν οἷς 366 | Hush, sweet Inte. icc cc rec δ τον ρος ΣΕ ΤΕ 382 
Péace, peace to him that’s gone........... 900. Brie NE MOOM wc wae bless «o\diotahicuinicw pe Beleleerion nec 
* "Rose of the desert... .0....2s.cccceessenes 367 | Long years have pass'd......,..0. 0... 383 
ΠΕΣ ΠΟΥ UILED cc's cale\s ἐν 'sreiore « a'din'elesi 0 sie, ke" 367. | "PreaminetOrever oq «ia. aic\an sislelelb ἐς 383 
The song of the alien EAE te lnc biviaa ole ts 367 | Though lightly sounds the song I sing. (A 
Wake thee, my,dear..............cceeeees 367 gone) of.the*Aljss) a. πο να 0). 5. ἘῈ. 383 
The Boy of the Alps..........-+seee sees 368 | The Russian lover......-...-ccscesessevee 384 
τε ιν ἐγ ALONG ΔΩ, o.05¢.0y0 ΡΥ ciececs 368 
Her Jast words, at parting................ 368 LALLA ROOKH. 
Let's tuke this world as some wide scene.. 369 | _ Dedication...... 384 
WOVE VIGHOLY scscice sc «οὐ ξεν τιν το τνρ secs. 969 | LER. VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN.... 387 
Song of Hercules to his Daughter......... 369 | PARADISE AND THE PERI................- 425 
ΠΗ ΒΥ ΘΗ τη Of HOMO ns... cesses cetic cece. 369 | THE Firk-WORSHIPPERS...........-...4- 436 
They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest....- 370 | THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM..............- 466 
mee Poung ane vote tee eeeeee eens 10 POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 
1e Homewar PY Clie artery ele ΌΠΩΣ 7 a ; a 
Wake up, sweet melody............-0006- 370 | Lines on the Death of Mr. P—re—v—l.... 479 
Bale ΒΡ τὴν. Εἶδδ 37, | Fum and Hum, the two birds of royalty... 480 
The ΠΣ Vea I A ee ae 2371 Lines on the Death of Sh—r—d—n........ 481 
The Fancy Fair. Bl aie bn hole eens τ S71 |e stle front om Crib to Big Ben concern- 
Ifthou wouldst have me sing and play... 371 ing some foul play in a late transaction 482 
a Hl ea ode ΡΥ Lemon D OSE ome THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 
1 RIIELANAG DS iis the τὴν ἘΣ τς ας θιρο οἴ Ὁ 72 
Mind not though daylight gy eal ΩΣ tes) ee PLC 372 Preface....-.... setae tee teeta es a 483 
‘They met but once.-.......... ate Ne eae 372 | Letter I. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss 
oon eer sia Ὁ ἢ a eeiSots Matiosiciots re = porate oat sgt eae Leeland. 483 
lild’s Song. From a Masque............ 37 etter “rom Phil. Fudge, Esq., to the 
The haleyon hangs ΟἿΟΣ ocean............. 373 Lord Viscount C—st—r—gh Pmsicicie tees 485 
The world was hushed........... ἰφοζος Ἐς 373 Teeter ΜΠ pas Mr. Bob Fudge to Rich- 
MAD Bato WOOT ON islace <talv(e asec eln's τ οἴμια 6.) κ, ὁ. ς 373 ard ——, ESq......s..s seer eee eee eee ee 487 
The Legend of Puck the Fairy... ... 374 | Letter LV. From Phelim Connor to —.. 489 
TRG aly ἢ Stato: Rope ABO ROE aoe Hetenners. 374 as Nie Ἐ ron Miss Biddy Fudge to 
SVEN PHO ALG DISD... πον cfm occ cece aia 374 iss Dorothy ——-. ..0.seviecsvcees see 491 
Song of a Hyperborean Προ etches ΘΑ ΟΣ 374 | Letter VI. From Phil. Fudge, Esq., to 
SENOUIDICCBE MORIN G.s.0 νον το σὰ τον τος 375 his brother ‘Tim Fudge, Esq., barrister- 
LON SLIT hee Boag ΚΡ BEE one 375 AL-LAW... 020s eee eee eee oteee eee ees 493 
Round the world goes.................+.- 375 | Letter VII. From Phelim Connor to —. 496 
Oh, do not look so bright and blest........ 376 Τρίτον vit F ἊΝ Mr. Bob Fudge, to 
PPR GNMOST CML COR, «iis + τυ σα ὁπιοιστοα 5 vis einyele 376 RICH ALG! ΞΞΞΞ USO). aiclesetpie jas aieteie sees 499 
When to sad musie silent you listen....... 376 Detier IX. Ἷ Ἔ rom Phil F udge, poe , to 
The Language of Plowers.......... ...0:. 376 the Lord Viscount C—st—r—h........ 501 
The dawn is breaking o’er us............. 377 | Letter X. From Miss Biddy Fudge to Miss 
= = 4 Dorothy ——........-.ceeeeeeeeeeeess 005 
SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOL- Letter XI. From Phelim Connor to —.. 508 
OGY. vee ΣΤΡ ἘΣ om Miss Biddy Fudge to as 
Here at thy tomb. (By Meleager)........ 77 BABS L1OLO UD Ye sr oain tines 'ese ise eee caine Ὁ 
Sale of Cupid. (By Meleager)........... 377 < 
Tow pore a garland for the rose. (By Paul FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE, 
ΠΡΟ ΠΗ γ) ρα <to(e cle ele nis 5,0 s,claln's esate 378 on ts r : K19 
Why does she so long delay? (By Pauithe | react en. en BIR 
Silentiary) ...... 10+ ee eeeeeeeeeee eee 378 | Fable 1. The Dissolution of the Holy Al- 
Twin’st thou with lofty wreath thy brow. liance. A dream 519 
Ν = ἜΣ ance. 4 ο΄. Ά 
Wi eye awe ST ee he Silenti 378 | Fable I. The Looking-glasses........-. δ14 
ce : 1e-sad word. | (By Paul the Silenti- 379 Fable ΠΤ. The Torch of Liberty........ 515 
My Mopsa is little. (By Philodemus)..... 379 ae ΤΣ ΣῈ ΕΠ Mie A ed tr: pets ay 
l, like dew in silence falling. (By Me- ‘Mahle VT. The Ti Ann] Tanne es E 
lie 5 o | Fable VI. The Little Grand Lama....... 519 
Up ἘΝ rates: ἫΝ ‘day Are Soa easier ee ae Fable VII. The Extinguishers.......... 520 
᾿ SPUR UGS νον wns sae tes 7 Sable VW is Fourte ‘'s Wig 2 
In Myrtle wreaths. (By Alewus)......... 380 Fable VII. Louis Fourteenth’s Wig.... 522 
UNPUBLISHED SONGS, &e. “RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 
ve ICT 1 ΠΟΘ γος adic ele ν νι. vive ale ον 380 | Introductory Rhymes.... <......00...... 524 
ΒΥ ΥΘΗ το s aa ΠΡΟ sis wesc aa ον. GOO |MOXtraCte DL, ti ων aay deat emis aCe ee tamild 525 
MING ME ROS ἴον Θ. 2... τρις οὐκ ν νον see's» 381:} Mxtract il. cacdsiedsresintey ste ran vaw ern aaenrce 526 
‘There’s something strange. (A buffo song) 381 | Extract TIT.......... eee ον ον ὁ οἶνον οἷον eee ες. O26 


14 CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
EER EAC LIA Vda itarel arstete min (clelsieiaie lic stele ἘΠ Ἐπ wienetore 527 
Extract V...... ΣΕ ΡΥ ΡΣ τε ἘΙΟΥΩΣ 528 
ABET CL We iia cre rela steere mahatessyeieiclers ccadisiaiesiecie 528 
WYRE A CHA Als oe care cloto sive τκκ εν υγονενοις κε τ δῆς 530 
Τρ πο PAC LAVa lle MisrarcrsicrietAclereneieitersiecctale's.s Ἐπὴν 081 
Extract IX 
SET ACE Garoisisicis wie is «ste oles otters oihelpieleleinieieite 
BEI RET ACHE NUL a aretersietercinrse ointets/sjaye seletesverdloteicrels 533 
ΕΣ ECHO RCM Disvors aicteteibatn aoteraia/aia' obteVe εἴας οι τι οὺς 5 534 
SHIKPRACHONGRL Le We cisreietale'ole kid crstyeleietsiore cciayelnreiate 535 
ΡΣ γα σν Shes Va ΚΣ ciara sista oleic τὸ Ἀν, οἵδ siavela ese lowe 537 
SES TIVE UENO τον το Δ estore πο νιν, alelelalieisiers\sheisie 539 
ΠΣ TACL PNGV Al ct stotslolalatnleiajeratelele/eloinohivelslsie's.c(e/~i< 640 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


Occasional Epilogue, spoken by Mr. Corry, « 
in the character of Vapid, after the 
play of the Dramatist, at the Kilkenny 
BERIVEH DEC rere latata ol erateiaezele ele]~in\otpia o efeln wieserelors 542 
Extract from a Prologue written and 
spoken by the Author, at the Opening 


of the Kilkenny Theatre, October, 

SO Pactehatare clots, olinieiolalsinl atuia_sistnintevelsinietereletele'e 542 
Ubifeytadigiisd sill US aeadae aso ον αν ες τος οδν οτιενς 543 
PRE MONSUTAICE) τἰς ccisio core eveloyoleeieicleysiejevalere leis 544 
My Birth-day..... Miaiclaatlololelisinieiisisveieieicrcien OL 
ARSC Vga ele etraetacalelalcie/s vic esd sere πο isis μ᾽, τε ἧς 545 
Hone sManny, Gearest cis. cc cena ale 545 
Translation from Catullus................. 545 
ΠΝ POMS MIMI CAE. =o» cele 0s. sieialeiwiele σους 546 
Imitation. From the French............. 546 
Invitation to Dinner, addressed to Lord 

Lansdowne....... apa .afastals, ates etalelswictans 547 
Verses to the Poet Crabbe’s Inkstand. 

Wit then Mayen B 82 schists τ τ τ 547 


To Caroline, Viscountess Valletort. Writ- 
ten at Lacock Abbey, January, 1832.. 548 


BAS DECI ANION <i isisiviejer= = τις ei ticisie!s/epeisieisvelearsioe 548 
Tomy Mother. Written in a Pocketbook, 
Teen esa ak om Anon Qos CHO Or addon angonc 549 
ΠΡΟ Oran Ey MOMs) «εἰς τς το τι σον τισι, το wlspiaisis's O49 
Lines on the Entry of the Austrians into 
Naples, 182]... 2.0.02. eeeee ees ee sees 549 
MSREDLIC ISM ase τ πιϑτ μιν τς τορος εν ρα οτος 900 
ΗΟ ΟΥΑΙ ΠΗ ον τὰν sin slere's τε τισι οον sa δ ροτος 550 
Qn the Death of a Friend....-............6 530 
‘Yo James Corry, Esq.,on his making me a 
Present of a Wine-strainer........... 550 
Fragment of a Character. .............00. 551 
What shall I sing thee? To —.......... 551 
Country Davee and Quadrille............. 551 
(Chi) Ἐπ Dep ODOnd τος εἴθ οἷο. τα εἷος 553 
Lines on the Death of Joseph Atkinson, 
ENCE MOULTON s'ajere'eioieieiselcis's'sn sie oeisre 904 
ἘΠ ΠΟ CritiGisM’s cine. soc οὐ cet enis 554 
To Lady J*r**y, on being asked to write 
something in her Album.............. 555 
To the same, ou looking through her 
ΑΝ ΟΡ τ κεὶα. εἰ δα τ ria.sip(o/s.0,0 555 
PAGAN te pisterets Oreraiatsyeyainis kia stajtis.siejs.0l¥ w.are'oie's 555 
To Lady Holland. On Napoleon’s Legacy 
ΟΠ DOK es ccieec secisecccse eves DOD 
Epilogue. Written for Lady Dacre's Trag- 
ΒΟ ΟΡ LUG Sateen wa enna mishiemtetsre’sle + ΟΡ 
PE OMIA Y-CVOAMD sis5. 025... cfc cig os 6 4 ποῖ οὐριδιο see 556 
LTT SEE AAC OUR δον κα REE HOAUC COMO SATE 
Song of the Poco-curante Society......... 557 
Anne Boleyn. Translation from the met- 
rical “ Histoire d’Anne Boleyn”’....... 657 


The Dream of the Two Sisters. From 


Sovereign Woman. A Ballad............ 558 
Come play me that simple Air again. A 


Ballad csi ikon solaneauecictonteeieeeen 558. 
THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 
Breface σὰ ΟΣ ἔπ σας ας, Ἐπ ποτ τος . 559 
First Angel's Story.’ on... ον τες τ enol! 
Second Angel’s Story............sscse.-ee 565 
Third Angel's: Story. τος τος τος τ ΤΣ 577 
SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 
To Sir Hudson Lowe: «<i. seiesjsmles aac 581 
Amatory Colloquy between Bank and Goy- 
EINMENt. s c.jciace elev ἘΠ 581 
Dialogue between a Sovereign and a One 
Pound Note. ονς Στ τ τειν τς ee eee 582: 
An Expostulation to Lord King.......... 582 
The Sinking Fund ecried.................. 583. 
Ode to the Goddess Ceres. By Sir Th—m—s 
L—th—br—e =<. .2.2 a. te os ἘΣ 584 
A Hymn of Welcome after the Recess.... 685 
Memorabilia of Last Week............... 585. 
Allin the Family Way. A new Pastoral 
Ballads s,siseitic orf seis δ ee eee 
Ballad for the Cambridge Election........ 586 
Mr. Roger: Dodsworth=s:2-.s-iseileisie ace 587 
Copy of an Intercepted Dispatch. From 
his Excelleney Don Strepitoso Diabolo, 
Envoy Extraordinary to his Satanic 
Maj BLY: = == ἴθ jn'e.5/ctetaberoleletevero sieleyeinteeieite 587 
The Millennium. Suggested by the late 
Work of the Rev. Mr. Irv—ng “on 
Prophecy ”.... - ἘΠ (olslohinter tie  ροβ55..- 588 
whe Lhree Doctors oc. 10 i.e cic celeste 589 
Epitaph on a Tuft-hunter................ 590 
Θαοσίο ἃ: δύ ὁ εος τος ον εἶν δι ΕἸΣ ΕΣ 590 
News for Country Cousins................ 590 


A Vision. By the Author of Christabel.... 591 
The Petition of the Orangemen of Ireland. 592 
Cotton and Corn. A Dialogue............ 593: 
The Canonization of Saint B—tt—rw—rth. 593 
An Ineantation. Sung by the Bubble 
Spirits .c2s. ἀτός 504 
A Dream of Turtle. By Sir W. Curtis.. 695. 
The Donkey and his Panniers. A Fable.. 596 


Ode to the Sublime Porte..............see. 596. 
Corn and Catholies:.2..c5 «accesiemeecneeen 597 
A, Case of 1161: τον τ Se visieie ete ere ore 597 
Literary Advertisement...........ss00-: 598 
The Trish Slaw sieei~jeic a nsstey< onic Sateen 599, 
Ode'to, Ferdinand’. «02 aeccceeceee eee 600: 
Hat, Versns Wiptsia,c:0:sie10/e »:s nisi leloiniet ee eae 600: 


The Periwinkles and the Locusts. A Sal- 
magundian Hymmn........sseseeceeses 6OL 

New Creation of Peers. Batch the First.. 602 

Speech on the Umbrella Question. By 


Tord Hld—ni: s 2/5) tj.0 πεν πο ΣΝ 603 
A Pastoral Ballad. By John Bull........ 603 
A late Scene at Swanage.........-..+.s00e 604 
WO! Wi!) s τον τον κὸν κοὶς blero armveleie rater eae 604 
out pour la Dripe: stccis,.isieivise see eee 605 
FEMI GMA. “Ὁ 5.010 οἷς 010. aseiclelelsio/atdenice gee ἢ 605 
Dog-day Reflections. By a Dandy kept in 

ROW ἐκ ριυ σπου, -- 606 
The “ Living Dog” and the ‘‘ Dead Lion.” 607 
Ode to Don tripe ον ον jm οὐοίείο ν᾽ ἀν ΣΤ 607 
Thoughts on the present Government of 

ΙΓ ΠγΠΠΠ|Π5. 608 


The Limbo of lost Reputations. A Dream. 


608 
DANY EG Crate selelVetalniat sie bis)vix τ δὴ ato ον oleieialemts 598 1 How to Write by Proxy......sscsseeseese 602 


CONTENTS. 15 
ne 
PAGE PAGE 
Imitation of the Inferno of Dante......... 610 | Cocker on Church Reform. Founded upon 
‘Lament for the Loss of Lord B—th—st’s some late Calculations..........---.++ [44 
Tail. τών ὦ. πον ties wisiefeleinunwieme ers 611 | Les Hommes Automates...........+-+5-+- 644 
‘The Cherries. A Parable............-.-. 612 | How to make One’s Self a Peer, According 


‘Stanzas written in Anticipation of Defeat. 612 
Ode to the Woods and Forests. By one of 
the Βοαχᾷ. ..... «Ὁ δ. νν ἐν. κο. ἀπο τ πτο εν 613 


Stanzus from the Banks of the Shannon.... 613 
PONGPATNUAL PIU. \ vciisieiesiee cs selec ce clocieicee 614 
“Tf” and *Perhaps”’........-sseeeeeeee 615 
Write on, Write on. A Ballad.......... 615 
Song of the Departing Spirit of Tithe..... 616 
"The Euthanasia of Van........-.eeeeseeee 617 
To the Reverend ——. One of the six- 

teen Reguisitionists of Nottingham.... 617 
Trish Antiquities Ἐν Baines ademadeade 618 
SAGGUTIOUS HACE. << cc cc cc νόον σσσοροκ ον. 55» 618 
New-fashioned Echoes..........-+++++++- 619 
Incantation. From the New Tragedy of 

“The Brunswickers ”’........-+.-+++- 620 
How to makea good Politician........--. 620 
Epistle of Condolence. From a Slave Lord 

PO OOPLOI ΓΙΌΣ τον εκ ον τειν 5. ὁ δ᾽οἶ κεν 621 
The Ghost of Miltiades.............+..--- 621 


Alarming Intelligence—Revolution in the 


Dictionary—One Galt at the Head ofit. 622 
Resolutions passed at a late Meeting of 
Reverends and Right Reverends...... 623 
Sir Andrew’s Dream...........-.seseeee. 624 
A Blue Love Song. To Miss —........ 625 
Sunday Ethics. A Scotch Ode.........-. 625 
Ἀν τ νοι © cle cool ceed c ace st σοσον ον eae 625 
The Numbering of the Clergy. Parody 
on Sir Charles Han. Williams’ famous 
UIT SAS, AER BRED DOOD IORIIC OD OOO COC σον ον 626 
ΓΑ CORCE RSA Spa C τον τιον οῖν στιν ϑεδοινι ον» ἐς 626 
A Dream of Hindostan....-.-....+++++-5+ 627 
"The Brunswick Club.........00-s2-cceers 628 
Proposals for a Gynecocracy. Addressed 
toa late Radical Meeting..........-- 628 
Lord H—nl—y and St. Cecilia............ 629 
SAUVETHISGMEONE. ὁ ς τς το τον κοῖς δοιοῖς οἷο ον Ὁ ρο ον. 629 
ΑΗ ΠΡ τ τ ονο τ... cele es ΡΟΝ σον τ 630 
The Dance of Bishops; or, The Episcopal 
Quadrille. A Dream........+-++++++- 630 
Dick* ***. A Character..............-. 631 


A Corrected Report of some late Speeches. 632 


Moral Positions. A Dream.............. 633 
The Mad ory and the Comet. Founded 

on alate Distressing Incident.... .... 633 
From the Hon. Henry —— to Lady 

PES TN ET δἰ Ἐπ τς ΤῈ τής σπῖτι κίων aleve veisielelerels ofa 634 
‘Triumph of Bigotry.....-.-.-....-...+--- 635 
Translation from the Gull Language...... 635 
Notions on Reform. By a Modern Re- 

HO) TIC NS nM RAS SOOABHOOODOOUGO oriscese 636 
DRONVM RICO ΙΑ sitiseissieic.cccciela ce te cs ee cies 637 
St. Jerome on Earth. First Visit....... 637 
St. Jerome on Earth. Second Visit....... 638 
Thoughts on Tar-barrels (Vide Descrip- 

BIOD OF BILAL ΗΘ θ}.."ς cle cocina ac cecccless 639 
BRE COMB CALION( τ. vice οὐδίσον λον csc tes ciee's 649 


To the Rev. Ch—rl—s Ov—rt—n, Curate of 


PEST SRI CE RIDE tutte Aasstove chtelece cist cleeaes 640 
Scene from a Play, acted at Oxford, called 

ΕΠ ΒΟ τος. sic clelcts a'viccgiels * ajo\0 641 
ΝΠ ΒΗΘ. τς τον ADCO OE HEROROIaCOOOr 641 | 
Fool's Paradise. Dream the First........ 642 
The Rector and his Curate; or, One Pound 

εν τ ‘ofdreel vieldicie's cies sate 643 
Paddy’s Metamorphosis........eeeeeceeee 643 


to the newest Receipt, as disclosed in a 


late Heraldic Work...........--+seeees 645 
The Duke is the Lad.........-scesceseees 645 
Epistle from Erasmus on Earth to Cicero 

in the Shades... <2... 0.0.scc cevcsancse 646 


Lines on the Departure of Lords C—st— 

r—gh and St—w—rt forthe Continent. 647 

To the Behe in which Lord C—st—r—gh 
0 


sailed for the Continent............... 648 
Sketch of the First Act of anew Romantic 

TD VAM Geis τοῖς οὐ τα αν οτος ofeiolnia wlbloinjele/elaferels 648 
Animal Magnetism... <2... ccccccsewcese ne 649 
The Song of the Box.............--se+-s- 650 
Announcement of a new Thalaba. Ad- 

dressed to Robert Southey, Esq.....-. 651 
Rival Topies. An Extravaganza......... €52 
The Boy Statesman. By a Tory......... 652 
Letter from Larry O’Branigan to the Rey. 

Murtagh O'Mulligan..............--- 653 
Musings of an Unreformed Peer.......... 653 
The Reverend Pamphleteer. A Romantic 

Balladincncccces ccm ccavece ice aa σέο τς 6 
A Recent Dialogue. .......-+-.0.-eeeeeeee 
The Wellington Spa.........+..- 
AVOHaracteran.. cece per acals sols ciowicieele'siee 
A Ghost Story.... 2 .cscccccsccececnnccece 


Thoughts on the late destructive Proposi- 
tions of the Tories. By a Common 


Councilman τος ον τος κοι στον -.-- 656 
Anticipated Meeting of the British Asso- 

ciation in the year 2836..........++.+. 657 
Songs of the Church. No. I........-..+.- 638 
Epistle from Henry of Ex—t—r to John of 

EDT ἔτος τον. eeiava/aiaistwtateielcleleetalere ome 659 
Song of Old ΠΟΙ". Se. νος τε: denn le 660 
Police Reports. Case of Imposture....... 660 
Reflections. Addressed to the Author of 


the Article of the Church, in the last 
Number of the Quarterly Review..... 661 
New Grand Exhibition of Models of the 


two Houses of Parliament............ 662 
Announcement of a new grand Accelera- 

tion Company for the Promotion of the 

Speed of Literature..............+++- 663 
Some Account of the late Dinner to Dan.. 664 
New Hospital for Sick Literati.........-.- 664 
Religion and Trade. ...-.-..++++ee-eeee res 665 
Musings, su gested by the late Promotion 


of Mrs. Nethercoat.........-.. ..2+0+ 665 
Intended Tribute to the Author of an Ar- 

ticle inthe last Number of the Quar- 

terly Review, entitled, “‘ Romanism in 


ΤΙ rescnc doe wnes νεών τος τ» ΒΕ 666 
Grand Dinner of Type and Co. A poor 
Poet's Dream......++.sescecceeeeeees 667 
Church Extension... ...-s.ccsescsssvccees 668 
Latest Accounts from Olympus........-+- 669 
The Triumphs of Farce........-.+.++++++ 669 
Thoughts on Patrons, Puffs and other Mat- 
ters. In an Epistle from T. M. toS. 
Rieicie wie οἵων ὁ οἷς nta's falera eis oeretonaie wiaiate ratte setae 670 
Thoughts on Mischief. By Lord St—nl—y 
(His first Attempt in Verse).......... 671 
Epistle from Captain Rock to Lord L— 
NAH—te.. oe τς χες πὸ τ τε dee Coen τὸ τευ One 
Captain Rock in London. Letter from the 
Captain to Terry Alt, Esq............ 673 


10 CONTENTS. 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


BEING A SEQUEL TO THE ‘‘ FUDGE FAMILY IN 
PARIS.” 


IDTOMCO slpicteie Balser ciors niin eam meine oe Saisie 674 
Letter I. From Patrick Magan, Esq., to 
the Rev. Richard ——, Curate of —, 

Le LAN Clee το iol viet einatslosteiake cinteisiciaiays 674 
Letter II. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to 

Mrs. Elizabeth —— .............0000- 676 
Letter ΠΤ. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to 
her cousin, Miss Kitty ——. Stanzas 
(enclosed) tomy Shadow; or, Why ?— 


WV ΠΗ 45: ΓΟ τυ δ πεν απ o's scare ave ccidlalaisie 678 
LetterIV. From Patrick Magan, Esq., 
to the Rev. Richard -— ............. 681 


Letter V. From Larry O’Branigan, in 
England, to his wife Judy, at Mullina- 
TG Sc ἘΝ ΠῚ ὙΠ Gdesbo soo Banden A 682 
Letter VI. From Miss Biddy Fudge, to 
Mrs. Elizabeth ——— ..cccerseees eeeee 684 


PAGE 
Letter VII. From Miss Fanny Fudge, to 
her cousin, Miss Kitty ——. Irregular 


Οαδις. Een sian: τατον κε ae eee 687 
Letter VIII. From Bob Fudge, Esq., to 

the Rey. Mortimer O’Mulligan..... .... 689 
Letter IX. From Larry O’Branigan to 

his wife: Judy. .22 s::. <1 occn eee 690 ~ 
Letter X. From the Rev. Mortimer 

O’Mulligan, to the Rev. — ......... 692 
Letter XI. From Patrick Magan, Esq., 

to the Rey. Richard — ............. 694 
SONGS FroM M. P.; or, THE BLUE 

STOCKING. 

NOM PS cicle nie cisislele re ἘΣ ΣΕ 695, 696 
Boat Glee. ici τος τῶν τιν aeiainlelemrayelereiet= etetetaeate 696 
Cupid's Lottery 3.\.7;- τον οτος 696 
St) aR ΤΡ Ή HoorOnae ba π᾿|.0........ 696 


THE EPICUREAN: A TALE........... 697 
ALCIPHRON: A FRAGMENT..... ...-.. 772 


i eee 


PREF 


ACES 


TO 


THE COLLECTED EDIT 


PUBLISHED 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


FIRST VOLUME. 


FINDING it to be the wish of my Pub- 
lishers that at least the earlier volumes 
of this collection should each be accom- 
panied by some prefatory matter, illus- 
trating, by a few biographical memo- 
randa, the progress of my humble liter- 
ary career, I have consented, though 
not, | confess, without some scruple and 
hesitation, to comply with their request. 
In no country is there so much curios- 
ity felt respecting the interior of the 
lives of public men as in England ; but, 
on the other hand, in no country is he 
who ventures to tell his own story so 
little safe from the imputation of van- 
ity and self-display. 

The whole of the poems contained in 
the first, as well as in the greater part of 
the second volume of this collection 
were written between the sixteenth and 
the twenty-third year of the author’s 
age. But I had begun still earlier, not 
only to rhyme but to publish. A sonnet 
to my schoolmaster, Mr. Samuel Whyte, 
written in my fourteenth year, appeared 
at the time in a Dublin magazine, called 
the Anthologia,—the first, and, I fear, 
almost only, creditable attempt in peri- 
odical literature of which Ireland has to 
boast. I had even at an earlier period 
(1793) sent to this magazine two short 
pieces of verse, prefaced by a note to the 
editor, requesting the insertion of the 


ION OF TEN VOLUMES, 


IN 1841, 1842. 


| “following attempts of a youthful muse;” 
and the fear and trembling with which 
I ventured upon this step were agreea- 
bly dispelled, not only by the appear- 
ance of the contributions, but still more 
by my finding myself, a few months’ 
after, hailed as ‘“ Our esteemed corre- 
spondent, T. M.”’ 

It was in the pages of this publica- 
tion,—where the whole of the poem was 
extracted,—that I first met with the 
Pleasures of Memory; and to this day, 
when I open the volume of the Antho- 
logia which contains it, the very form of 
the type and color of the paper brings 
back vividly to my mind the delight 
with which I first read that poem. 

My schoolmaster, Mr. Whyte, though 
amusingly vain, was a good and kind- 
hearted man ; and, as a teacher of pub- 
lic reading and elocution, had long en- 
joyed considerable reputation. Nearl 
thirty years before I became his pupil, 
Richard Brinsley Sheridan, then about 
eight or nine years of age, had been 
placed by Mrs. Sheridan under his care ;* 
and, strange to say, was, after about a 
year’s trial, pronounced, both by tutor 
and parent, to be ‘an _ incorrigible 
dunce.’? Among those who took les- 
sons from him as private pupils were sev- 
eral young ladies of rank, belonging to 
some of those great Irish families who 
still continued to lend to Ireland the en- 
livening influence of their presence, and 

*Some confused notion of this fact has led 
the writer of a Memoir prefixed to the “ Pocket 
Edition τ of my Poems, printed at Zwickau, to 
state that Brinsley Sheridan was my tutor !— 


“ Great attention was paid to his education by 
} his tutor, Sheridan.” 


18 


made their country-seats, through a 
great part of the year, the scenes of re- 
fined as well as hospitable festivity. The 
Miss Montgomerys, to whose rare beauty 
the pencil of Sir Joshua has given im- 
mortality, were among those whom my 
worthy preceptor most boasted of as pu- 
pils ; and his description of them, I re- 
member, long haunted my boyish imag- 
ination, as though they were not earthly 
women, but some spiritual ‘creatures 
of the element.” 

About thirty or forty years before the 
period of which I am speaking, aneager 
taste for privato theatrical performances 
had sprung up among the higher ranks 
of society in Ireland; and at Carton, the 
seat of the Duke of Leinster, at Castle- 
town, Marley, and other great houses, 
private plays were got up, of which, in 
most instances, the superintendence was 
intrusted to Mr. Whyte, and in general 
the prologue, or the epilogue, contributed 
by his pen. At Marley, the seat of the 
Liatouches, where the Masque of Comus 
was performed in the year 1776, while 
my old master supplied the prologue, no 
less distinguished a hand than that of 
our “evyer-glorious Grattan,”* furnished 
the epilogue. This relic of his pen, too, 
isthe more memorable, as being, I be- 
lieve, the only poetical composition he 
was ever known to produce. 

At the time when I first began to at- 
tend his school, Mr. Whyte still con- 
tinued, to the no small alarm of many 
parents, to encourage a taste for acting 
among his pupils. In this line I was 
long his favorite show-scholar; and 
among the play-bills introduced in his 
volume, to illustrate the occasions of his 
own prologues and epilogues, there is 
one of a play got up inthe year 1790, 
at Lady Borrowes’s private theatre in 
Dublin, where, among the items of the 
evening’s entertainment, is ‘‘An Epi- 
logue, A Squeeze to St. Paul's, Master 
Moore.” 

With acting, indeed, is associated the 
very first attempts at verse-making to 
which my memory enables me to plead 
guilty. It was at a period, I think, even 
earlier than the date last mentioned, 


* Byron. 


PREFACE. 


that, while passing the summer holidays 
with a number of other young people, 
at one of those bathing-places, in the 
neighborhood of Dublin, which afford 
such fresh and healthful retreats to its 
inhabitants, it was proposed among us 
that we should combine together in 
some theatrical performance ; and the 
Poor Soldier and a Harlequin Panto- 
mime being the entertainments agreed 
upon, the parts of Patrick and the 
Motley hero fell to my share. I was 
also encouraged to write and recite an 
appropriate epilogue on the occasion; 
and the following lines, alluding to our 
speedy return to school, and remarkable 
only for their having lived so long in my 
memory, formed part of this juvenile 
effort : 


Onur Pantaloon, who did so aged look, 

Must now resume his youth, his task, his book : 

Our Harlequin, who skipp'd, laugh’d, danced 
and died, 

Must Low stand trembling by his master’s 
side. 


I have thus been led back, step by 
step, from an early date to one still ear- 
lier, with the view of ascertaining, for 
those who take any interest in literary 
biography, at what period I first showed 
an aptitude for the now common craft 
of verse-making; and the result is—so 
far back in childhood lies the epoch— 
that I am really unable to say at what 
age I first began to act, sing and rhyme. 

To these different talents, such as they 
were, the gay and social habits prevail- 
ing in Dublin afforded frequent oppor- 
tunities of display; while, at home, a 
most amiable father, and a mother such 
as in heart and head has rarely been 
equalled, furnished me with that purest 
stimulus to exertion—the desire to please 
those whom we, at once, most love and 
most respect. It was, I think, a year 
or two after my entrance into college, 
that a masque written by myself, and of 
which I had adapted one of the songs 
to the air of Haydn’s Spirit-Song, was 
acted, under our own humble roof in 
Aungier street, by my elder sister, my- 
self, and one or two other young per- 
sons. The little drawing-room over the 
shop was our grand place of representa- 
tion, and young ——, now an eminent 


PREFACE. 


rofessor of music in Dublin, enacted 
‘or us the part of orchestra at the piano- 
forte. ; 

It will be seen from all this, that, 


however imprudent and premature was) 


my first appearance in the London world 


as an author, it is only lucky that I had | 


not much earlier assumed that responsi- 
ble character; in which case the public 
would probably have treated my nursery 
productions in much the same manner 
in which that sensible critic, my Uncle 
Toby, would have disposed of the “work 
which the great Lipsius produced on the 
day he was born.” 

While thus the turn I had so early 
shown for rhyme and song was, by the 
gay and sociable circle in which I lived, 
called so encouragingly into play, a far 
deeper feeling—and, I should hope, 
power—was at the same time awakened 
in me by the mighty change then work- 
ing in the political aspect of Europe, and 
the stirring influence it had begun to 
exercise on the spirit and hopes of Ire- 
land. Born of Catholic parents, I had 
come into the world with the slave’s 
yoke around my neck; and it was all in 
vain that the fond ambition of a mother 
looked forward to the Bar as opening a 
career that might lead her son to honor 
and affluence. Against the young Papist 
all such avenues to distinction were 
closed ; and even the University, the pro- 
fessed source of public education, was to 
him ‘‘a fountain sealed.’’ Can any one 
now wonder that a people thus wronged 


and trampled upon should have hailed | 


the first dazzling outbreak of the French 
Revolution as a signal to the slave, 
wherever suffering, that the day of his 
deliverance wasnearathand. I remem- 
ber being taken by my father (1792) to 
one of the dinners given in honor of that 
great event, and sitting upon the knee of 
the chairman while the following toast 
was enthusiastically sent round :—‘‘ May 
the breezes from France fan our Irish 
Oak into verdure.” 

In a few months after was passed the 
memorable Act of 1793, sweeping away 
some of the most monstrous of the 
remaining sanctions of the penal code ; 
and I was myself among the first of the 


19 


to avail themselves of the new privilege 
of being educated in their country’s Uni- 
versity,—though still excluded from all 
share in those college honors and emolu- 
ments by which the ambition of the 

ouths of the ascendant class was stimu- 
ated and rewarded. As I well knew 
that, next to my attaining some of these 
distinctions, my showing that I deserved 
to attain them would most gratify my 
anxious mother, I entered as candidate 
for a scholarship, and (as far as the result 
of the examination went) successfully. 
But, of course, the mere barren credit 
of the effort was all I enjoyed for my 
pains. 

It was in this year, (1794,) or about 
the beginning of the next, that I remem- 
ber having, for the first time, tried 
my hand at political satire. In their 
very worst times of slavery and suffering, 
the happy disposition of my countrymen 
had kept their cheerfulness still un- 
broken and buoyant; and, at the period 
of which I am speaking, the hope of a 
brighter day dawning upon Ireland had 
given to the society of the middle classes 
in Dublin a more than usual flow of 
hilarity and life. Among other gay 
results of this festive spirit, a club, or 
society, was instituted by some of our 
most convivial citizens, one of whose ob- 
jects was to burlesque, good-humoredly, 
the forms and pomps of royalty. With 
this view they established a sort of mock 
kingdom, of which Dalkey, a small 
island near Dublin, was made the seat, 
and an eminent pawnbroker, named 
Stephen Armitage, much renowned for 
his agreeable singing, was the chosen 
and popular monarch. 

Before public affairs had become too 
serious for such pastime, it was usual to 
celebrate, yearly, at Dalkey, the day of 
this sovereign’s accession; and, among 
the gay scenes that still live inmy mem- 
ory, there are few it recalls with more 
freshness than the celebration, on a fine 
Sunday in summer, of one of these ani- 
versaries of King Stephen’s coronation. 
The picturesque sea-views from that spot, 
the gay crowds along the shores, the in- 
numerable boats, full of life, floating 
about, and, above all, that true spirit 


young Helots of the land, who hastened | of mirth which the Irish temperament 


20 


never fails to lend to such meetings, ren- 
dered the whole a scene not easily for- 
gotten. The state ceremonies of the day 
were performed, with all due gravity, 
within the ruins of an ancient church 
that stands on the island, where his mock 
majesty bestowed the order of knight- 
hood upon certain favored personages, 
and among others, I recollect, upon 
Incledon, the celebrated singer, who 
arose from under the touch of the royal 
sword with the appropriate title of Sir 
Charles Melody. There was also se- 


lected, for the favors of the crown on) 


that day, a lady of no ordinary poetic 
talent, Mrs. Battier, who had gained 
much fame by some spirited satires in 
the manner of Churchill, and whose kind 
encouragement of my early attempts in 
versification were to me a source of 
much pride. This lady, as was officially 
announced in the course of the day, had 
been appointed his majesty’s poetess 
laureate, under the style and title of 
Henrietta, Countess of Laurel. 

There could hardly have been devised 
an apter vehicle for lively political sat- 
ire than this gay trayesty of monarchical 
power, and its showy appurtenances, so 
temptingly supplied. The very day, in- 
deed, after this commemoration, there 
appeared, in the Dalkey state-gazette, 
an amusing proclamation from the king, 
offering a large reward, in cronebanes,* 
to the finder or finders of his majesty’s 
crown, which, owing to his ‘having 
measured both sides of the road” in his 
‘pedestrian progress on the preceding 
night, had unluckily fallen from the 
royal brow. 

It is not to be wondered at, that what- 
ever natural turn I may have possessed 
for the lighter skirmishing of satire 
should have been called into play by so 
pleasant a field for its exercise as the 
state affairs of the Dalkey kingdom 
afforded; and, accordingly, my first 
attempt in this line was an Ode to his 
Majesty, King Stephen, contrasting the 
happy state of security in which he lived 
among his merry lieg*s, with the ‘‘ metal 
coach,’’ and other such precautions 
against mob violence, which were said 
to have been adopted at that time by 

* Trish halfpence, so-called. 


his royal brother of England. 


PRUFACK. 


Some 
portions of this juvenile squib still live 
in my memory; but they fall far too 
short of the lively demands of the sub- 
ject to be worth preserving, even as 
juvenilia. 
In college, the first circumstance that 
drew any attention to my rhyming 
powers was my giving in a theme, in 
English verse, at one of the quarterly ex- 
aminations. As the sort of short essays 
required on those occasions were con- 
sidered, in general, as a mere matter of 
form, and were written, invariably, I 
believe, in Latin prose, the appearance 
of a theme in English verse could hardly 
fail to attract some notice. It was, 
therefore, with no small anxiety that, 
when the moment for judging of the 
themes arrived, I saw the exammers of 
the different divisions assemble, as 
usual, at the bottom of the hall for that 
purpose. Still more trying was it when 
I perceived that the reverend inquisitor, 
in whose hands was my fate, had left 
the rest of the awful group, and was 
bending his steps towards the table 
where I was seated. Leaning across to 
me, he asked suspiciously, whether the 
verses which I had just given him were 
my own; and, on my answering in the af- 
firmative, added these cheering words, 
“They do you great credit; and I shall 
not fail to recommend them to the notice 
of the Board.”? This result of a step, 
ventured upon with some little fear and 
scruple, was of course very gratifying 
to me; and the premium 1 received 
from the Board was a well-bound copy 
of the Travels of Anacharsis, together 
with a certificate, stating, in not very 


lofty Latin, that this reward had been 


conferred upon me, “ propter laudabilem 
in versibus componendis progressum.”’ 
The idea of attempting a version of 
some of the Songs or Odes of Anacreon 
had very early occurred to me; and a 
specimen of my first ventures in this un- 
dertaking may be found in the Dublin 
Magazine already referred to, where, in 
the number of that work for February, 
1794, appeared a “ Paraphrase of Ana- 
creon’s Fifth Ode, by T. Moore.” As it 
may not be uninteresting to future and 
better translators of the poet to compare 


PREFACE. 


21 


this schoolboy experiment with my later | 


and more labored version of the same 
ode, I shall here extract the specimen 
found in the Anthologia :— 


*‘Let us, with the clustering vine, 
The rose, Love's blushing flower, entwine. 
Faney’s hand our chaplets wreathing, 
Vernal sweets around us breathing, 
We'll gayly drink, full goblets ΠΛΕΊΩΝ 
At frighted Care securely laughing. 


**Rose! tlfou balmy scented flower, 
Rear’d by Spring’s most fostering power, 
Thy dewy nC opening bright, 

To gods themselves can give delight ; 

And Cypria’s child, with roses erown'd, 

Trips with each Grace the mazy round. 
“Bind my brows,— I'll tune the lyre, 

Love my rapturous strains shall fire, 

Near Bacchus’ grape-encircled shrine, 

While roses fresh my brows entwine, 

Led by the winged train of Pleasures, 

I'll dance with nymphs tosportive measures.” 


In pursuing further this light task, the 
only object I had for some time in view 
was to lay before the Board a select 
number of the odes I had then trans- 
lated, with a hope,—suggested by the 
kind encouragement I had already re- 
ceived,—that they might be considered 


as deserving of some honor or reward. | 


Having experienced much hospitable 
attention from Dr. Kearney, one of the 
senior fellows,* a man of most amiable 
character, as well as of refined scholar- 
ship, I submitted to his perusal the man- 


uscript of my translation as far as it had 


then proceeded, and requested his ad- 


vice respecting my intention of laying it. 
before the Board. On this latter point | 
his opinion was such as, with a little | 


more thought, I might have anticipated, 
namely, that he did not see how the 


Board of the University could lend their | 


_ sanction, by any public reward, to writ- 


ings so convivial and amatory as were | 


almost all those of Anacreon. He very 
good-naturedly, however, lauded my 
translation, and advised me to complete 
and publish it; adding, I well recollect, 
“young people will like it.’ I was 
also indebted to him for the use, during 
my task, of Spaletti’s curious publica- 


tion, giving a facsimile of those pages of. 


* Appointed Provost of the University in the 
year 1799 and made afterwards Bishop of Os- 
sory. 


a MS. in the Vatican Library which con- 
tain the Odes, or ‘‘ Symposiaes,” attrib- 
uted to Anacreon.t And here I shall 
venture to add a few passing words ona 
point which I once should haye thought 
a profanation to question,—the authen- 
ticity of these poems. ‘The cry raised 
against their genuineness by Robertel- 
lus and other enemies of Henry Stephen, 
when that eminent scholar first intro- 
duced them to the learned world, may 
be thought to have long since entirely 
subsided, leaving their claim to so an- 
cient a paternity safe and unquestioned. 
But I am forced, however reluctantly, 
to confess that there appear to me strong 
grounds for pronouncing these light and 
beautiful lyrics to be merely modern fab- 
rications. Some of the reasons that in- 
cline me to adopt this unwelcome con- 
clusion are thus clearly stated by the 
same able scholar, to whom I am in- 
debted for the emendations of my own 
| juvenile Greek ode:—‘‘I do not see 
how it is possible, if Amnacreon had 
written chiefly in lambic dimeter verse, 
that Horace should have wholly neg- 
lected that metre. I may add that, of 
those fragments of Anacreon, of whose 
genuineness, from internal evidence, 
there can be no doubt, almost all are 
written in one or other of the lighter Ho- 
ratian metres, and scarcely one in Jam- 
bic dimeter verse. This may be seen 
by looking through the list in Fischer.” 

The unskilful attempt at Greek verse 
from my own pen, which is found pre- 
fixed to the Translation, was intended 
originally to illustrate a picture, repre- 
senting Anacreon conversing with the 


+t When the monument to Provost Baldwin, 
which stands in the hall of the College of Dub- 
lin, arrived from Italy, there came in the same 
packing case with it two copies of this work of 
Spaletti, one of which was presented by Dr. 
| Troy, the Roman Catholic Archbishop, as a 
gift fromthe Pope to the Library of the Univer- 
sity, and the other (of which I was subsequently 
| favored with the use) he presented, in like man 
ner, to my friend, Dr. Kearney. Thus, curi- 
ously enough, while Anacreon in English was 
considered—and, I grant, on no unreasonable 
grounds—as a work to which grave collegiate 
authorities could not openly lend their sanc- 
| tion, Anaereon in Greek was thought no untit- 
| ting present to be received by a Protestant 
bishop, through the medium of a Catholic areh- 
| bishop, from the hands of his holiness, the Pope. 


22 


Goddess of Wisdom, from which the 
frontispiece to the first edition of the 
work was taken. Had I been brought 
up with a due fear of the laws of prosody 
before my eyes, I certainly should not 
have dared to submit so untutored 
au production to the criticism of the 
trained prosodians of the English schools. 
At the same time, I cannot help adding 
that, as far as music, distinct from 
metre, is concerned, I am much inclined 
to prefer the ode as originally written to 
its present corrected shape; and that, at 
all events, I entertain but very little 
doubt as to which of the two a composer 
would most willingly set to music. 

Tor the means of collecting the mate- 
rials of the notes appended to the Trans- 
lation,-I was chiefly indebted to the old 
library adjoining St. Patrick’s Cathedral, 
called, from the name of the archbishop 
who founded it, Marsh’s_ Library. 
Through my acquaintance with the 
deputy librarian, the Rey. Mr. Cradock, 
I enjoyed the privilege of constant access 
to this collection, even at that period of 
the year when it is always closed to the 

ublic. On these occasions I used to be 
ocked in there alone; and to the many 
solitary hours which, both at the time. 
am now speaking of and subsequently, 1 
passed in hunting through the dusty 
tomes of this old library, 1 owe much of 
that odd and out-of-the-way sort of 
reading which may be found scattered 
through some of my earlier writings. 

Barly in the year 1799, while yet in 
my nineteenth year, I left Ireland for the 
first time, and proceeded to London, 
with the two not very congenial objects 
of keeping my terms at the Middle Tem- 
ple, and publishing, by subscription, my 
Translation of Anacreon. One of those 
persons to whom, through the active 
zeal of friends, some part of my manu- 
script had been submitted before it went 
to press, was Doctor Laurence, the able 
friend of Burke; and, as an instance, 
however slight, of that ready variety 
of learning—as well the lightest as the 
most solid—for which Laurence was so 
remarkable, the following extract from 
the letter written by him, in returning 
the manuscript to my friend, Dr. Hume, 
may not be without some interest :— 


PREFACE. 


“Dec. 20, 1799. 

“T return you the four odes which you 
were so kind to communicate for my 
poor opinion. They are, in many parts, 
very elegant and poetical; and, in some 
passages, Mr. Moore has added a pretty 
turn not to be found in the original. To 
confess the truth, however, they are, in 
not a few places, rather more paraphras- 
tical than suits my notion (perhaps an 
incorrect notion) of translation. * 

“Tn the fifty-third ode there is, in my 
judgment, a no less sound than beautiful 
emendation suggested—would you sup- 
pose it?—by a Dutch lawyer. Mr. M. . 
possibly may not be aware of it. Ihave 
endeavored to express the sense of it in 
a couplet interlined with pencil. Will 
you allow me to add, that I am not cer- 
tain whether the translation has not 
missed the meaning, too, in the former 
part of that passage which seems to me 
to intend a distinction and climax of 
pleasure :—‘ It is sweet even to prove it 
among the briery paths; itis sweet 
again, plucking, to cherish with tender 
hands, and carry to the fair, the flower 
of love.’ This is nearly literal, including 
the conjectural correction of Mynheer 
Medenbach. If this be right, instead of 


‘Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,’ 


I would propose something to this ef- 
fect :— 

Tis sweet the rich perfume to prove, 

As by the dewy bush you rove ; 

Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 

To cull the timid beauty thence, 

To wipe with tender hands away 

The tears that on its blushes lay ;* 

Then, to the bosom of the fair, 

The flower of love in triumph bear. 


“T would drop altogether the image 
of the stems ‘dropping with gems.’ I 
believe it is a confused and false meta- 
phor, unless the painter should take the 
figure of Aurora from Mrs. Hastings. 

‘There is another emendation of the 
same critic, in the following line, which 
Mr. M. may seem, by accident, to haye 
sufficiently expressed in the phrase of 
‘roses shed their light.’ 

*Query, if it ought not to be lie? The line 
might run, 


With tender hand the tears to brush, | 
That give new softness toits blush (or, its flush.) 


PREFACE. 


“T scribble this in very great haste, | 
but fear that you and Mr. Moore will | 
find me too long, minute and imper- | 
tinent. Believe me to be, very sincerely, | 

“Your obedient, humble servant, 

“Ἐν, LAURENCE.” 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


SECOND VOLUME. 


THE Poems suggested tome by my 
visit to Bermuda, in the year 1803, as 
well as by the tour which I made sub- 
sequently, through some parts of North 
America, have been hitherto very in- 
judiciously arranged ;—any distinctive 
character they may possess having been 
disturbed and confused by their being 
mixed up not only with trifles of a much 
earlier date, but also with some portions 
of a classical story, in the form of Letters, 
which I had made some progress in 
before my departure from England. In 
the present edition, this awkward jumble 
has been remedied; and all the Poems 
relating to my Transatlantic voyage will 
be found classed by themselves. As, in 
like manner, the line of route by which 
I proceeded through some parts of the 
States and the Canadas has been left 
hitherto to be traced confusedly through 
a few detached notes, I have thought 
that, to future readers of these poems, 
some clearer account of the course of 
that journey might not be unacceptable, | 
—together with such vestiges as may 


still linger in my memory of events now | 
fast fading into the background of time 
For the precise date of my departure 
from England, in the Phaeton frigate, I 
am indebted to the Naval Recollections 
of Captain Scott, then a midshipman of | 
that ship. ‘* We were soon ready,”’ says 
this gentleman, “for sea, and a few 
days saw Mr. Merry and suite embarked 
on board. Mr. Moore likewise took his 
passage with us on his way to Bermuda. 
We quitted Spithead on the 25th of Sep- 
tember, (1803,) and in a short week lay 
becalmed under the lofty peak of Pico. | 


23 


In this situation the Phaeton is depicted 

in the frontispiece of Moore’s Poems.” 
During the voyage I dined very fre- 

quently with the officers of the gun- 


|room; and it was not a little gratifying 


to me to learn, from this gentleman’s 
volume, that the cordial regard these 
social and open-hearted men inspired in 
me was not wholly unreturned on their 
part. After mentioning our arrival at 
Norfolk, in Virginia, Captain Scott says, 
“Mr. and Mrs. Merry left the Phaeton, 
under the usual salute, accompanied by 
Mr. Moore ;”—then, adding some kind 
compliments on the score of talents, &c., 
he concludes with a sentence which it 
gave me tenfold more pleasure to read,— 
“ The gun-room mess witnessed the day 
of his departure with genuine sorrow.” 
From Norfolk, after a stay of about ten 
days, under the hospitable roof of the 
British Consul, Colonel Hamilton, I pro- 
ceeded, in the Driver sloop of war, to 
Bermuda. 

There was then on that station another 
youthful sailor, who has since earned for 
himself a distinguished name amon 
English writers of travels, Captain Basi 
Hall,—then a midshipman on board the 
Leander. In his Fragments of Voyages 
and Travels, this writer has called up 
some agreeable reminiscences of that 
period; in perusing which,—so full of 
life and reality are his sketches,—I 
found all my own naval recollections 
brought freshly to my mind. The very 
names of the different ships, then so fa- 
miliar to my ears,—the Leander, the 
Boston, the Cambrian,—transported me 
back to the season of youth and those 
Summer Isles once more. 

The testimony borne by so competent 


a witness as Captain Hall to the truth of 


my sketches of the beautiful scenery of 
Bermuda is of far too much value to me, 


in my capacity of traveller, to be here 


omitted by me, however conscious of 
but ill deserving the praise he lavishes 
on me, asa poet. Not that I mean to 
pretend indifference to such kind trib- 
utes ;—on the contrary, those are always 
the most alive to praise, who feel in- 
wardly the least confidence in the sound- 
ness of their own title to it. In the pres- 
ent instance, however, my vanity (for so 


24 


this uneasy feeling is always called) 
seeks its food in a different direction. It 
is not as a poet [ invoke the aid of Cap- 
tain Hall’s opinion, but as a traveller 
and observer; it 1s not to my invention 
I ask him to bear testimony, but to my 
matter-of-fact. 

“The most pleasing and most exact 
description which I know of Bermuda,”’ 
says this gentleman, ‘is to be found in 
Moore’s Odes and Hpistles,. a work pub- 
lished many years ago. The reason why 
his account excels in beauty as well as 
in precision that of other men probably 
is. that the scenes described lie so much 
beyond the scope of ordinary observa- 
tion in colder climates, and the feelings 
which they excite in the beholder are so 
much higher than those produced by the 

‘scenery. we have been accustomed to 
look at, that, unless the imagination be 
deeply drawn upon, and the diction sus- 
tained at a correspondent pitch, the 
words alone strike the ear, while the lis- 
tener’s fancy remains where it was. In 
Moore’s account there is not only no ex- 
aggeration, but, on the contrary, a won- 
derful degree of temperance in the midst 
of a feast which to his rich fancy must 
have been peculiarly tempting. He has 
contrived by a magic peculiarly his own, 
yet without departing from the truth, 
to sketch what was before him with a 
fervor which those who hayeneyer been 
on the spot might well be excused for 
setting down as the sport of the poet’s 
inyention.””* 

How truly politic itis in a poet to con- 
nect his verse with well-known and in- 
teresting localities, —to wed his song to 
scenes already invested with fame, and 
thus lend it a chance of sharing the 
charm which encircles them,—I have 
myself, in more than one instance, very 
agreeably experienced. Among the 
memorials of this description, which, as 
I learn with pleasure and pride, still 
keep me remembered in some of those 
beautiful regions of the West which 1 
visited, Τ shall mention but one slight 
instance, as showing how potently the 
Genius of the Place may lend to song a 
life and imperishableness to which, in 

* Fragments of Voyages and Travels, vol. 1. 
chap Vi. 


PREFACE. 


itself, it boasts no claim or pretension. 
The following lines in one of my Ber- 
mudian poems, 

’T was there, in the shade of the Calabash Tree, 
With a few who could feel and remember like 

me, 

still live in memory, I am told, on those 
fairy shores, connecting my name with 
the picturesque spot they describe, and 
the noble old tree which I believe still 
adorns it.t One of the few treasures 
(of any kind) I can boast the possession 
of, is a goblet formed of one of the fruit- 
shells of thisremarkable tree, which was 
brought from Bermuda, a few years 
since, by Mr. Dudley Costello, and which 
that gentleman, having had it tastefully 
mounted as a goblet, very kindly pre- 
sented to me; the following words being 
part of the inscription which it bears :— 
“To Thomas Moore, Esq., this cup, 
formed of a calabash which grew on the 
tree that bears his name, near Walsing- 
ham, Bermuda, is inscribed by one who,” 
&e. &e. 

From Bermuda I proceeded in the 
Boston, with my friend Captain (now 
Admiral) J. E. Douglas, to New York, 
from whence, after a short stay, we sail- 
ed for Norfolk, in Virginia; and about 
the beginning of June, 1804, I set out 
from that city on a tour through part of 
the States. At Washington, I passed 
some days with the English minister, 
Mr. Merry; and was, by him, presented 
at the levee of the President, Jefferson, 
whom I found sitting with General Dear- 
born and one or two other officers, and 
in the same homely costume, comprising 
slippers and Connemara stockings, in 
which Mr. Merry had been received by 
him—much to that formal minister's 
horror—when waiting upon him, in full 
dress, to deliver his credentials. My 
single interview with this remarkable 
person was of very short duration; but 
to haye seen and spoken with the man 
who drew up the Declaration of Ameri- 
can Independence was an eyent not to 
be forgotten. 


+ A representation of this calabash, taken 
from a drawing of it made on the spot, by Dr. 
Savage of the Royal Artillery, has been intro- 
duced in the vignette prefixed to the second 
volume of the edition in ten volumes. 


PREFACE, 


20 


At Philadelphia, the society I was 
chiefly made acquainted with, and to 
which (as the verses addressed to “ Dela- 
ware’s green banks ” * sufliciently testi- 
fy) I was indebted for some of my most 
agreeable recollections of the United 
States, consisted entirely of persons of 
the Federalist or Anti- Democratic party. 
Few and transient, too, as had been my 
opportunities, of judging for myself of 
the political or social state of the coun- 
try, my mind was left open too much to 
the influence of the feelings and preju- 
dices of those I chiefly consorted with ; 
and, certainly, in no quarter was I so 
sure to find decided hostility, both to 
the men and the principles then domi- 
nant throughout the Union, as among 
officers of the British navy, and in the 
ranks of an angry Federalist opposition. 
For any bias, therefore, that, under such 
circumstances, my opinions and feelings 
may be thought to have received, ful! 
allowance, of course, is to be made in 
appraising the weight due to my authori- 
ty on the subject. AIlI can answer for, 
is the perfect sincerity and earnestness 
of the actual impressions, whether true 
or erroneous, under which my Epistles 
from the United States were written; 
and so strong, at the time, I confess, 
were those impressions, that it was the 
only period of my past life during which 
[have found myself at all skeptical as to 
the soundness of that Liberal creed of 
politics, in the profession and advyoca- 
ey of which I may be almost literally 
said to have begun life, and shall most 
probably end it. 

Reaching, for the second time, New 
York, I set out from thence on the now 
familiar and easy enterprise of visiting 
the Falls of Niagara. It is but too true 
of all grand objects, whether in nature 
or art, that facility of access to them 
much diminishes the feeling of reverence 
they ought to inspire. Of this fault, 
however, the route to Niagara, at that 

eriod—at least the portion of it which 

ed through the Genesee country—could 
not justly be accused. The latter part 
of the journey, which lay chiefly through 
yet but half-cleared wood, we were 


obliged to perform on foot ; and a slight 
accident I met with, in the course of 
our rugged walk, laid me up for some 
days at Buffalo. To the rapid growth, 
in that wonderful region, of, at least, the 
materials of civilization,—however ulti- 
mately they may be turned to account,— 
this flourishing town, which stands on 
Lake Erie, bears most ample testi- 
mony. Though little better, at the time 
when I visited it, than a mere village, 
consisting chiefly of huts and wigwams, 
it is now, by all accounts, a populous 
and splendid city, with five or six 
churches, town-hall, theatre, and other 
such appurtenances of a capital. 

In adverting to the comparatively rude 
state of Buffalo at that period, I should 
be ungrateful were I to omit mention- 
ing, that, even then, on the shores of 
those far lakes, the title of ‘ Poet,”— 
however unworthily in that instance be- 
stowed,—bespoke a kind and distin- 
guishing welcome for its wearer; and 
that the captain who commanded the 
packetin which I crossed Lake Ontario,t 
in addition to other marks of courtesy, 
begged, on parting with me, to be allow- 
ed to decline payment for my passage. 

When we arrived, at length, at the 
inn, in the neighborhood of the Falls, it 
was too late to think of visiting them 
that evening; and I lay awake almost 
the whole night with the sound of the 
cataract in my ears. The day following 
I consider as a sort of era in my life; 
and the first glimpse I caught of that 
wonderful cataract gave me a feeling 
which nothing in this world can ever 
awaken again. It was through an 
opening among the trees, as we ap- 
proached the spot where the full view 
of the Falls was to burst upon us, that 
IT caught this glimpse of the mighty 
mass of waters folding smoothly over 
the edge of the precipice ; and so over- 
whelming was the notion it gave me 
of the awful spectacle I was approach- 
ing, that, during the short interval that 
followed, imagination had far outrun the 

tThe Commodore of the Lakes, as he is 
styled. 

t The two first sentences of the above para- 
graph, as well as a passage that oceurs in the 


* See Epistle to Mr. W. R. Spencer, p. 188 of | subsequent column, stood originally as part of 


this edition. 


the Notes on one of the American Poems. 


20 


reality ; and, vast and wonderful as was 
the scene that then opened upon me, 
mny first feeling was that of disappoint- 
ment. It would have been impossible, 
indeed, for any thing real to come up to 
the vision I had, in these few seconds, 
formed of it; and those awful scriptural 
words, “The fountains of the great 
deep were broken up,” can alone give 
any notion of the vague wonders for 
which I was prepared. 

But, in spite of the start thus got by 
imagination, the triumph of reality was, 
in the end, but the greater; for the 
gradual glory of the scene that opened 
upon me soon took possession of my 
whole mind; presenting, from day to 
day, some new beauty or wonder, and, 
like all that is most sublime in nature 
or art, awakening sad as well as ele- 
vating thoughts. I retain in my mem- 
ory but one other dream—for such do 
events so long past appear—which can 
in any respect be associated with the 
grand vision I have just been describ- 
ing; aud, however different the nature 
of their appeals to the imagination, I 
should find it difficult to say on which 
occasion I felt most deeply affected, 
when looking on the Falls of Niagara, 
or when standing by moonlight among 
the ruins of the Coliseum. 

Some changes, I understand, inju- 
rious to the beauty of the scene, have 
taken place in the shape of the Falls 
since the time of my visit to them; and 
among these is the total disappearance, 
by the gradual crumbling away of the 
rock, of the small leafy island which 
then stood near the edge of the Great 
Fall, and whose tranquillity and un- 
approachableness, in the midst of so 
much turmoil, lent it an interest which 
I thus tried to avail myself of, in a Song 
of the Spirit of that region : *— 


There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just above the cataract’s edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began, 
Lone I sit at close. of day, &c. &e. 


Another characteristic feature of the 
vicinity of the Falls, which, I under- 
stand, no longer exists, was the inter- 


*Introduced in the Epistle to Lady Char- 
lotte Rawdon, p. 191 of this edition. 


PREFACE. 


a 


esting settlement. of the Tuscarora In- 
dians. With the’ gallant Brock, t who 
then commanded at Fort George, 1 
passed the greater part of my time dur- 
ing the few weeks I remained at 
Niagara: and a visit I paid to these 
Indians, in company with him and his 
brother officers, on his going to dis- 
tribute among them the customary pres- 
ents and prizes, was not the least curious 
of the many new scenes I witnessed. 
These people received us in all their an- 
cient costume. The young men exhib- 
ited for our amusement in the race, the 
bat-game, and other sports, while the old 
and the women sat in groups under the 
surrounding trees; and the whole scene 
was as picturesque and beautiful as it 
was new tome. It is said that West, 
the American painter, when he first saw 
the Apollo at Rome, exclaimed instant- 
ly, ‘‘ A young Indian warrior!”—and, 
howeyer startling the association may 
appear, some of the graceful and agile 
forms which I saw that day among the 
Tuscaroras were such as would account 
for its arising in the young painter’s 
mind. 

After crossing “the fresh-water 
ocean” of Ontario, I passed down the 
St. Lawrence to Montreal and Quebec, 
staying for a short time at each of these 
places; and this part of my journey, as 
well as my voyage on from Quebec to 
Halifax, is sufficiently traceable through _ 
the few pieces of poetry that were sug- 
gested to me by scenes and events on 
the way. And here I must again ven- 
ture to avail myself of the valuable tes- 
timony of Captain Hall to the truth of 
my descriptions of some of those scenes 
through which his more practised eye 
followed me ;—taking the liberty to omit 
in my extracts, as far as may be done 
without injury to the style or context, 
some of that generous surplusage of 
ΓῊ in which friendly criticism de- 
ights to indulge. 

+ This brave and amiable officer was killed 
at Queenston, in Upper Canada, soon after 
the commencement οἱ the war with America, 
in the year 1812. He was in the act of cheer- 
ing on his men when he fell. The inseription 
on the monument raised to his memory, on 


Queenston Heights, does but due honor to his: 
manly character. 


; PREFACE. 


In speaking of an excursion he had 
made up the river Ottawa,—“ a stream,” 
he adds, ‘‘ which has a classical place in 
every one’s imagination from Moore’s 
Canadian Boat Song,” Captain Hall 
proceeds as follows :—‘* While the poet 


above alluded to has retained all that is | 


essentially characteristic and pleasing 
in these boat songs, and rejected all that 
is not so, he has contrived to borrow his 
inspiration from numerous surrounding 
circumstances, presenting nothing re- 
markable to the dull senses of ordinary 
travellers. 
images, drawn in this way, as it were 
carelessly and from every hand, he has 
combined with such graphic—I had al- 
most said geographical—truth, that the 
effect is great, even upon those who 
have never, with their own eyes, seen 
the ‘Utawa’s tide,’ nor ‘ flown down the 
Rapids,’ nor heard the ‘bell of St. 
Anne’s toll its evening chime ;’ while 
the same lines give to distant regions, 
previously consecrated in our imagina- 
tion, a vividness of interest, when 
viewed on the spot, of which it is diffi- 
cult to say how much is due to the 
magic of the poetry, and how much -to 
the beauty of the real scene.’’* 

While on the subject of the Canadian 
Boat Song, an anecdote connected with 
that once popular ballad may, for my 
musical readers at least, possess some 
interest. A few years since, while 
staying in Dublin, I was presented, at 
his own request, to a gentleman who 
told me that his family had in their 
possession a curious relic of my youthful 
days,—being the first notation I had 
made, in pencilling, of the air and words 
of the Canadian Boat Song, while on 
my way down the St. Lawrence,—and 
that it was their wish I should add my 
signature to attest the authenticity of 
the autograph. I assured him with 


*«< Tt is singularly gratifying.” the author 
adds, ‘‘to discover that, to this hour, the 
Canadian voyageurs never omit their offerings 
to the shrine of St. Anne before engaging in 
any enterprise; and that during its perform- 
ance, they omit no opportunity of keeping up 
So propitious an intercourse. ‘The flourishing 
village which surrounds the chureh on the 
‘Green Isle’ in question owes its existence and 
support entirely to these pious contributions.” 


Yet these highly poetical 


| 


27 


truth that I had wholly forgotten even 
the existence of such a memorandum ; 
that it would be as much a curiosity to 
myself as it could be to any one else, 
and that I should feel thankful to be al- 
lowéd to see it. In a day or two after 
my request was complied with, and the 
plowing is the history of this musical 
relic.” 

In my passage down the St. Law- 
rence, I had with me two travelling 
companions, one of whom, named Hark- 
ness, the son of a wealthy Dublin mer- 
chant, has been some years dead. To 
this young friend, on parting with him 
at Quebec, I gave, as a keepsake, a 
volume I had been reading on the way, — 
Priestley’s Lectures on History; and it 
was upon a fly-leaf of this volume I 
found I had taken down, in pencilling, 
both the notes and a few of the words 
of the original song by which my own 
hoat-glee had been suggested. The 


following is the form of my memo- 
randum of the original air :— 


Then follows, as pencilled down at 
the same moment, the first verse of my 
Canadian Boat Song, with air and words 
as they are at present. From all this 
it will be perceived, that, in my own 
setting of the air, I departed in almost 
every respect but the time from the 
strain our voyageurs bad sung to us, 
leaving the music of the glee nearly as 
much my own as the words. Yet how 
strongly impressed I had become with 
the notion that this was the identical 
air sung by the boatmen,—how closely 
it linked itself in my imagination with 
the scenes and sounds amidst which it 
had occurred to me,—may be seen by 
reference to a note appended to the glee 
as first published, which will be found 
in the following pages. * 

To the few desultory, and, perhaps, 
valueless recollections I haye thus called 

*Page 190 of this edition. 


28. 


up, respecting the contents of our second 
volume, I have only to add, that the heavy 
storm of censure and criticism—some of 
it, I fear, but too well deserved—which, 
both in America and in England, the 
publication of my ‘“ Odes and Epistles” 
drew down upon me, was followed by 
results which have far more than com- 
pensated for any pain such attacks at the 
time may have inflicted. In the most 
formidable of all my censors, at that 
period,—the great master of the art of 
criticism, in our day,—I have found ever 
since one of the most cordial and highly 
valued of all my friends; while the good- 
will I have experienced from more than 
one distinguished American sufficiently 
assures me that any injustice I may have 
done to that land of freemen, if not long 
since wholly forgotten, is now remem- 
bered only to be forgiven. 

As some consolation to me for the on- 
sets of criticism, I received, shortly after 
the appearance of my volume, a letter 
from Stockholm, addressed to ' ‘ the 
author of Epistles, Odes, and other 
poems,” and informing me that “the 
Princes, Nobles, and Gentlemen, who 
composed the General Chapter of the 
most Ilustrious, Equestrian, Secular and 
Chapteral Order of St. Joachim,” had 
elected me as a Knight of this Order, 
Notwithstanding the grave and official 
style of the letter, I regarded it, I own, 
at first, as a mere ponderous piece of 
pleasantry ; and even suspected that in 
the name of St. “Joachim’’? I could 
detect the low and irreverent pun of St. 
Jokehin. 

On a little inquiry, however, I learned 
that there actually existed such an order 
of knighthood ; that the title, insignia, 
&e., conferred by it had, in the instances 
of Lord Nelson, the Duke of Bouillon, 
and Colonel Imhoff, who were all 
Knights of St. Joachim, been authorized 
by the British court; but that since then, 
this sanction of the order had been with- 
drawn. Of course, to the reduction thus 
caused in the value of the honor was 
owing its descent in the seale of distine- 
tion to ‘‘such small deer” of Parnassus 
as myself. I wrote a letter, however, 
full of grateful acknowledgment, to 
Monsieur Hansson, the Vice-Chancellor 


PREFACE. 


of the Order, saying that I was uncon- 
scious of having entitled myself, by any 
public service, toa reward due only to 
the benefactors of mankind; and there- 
fore begged leave most respectfully to 
decline it. 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


THIRD-VOEUAEES 


THE three satirical Poems, with which 
this volume commences, were published 
originally without the author’s name ; 
“‘Corruption”’ and “ Tntolerance” in the 
year 1808, and ‘The Skeptic” in the 
year following. The political opinions 
adopted in the first of these Satires—the 
Poem on Corruption—-were chiefly 
caught up, as is intimated in the original 
Preface, from the writings of Boling- 
broke, Sir William Wyndham, and other 
statesmen of that factious period, when 
the same sort of alliance took place 
between Toryism and what is now called 
Radicalism, which is always likely to 
ensue on the ejection of the Tory party 
from power.* In the somewhat rash 
effusion, it will be seen that neither of 
the two great English parties is handled 
with much respect; and I remember 
being taken to task, by one of the few of 
my Whig acquaintances that ever looked 
into the poem, for the following allusion 
to the silencing effects of official station 
on certain orators :— 

As bees. on flowers alighting, cease their hum, 
So, settling upon places, Whigs grow dumb. 


But these attempts of mine in the 
stately, Juvenalian style of satire, met 
with but little suecess,—never haying 
attained, I believe, even the honors of 
a second edition ; and [ found that lighter 
form of weapon, to which I afterwards 
betook myself, not only more easy to 
wield, but, from its very lightness, per- 
haps, more sure to reach its mark. 

*Bolingbroke himself acknowledges that 
“both parties were become factions, in the 


| strict sense of the word.” 


PREFACE. 


29 


Τὸ would almost seem, too, as if the 
same unembittered spirit, the same free- 
dom from all real malice with which, in 
most instances, this sort of squib war- 
fare has been waged by me, was felt, in 
some degree, even by those who were 
themselves the object of it,—so gener- 
ously forgiving have I, in most instan- 
ces, found them. Even the high per- 
sonage against whom the earliest and 
perhaps most successful of my lighter 
missiles were launched, could refer to 
and quote them, as I learn from an inci- 
dent mentioned in the Life of Sir Walter 
Scott,* with a degree of good-humor 
and playfulness which was creditable 
alike to his temper and good sense. At 
a memorable dinner given by the Re- 
peut to Sir Walter in the year 1815, 
scott, among other stories with which 
his royal host was much amused, told 
of a sentence passed by an old friend of 
his, the Lord Justice Clerk Braxfield, at- 
tended by circumstances in which the 
cruelty of this waggish judge was even 
more conspicuous than his humor. “ The 
Regent laughed heartily,” says the biog- 
rapher, “ at this specimen of Braxfield’s 
brutal humor; and, ‘I’ faith, Walter,’ 
said he, ‘ this old big-wig seems to have 
taken things as coolly as my tyrannical 
self. Don’t youremember Tom Moore's 
description of me at breakfast ?— 

‘The table spread with tea and toast, 
Death-warrants and the Morning Post.’ ” 

Tn reference to this, and other less ex- 
alted instances, of the good-humored 
spirit in which my ‘ innocui sales” have 
in general been taken, I shall venture 
to cite here afew flattering sentences 
which, coming as they did from a politi- 
cal adversary and a stranger, touched 
me far more by their generosity than 
eyen by their praise. In speaking of 
the pension which had just then been 
conferred upon me, and expressing, in 
warm terms, his approval of the grant, 
the editor of a leading Tory journal t 
thus liberally expresses himself:—:‘ We 
know that some will blame us for our 
pace it be prejudice, in favor of 

r. Moore; but we cannot help it. As 
he tells us himself, 

‘Wit a diamond brings 

_ That cuts its bright way through’ 

* Vol. iii. p. 342. 

) The Standard, August 24, 1835. 


the most obdurate political antipathies. 
* + * We do not believe that any one was 
ever hurt by libels so witty as those of Mr. 
Moore :—great privilege of wit, which 
renders it impossible even for those 
whose enemies wits are, to hate them !” 

To return to the period of the Regen- 
cy :—In the numerous attacks from the 
governmeut press, which my occasional 
volleys of small shot against the Court. 
used to draw down upon me, it was con- 
stantly alleged, as an aggravation of my 
misdeeds, that I had been indebted to 
the Royal personage thus assailed by me 
for many kind and. substantial services. 
Luckily, the list of the benefits shower- 
ed upon me from that high quarter may 
be dispatched in a few sentences. At 
the request of the Earl of Moira, one of 
my earliest and best friends, his Royal 
Highness graciously permitted me to 
dedicate tohim my Translation of the 
Odes of Anacreon. I was twice, I think, 
admitted to the honor of dining at Carl- 
ton House; and when the Prince, on 
his being made Regent in 1811, gave his 
memorable fete, I was one of the crowd 
—about 1500, I believe, in number— 
who enjoyed the privilege of being his 
guests on the occasion. 

There occur some allusions, indeed, in 
the Twopenny Post-Bag, to the absurd 
taste displayed in the ornaments of the 
Royal supper-table at that féte;{ and 
this violation—for such, to a certain ex- 
tent, I allow it to have been—of the 
reverence due to the nghts of the Hos- 
pitable Jove,§ which, whether adminis- 
tered by prince or peasant, ought to be 
sacred from such exposure, I am by no 
means disposed to defend. But, whatev- 
er may be thought of the taste or pru- 
dence of some of these satires, there ex- 

{The same fautewils and girandoles— 
The same vold asses, pretty souls, 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home; 
The same bright river, ‘mong the dishes, 
But not—ah! not the same dear fishes. 
Late hours and claret ΚΙ ἃ the old ones -— 
So, stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish of that specie now-a-days) 
Some sprats have been, by Y—rm—h’'s wish, 
Promoted into silver fish, 
And gudgeons (so V—ns—tt—t told 
The Reg—t) are as good as gold.” 
Twopenny Post-Bag, p 137. 
§ ‘‘ Ante fores stabat Jovis Hospitis ara.” 
OVID. 


90 


PREFACE. 


ists no longer, I apprehend, much differ- 
ence of opinion respecting the character 
of the Royal personage against whom 
they were aimed. Already, indeed, has 
the stern verdict which the voice of His- 
tory cannot but pronounce upon hin, 
been in some degree anticipated,* in a 
sketch of the domestic events of his reign, 
supposed to have proceeded from the pen 
of one who was himself an actor in some 
of its most painful scenes, and who, from 
his professional position, commanded a 
near insight into the character of that 
exalted individual, both as husband and 
father. To the same high authority I 
must refer for an account of the mysteri- 
ous “ Book,’’t to which allusion is more 
than once made in the following pages. 

One of the earliest and most success- 
ful of the numerous trifles I wrote at 
that period, was the Parody on the 
Regent's celebrated Letter, announcing 
to the world that he ‘‘had no predilec- 
tions,” &e. This very opportune squib 
was, at first, circulated privately ; my 
friend, Mr. Perry, having for some time 
hesitated to publish it. He got some 
copies of it, however, printed off for me, 
which I sent round to several members 
of the Whig party ; and, having to meet 
a number of them at dinner immediately 
after, found it no easy matter to keep 
my countenance while they were dis- 
cussing among them the merits of the 
Parody. One of the party, I recollect, 
haying quoted to me the following de- 
scription of the state of both King and 
Regent, at that moment,— 


“A strait waistcoat on him, and restrictions on 
me, 
A more limited monarchy could not well be,” 

* Edinburgh Review, No. cxxxv., George the 
Fourth and Queen Caroline.—‘* When the 
Prince entered upon publie life he was found to 
have exhausted the resources of a career of 
pleasure; to have gained followers without 
making friends; to have acquired much envy 
and some admiration among the unthinking 
multitude of polished society; but not to com- 
mand in any quarter either respect or esteem. 
» ** The portrait which we have painted of 
him is undoubtedly one of the darkest shade 
and most repulsive form.” 

Τὺ There isno doubt whatever that The Book 
written by Mr. Perceyal, and privately printed 
at his house, under Lord Eldon’s superintend- 
ence and his own, was prepared in concert 
with the King, and was intended to sound the 
alarm against Carlton House and the Whigs.” 
—Ed. Review, ib. 


grew rather provoked with me for not 
enjoying the fun of the parody as much 
as himself. 

While thus the excitement of party 
feeling lent to the political trifles con- 
tained in this volume a relish and pun- 
gency not their own, an effect has been 
attributed to two squibs, wholly uncon- 
nected with politics—the Letters from 
the Dowager Countess of Cork, and from 
Messrs. Lackington & Co.t—of which I 
had myself not the slightest notion till I 
found it thus alluded to in Mr. Lock- 
hart’s Life of Sir Walter Scott. In 
speaking of the causes which were sup- 
posed to have contributed to the com- 
parative failure of the poem_ of 
“ Rokeby,” the biographer says, “It is 
fair to add, that, among the London 
cireles, at least, some sarcastic flings, in 
Mr. Moore’s Twopenny Post-Bag, must 
have had an unfavorable influence on 
this occasion.’’§ 

Among the translations that have ap- 
peared on the Continent, of the greater 


t Twopenny Post-Bag, pp. 153. 155. 1 avail 
myself of the mention here of this latter squib, 
to reeant a correction which I too hastily made 
in the two following lines of it :— 

«“ And, though statesmen may glory in being 

unbought, 
In an author, we think, sir, that's rather a 
fault.” 
Forgetting that Pope's ear was satisfied with 
the sort of rhyme here used, I foolishly altered 
(and spoiled) the whole couplet to get rid of it. 
δ See, for instance,” says Mr. Lockhart, 
“The Epistle of Lady Cork ; or that of Messrs. 
Lackington, booksellers, to one of their dandy 
authors :— 
«Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, 
We've a scheme to suggest :—Mr. Se—tt. you 
must know, 

(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the 
Row *) 

Having quitted the Borders, to seek new re- 
nown, 

Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town; 

And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to 
pay) 

Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the 
way. 

Now, the scheme is (though none of our hack- 
neys can beat him) 

To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to 
meet him; 

Who, by means of quick proofs—no revises— 
long coaches— 

May do a few villas, befors Se—tt ap roaches. 

Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst Binbiigs 

He'll reach, without found ‘ring, at least Wo- 
burn Abbey.’” 


* Paternoster Row. 


PREFACE. 


part of my poetical. works, there has 
been no attempt, as far as I can learn, 
to give a version of any of my satirical 
writings,—with the single exception of 
a squib contained in this volume, en- 
titled ‘‘ Little Man and Little Soul,’’* of 
which there is a translation into German 
verse, by the late distinguished orien- 
tal scholar, Professor Von Bohlen.t 
Though unskilled, myself, in German, I 
can yet perceive—sutiiciently to marvel 
at it—the dexterity and ease with which 
the Old Ballad metre of the original is 
adopted and managed in the translation. 
As this trifle may be considered curious, 
not only in itself, but still more as con- 
nected with so learned a name, I shall 
here present it to my readers, premising 
that the same eminent Professor has 
left a version also of one of my very 
early facetia, ‘'The Rabbinical Origin cf 
Woman.” 


“THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN.” 
(Translated by Professor von Bohlen 


Es war ein kleiner Mann 
Und der hatt’n kleinen Geist 
Und ersprach: kleiner Geist sehn wir zu, zu, zu, 
Ob uns méglich wohl wird seyn 
So ein kleines Redelein 
Das wir halten, kleiner ich und kleiner du, du, 
du, 
Das wir halten, kleiner ich und kleiner du. 
Und der kleine Geist, der brach 
Aus dem Loche nun und sprach : 
Ich behaupte, kleiner Mann, du bist keck, keck, 
keek, 
Nimm nicht iibel meine Zweifel, 
Aber sage mir, zum Teufel, 
Hat die kleine kleine Red’ einen zweck, zweck, 
zwecek, 
Hiat die kleine kleine Red’ einen zweck ? 
Der kleine Mann darauf 
Bliess de Backen michtig auf, 
Und er sprach; kleiner Geist sey gescheut, 
scheut, scheut; 
Kleiner ich und kleiner du 
Sind berufen ja dazu 
Zu verdanimen und bekehren alle Leut’, Leut’, 
eut’, 
Zu verdammen und bekehren alle Leut’. 
Un sie fingen beide an 
Der kleine Geist und kleine Mann, 
Paukten ab ihre Rede so klein, klein, klein; 
Und die ganze Welt fiir wahr 
Meint, das aufgeblas’ne Paar 
Muss ein winziges Pfiffelein nur seyn, seyn, 
seyn, 
Muss ein winrziges Priiffelein, nur seyn. 


* Alluding to a speech delivered in the year 
1813 by the Right Hon. Charles Abbott (then 
Speaker) against Mr. Grattan's motion for a 
Committee.on the claims of the Catholics. 

| Author of ‘The Ancient Indian,” 


91 


Having thus brought together, as 
well from the records of others, as from 
my own recollection, whatever inci- 
dental lights could be thrown from those 
sources, on some of the satirical effu- 
sions contained in these pages, I shall 
now reserve all such reminiscences and 
notices as relate to the Irish Melodies 
for our next volume. 

It is right my readers should here be 
apprized, that the plan of classing my 
poetical works according to the order of 
their first publication is pursued no 
further than the Second Volume of this 
Collection ; and that, therefore, the ar- 
rangement of the contents of the suc- 
ceeding Volumes, though not, in a gen- 
eral way, departing much from this rule, 
is not to be depended upon as obsery- 
ing it. 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


BOURDH-V 01, UNE: 


THE recollections connected, in my 
mind, with that early period of my life, 
when I first thought of interpreting in 
verse the touching language of my 
country’s music, tempt me again to 
advert to those long-past days; and 
even at the risk of being thought to in- 
dulge overmuch in what Colley Cibber 
calls “the great pleasure of writing 
about one’s self all day,” to notice 
briefly some of those impressions and 
influences under which the attempt to 
adapt words to our ancient Melodies 
was for some time meditated by me, 
and, at last, undertaken. 

There can be no doubt that to the 
zeal and industry of Mr. Bunting his 
country is indebted for the preservation 
of her old national airs. During the 
prevalence of the Penal Code, -the 
music of Ireland was made to share in 
the fate of 1ts people. Both were alike 
shut out from the pale of civilized life; 
and seldom anywhere but in the huts of 
the proscribed race could the sweet 
voice of the songs of other days be 
heard. Even of that class, the itinerant 
harpers, among whom for a long period 
our ancient music had been kept alive, 
there remained but few to continue the 


32 


precious tradition; and a great music- 
meeting held at Belfast in the year’ 


1792, at which the two or three still re- 


harpers assisted, exhibited the 
public effort made by the lovers of Irish 
music, to preserve to their country the 


of the wreck of all her liberties and 
hopes. Thus what the fierce legislature 
of the Pale had endeavored vainly 
through so many centuries to effect,— 
the utter extinction of Ireland’s Min- 
strelsy,—the deadly pressure of the 
Penal Laws had nearly, at the close of 
the eighteenth century, accomplished ; 
and, but for the zeal and intelligent re- 
search of Mr. Bunting, at that crisis, the 
greater part of our musical treasures 
would probably have been lost to the 
world. It was in the year 1796 that 
this gentleman published his first vol- 
ume; and the national spirit aud hope 
then wakened in Ireland, by the rapid 
spread of the democratic principle 
throughout Europe, could not but in- 
sure a most cordial reception for such a 
work ;—flattering as it was to the fond 
dreams of Erin’s early days, and con- 
taining in itself, indeed, remarkable tes- 
timony to the truth of her claims to an 
early date of civilization. 

It was in the year 1797 that, through 
the medium of Mr. Bunting’s book, I 
was first made acquainted with the 
beauties of our native music. A young 
friend of our family, Edward Hudson, 
the nephew of an eminent dentist of that 
name, who played with much taste and 
feeling on the flute, and, unluckily for 
himself, was but too deeply warmed 
with the patriotic ardor then kindling 
around him, was the first who made 
known to me this rich mine of our 
country’s melodies ;—a mine, from the 
working of which my humble labors as a 
poet have since then derived their sole 
lustre and value. 

About the same period I formed an 
acquaintance, which soon grew into 
intimacy, with young Robert Emmet. 
He was my senior, I think, by one class, 
in the University ; for when, in the first 
year of my course, I became a member 
of the Debating Society—a_ sort 
nursery to the authorized Historical 
Society—I found him in full reputation, 


of 


PREFACH. 


not only for his learning and eloquence, 
but also for the blamelessness of his life, 


_and the grave suavity of his manners. 
maining of the old race of wandering | 
last | 


Of the political tone of this minor 
school of oratory, which was held weekly 
at the rooms of different resident mem- 


bers, some notion may be formed from 
only grace or ornament left to her, out ; 


the nature*of the questions proposed 
for discussion,—one of which I recolleet 
was, ‘‘Whether an Aristocracy or a 
Democracy is most favorable to the ad- 
vancement of science and literature ?”’ 
while another, bearing even more 
pointedly on the relative position of the 
government and the people, at this crisis, 
was thus significantly propounded :— 
‘‘Whether a soldier was bound, on all 
occasions, to obey the orders of his com- 
manding officer?” On the former of these 
questions, the effect of Emmet’s elo- 
quence upon his young auditors was, I 
recollect, most striking. The prohibition 
against touching upon modern politics, 
which it was subsequently found neces- 
sary to enforce, had not yet been intro- 
duced; and Emmet, who took, of course, 
ardently the side of democracy in the 
debate, after a brief review of the repub- 
lics of antiquity, showing how niuch they 
had all done for the advancement of 
science and the arts, proceeded, lastly, 
to the grand and perilous example, then 
passing before all eyes, the young Re- 
public of France. Referring to the cir- 
cumstance told of Cesar, that, in swim- 
ming across the Rubicon, he contrived 
to carry with him his Commentaries and 
his sword, the young orator said, ‘“‘ Thus 
France wades through a sea of storm and 
blood; but while, in one hand, she 
wields the sword against her aggressors, 
with the other she upholds the glories of 
science and literature unsullied by the 
ensanguined tide through which she 
struggles.” In another of his remark- 
able speeches, I remember his saying, 
“When a people, advancing rapidly in 
knowledge and power, perceive at last 
how far their government is lagging 
behind them, what then, I ask, is to be 
done in such a case? =What, but to pull 
the government up to the people ?” 

Ina few monthsafter both Emmet and 
myself were admitted members of the 
greater and recognised institution, called 
the Historical Society; and even here the 
political feeling so rife abroad contrived 


PREFACE. 


to mix up its restless spirit with all our 


debates and proceedings ; notwithstand- 
ing the constant watchfulness of the col- 
lege authorities, as well as of a strong 
party within the Society itself, devoted 
adherents to the policy of the govern- 
ment, and taking invanably part with 
the Provost and Fellows in all their 
restrictive and inquisitorial measures. 
The most distinguished and eloquent of 
these supporters of power were a young 
man named Sargent, of whose fate in 
after-days I know nothing, and Jebb, 
the late Bishop of Limerick, who was 
then, as he continued to be through life, 
much respected for his private worth 
and learning. 

Of the popular side, in the Society, 
the chief champion and ornament was 
Robert Emmet; and though every care 
was taken to exclude from the subjects 
of debate all questions verging towards 
the polities of the day, it was always 
easy enough, by a side-wind of digression 
or allusion, to bring Ireland, and the 
prospects then opening upon her, within 
the scope of the orator’s view. So 
exciting and powerful, in this respect, 
were Emmet’s speeches, and so little 


were even the most eloquent of the | 
adverse party able to cope with his, 


powers, that it was at length thought 
advisable, by the higher authorities, to 
send among us a man of more advanced 
standing, as well as belonging to a former 
race of renowned speakers, in that 
Society, in order that he might answer 
the speeches of Emmet, and endeayor to 
obviate the mischievous impression they 
were thought to produce. The name of 
this mature champion of the higher 
powers it is not necessary here to record ; 
but the object of his mission among us 
was in some respect gained ; as it was in 
replying to a long oration of his, one 
night, that Emmet, much to the mortifi- 
cation of us who gloried in him as our 
leader, became suivdonly embarrassed in 
the middle of his speech, and, to use the 
parliamentary phrase, broke down. 
Whether from a momentary confusion in 
the thread of his argument, or possibly 
from diffidence in encountering an ad- 
versary so much his senior,—for Emmet 
was as modest as he was high-minded 
and brave,—he began, in the full career 
of his eloquence, to hesitate and repeat 


33 
| 

/his words, and then, after an effort or 
two to recover himself, sat down. 

It fellto my own lot to be engaged, 
about the same time, in a brisk struggle 
with the dominant party in the Society, 
in consequence of a burlesque poem 
which I gave in as candidate for the 
Literary Medal, entitled ‘* An Ode upon 
Nothing, with Notes, by Trismegistus 
Rustifustius, D.D.,” ἄορ. &e. For this 
squib against the great Dons of learning, 
the medal was voted to me by a triumph- 
ant majority. But a motion was made 
in the following week to rescind this 
vote; and a fierce contest between the 
two parties ensued, which I at last put 
an end to by voluntarily withdrawing 
my composition from the Society’s 
Book. 

I have already adverted to the period 
when Mr. Bunting’s valuable volume 
first became known to me. ‘There 
elapsed no very long time before I was 
myself the happy proprietor of a copy of 
the work; and, though never regularly 
instructed in music, could play over the 
airs with tolerable facility on the piano- 
forte. Robert Emmet used sometimes 
| to sit by me, when I was thus engaged; 
and I remember one day his starting up 
as from a revery, when I had just fin- 
ished that spirited tune called the Red 
Fox,* and exclaiming, ‘‘Oh that I were 
at the head of twenty thousand men, 
| marching to that air!”’ 

How little did I then think that in one 
of the most touching of the sweet airs I 
used to play to him, his own dying 
words would find an interpreter so wor- 
thy of their sad but proud feeling;t or 
that another of those mournful strains Ὁ 
would long be associated, in the hearts 
of his countrymen, with the memory of 
her§ who shared with Ireland his last 
blessing and prayer. 

Though fully alive, of course, to the 
feelings which such music could not but 
inspire, I had not yet undertaken the 
task of adapting words to any of the airs ; 
and it was, I am ashamed to say, in 
dull and turgid prose, that I made my 
first appearance in print as a champion 


* “ Let Erin remember the days of old.” 

t ‘‘Oh, breathe not his name.” 

+ ‘She is far from the land where her young 
hero sleeps.” 

§ Miss Curran. 


οἱ 


of the popular cause. Towards the lat- 
ter end of the year 1797, the celebrated 
newspaper called “The Press”? was 
set up by Arthur O’Connor, Thomas 
Addis Emmet, and other chiefs of the 
United Irish conspiracy, with the view 
of preparing and ripening the public 
mind for the great crisis then fast ap- 
proaching. This memorable journal, 
according to the impression I at present 
retain of it, was far more distinguished 
for earnestness of purpose and intrepid- 
ity, than for any great display of literary 
talent;—the bold letters written by 
Emmet, (the elder,) under the signature 
of “‘ Montanus,’’ being the only composi- 
tions I can now call to mind as entitled 
to praise for their literary merit. It re- 
quired, however, but a small sprinkling 
of talent to make bold writing, at that 
time, palatable; and, from the experi- 
ence of my own home, I can answer for 
the ayidity with which every line of this 
daring journal was devoured. It used 
to come out, I think, twice a week, and, 
on the evening of publication, I always 
read it aloud to our small circle after 
supper. 


It may easily be conceived that, what | 


with my ardor for the national cause, 
and a growing consciousness of some 
little turn for authorship, I was natur- 
ally eager. to become a contributor to 
those patriotic and popular columns. 
But the constant anxiety about me which 
I kuew my own family felt,—a feeling 
far more wakeful than even their zeal 
in the public cause,—withheld me from 
hazarding any step that might cause 
them alarm. I had ventured, indeed, 
one evening, to pop privately into the 
letter-box of The Press, a short Frag- 
ment inimitation of Ossian. But this, 
though inserted, passed off quietly ; and 
nobody was, in any sense of the phrase, 
the wiser for it. I was soon tempted, 
however, to try a more daring flight. 
Without communicating my secret to 
any one but Edward Hudson, I address- 
ed along Letter, in prose, to the * * * * * 
of * * * *, in which a profusion of bad 
flowers of rhetoric was enwreathed plen- 
tifully with that weed which Shakspeare 
calls ‘‘ the cockle of rebellion,” and, in 
the same manner as before, committed 
it tremblingly to the chances of the let- 
ter-box. I hardly expected my prose 


PREFACE. 


would be honored with insertion, when, 
lo, on the next evening of publication, 
when, seated as usual in my little cor- 
ner by the fire, I unfolded the paper for 
the purpose of reading it to my select 
auditory, there was my own Letter 
staring me full in the face, being honored 
with so conspicuous a place as to be one 
of the first articles my audience would 
expect to hear. Assuming an outward 
appearance of ease, while every nerve 
within me was trembling, I contrived to. 
accomplish the reading of the Letter 
without raising in either of my auditors 
a suspicion that it was my own. I en- 
joyed the pleasure, too, of hearing it a 
good deal praised by them; and might 
have been tempted by this welcome 
tribute to acknowledge myself the au- 
thor, had I not found that the language 
and sentiments of the article were con- 
sidered by both to be ‘ very bold.” * 

I was not destined, however, to re- 
main long undetected. On the follow- 
ing day, Edward Hudson, t —the only 
one, as I have said, intrusted with my 
secret, called to pay us a morning visit, 
and had not been long in the room, con- 
versing with my mother, when, looking 
significantly at me, he said, ‘‘ Well, you 
saw ” Here he stopped; but the’ 
mother’s eye had followed his, with the 
rapidity of lightning, to mine, and at. 
once she perceived the whole truth. 
“That Letter was yours, then?” she 
asked of me eagerly; and, without hesi- 
tation, of course, I acknowledged the 
fact; when in the most earnest manner 
she entreated of me never again to have 
any connection with that paper; and, 
as every wish of hers was to me law, 1 

*So thought also higher authorities; for 
among the extracts from The Press brought 
forward by the Secret Committee of the House 
of Commons, to show how formidable had been 
the designs of the United Irishmen, there are 
two or three paragraphs cited from this re- 
doubtable Letter. 

+ Of the depth and extent to which Hudson 
had involved himself in the conspiracy, none of 
our family had harbored the least notion; till, 
on the seizure of the thirteen Leinster dele- 
gates, at Oliver Bond's, in the month of March, 
1798, we found, to our astonishment and sorrow, 
that he was one of the number. 

To those unread in the painful history of tms 
yeriod, it is right to mention that almost all the 
fenders of the United Irish conspiracy were 
Protestants. Among those companions of my 


own alluded to in these pages, I scarcely re- 
member a single Catholie. 


PREFACE. 


readily pledged the solemn promise she 
Required. 

Though well aware how easily a sneer 
may be raised at the simple details of 
this domestic scene, I have yet ventured 
to put it on record, as affording an in- 
stance of the gentle and womanly watch- 
fulness,—the Providence, as it may be 
called, of the little world of home,—by 
which, although placed almost in the 
yery current of so headlong a moyenient, 
and living familiarly with some of the 
most daring of those who propelled it, I 
yet was guarded from any participation 
in their secret oaths, counsels, or plans, 
and thus escaped all share in that wild 
struggle to which so many far better 
men than myself fell victims. 

In the mean while, this great conspir- 
acy was hastening on, with fearful pre- 
cipitancy, to its outbreak ; and vague 
and shapeless as are now known to have 
been the views, even of those who were 
engaged practically in the plot, it is not 
any wonder that to the young and un- 
initiated like myself it should have 
opened prospects partaking far more of 
the wild dreams of poesy than of the 
plain and honest prose of real life. But 
a crisis was then fast approaching, when 
such self-delusions could no longer be 
indulged ; and when the mystery which 
had hitherto hung over the plans of the 
conspirators was to be rent asunder by 
the stern hand of power. 

Of the horrors that fore-ran and fol- 
lowed the frightful explosion of the year 

798, I have neither inclination nor, 
luckily, occasion to speak. But among 
those introductory scenes, which had 
somewhat prepared the public mind for 
such a catastrophe, there was one, of a 
peaiol description, which, as having 
been myself an actor in it, I may be al- 
lowed briefly to notice. 

It was not many weeks, I think, be- 
fore this crisis, that, owing to informa- 
tion gained by the college authorities of 
the rapid spread, among the students, 
not only of the principles but the organ- 
ization of the Irish Union,* a solemn 

*In the Report from the Secret Committee 
of the Irish House of Lords, this extension of 
the plot to the College is noticed as “a des- 
perate project of the same faction to corrupt 
the youth of the country by introducing their 
eae system of treason into the Univer- 
Sity. 


35 


Visitation was held by Lord Clare, the 
vice-chancellor of the University, with 
the view of inquiring into the extent of 
this branch of the plot, and dealing sum- 
marily with those engaged in it. 

Imperious and harsh as then seemed 
the policy of thus setting up a sort of 
inquisitorial tribunal, piel with the 
power of examining witnesses on oath, 
andin a place devoted to the instruction 
of youth, 1 cannot but confess that the 
facts which came out in the course of 
the evidence went far towards justifying 
even this arbitrary proceeding; and to 
the many who, like myself, were ac- 
quainted only with the general views of 
the Union leaders, without even know- 
ing, except from conjecture, who those 
leaders were, or what their plans or ob- 
jects, it was most startling to hear the 
disclosures which every succeeding wit- 
ness brought forth. There were a few, 
—and among that number poor Robert 
Emmet, John Brown, and the two 
ἘΝ ἘΚ ¥ 5+ whose total absence 
from the whole scene, as well as the dead 
silence that, day after day, followed the 
calling out of their names, proclaimed 
how deep had been their share in the 
unlawful proceedings inquired into by 
this tribunal. 

But there was one young friend of 
mine, * * * * * * *, whose appearance 
among the suspected and examined as 
much surprised as it deeply and pain- 
fully interested me. He and Emmet 
had long been intimate and attached 
friends ;—their congenial fondness for 
mathematical studies haying been, I 
think, a far more binding sympathy be- 
tween them than any arising out οἱ 
their political opinions. From his being 
called up, however, on this day, when, 
as it appeared afterwards, all the most 
important evidence was brought for- 
ward, there could be little doubt that, 
in addition to his intimacy with Emmet, 

t One of these brothers has long been a gen. 
eral in the French army; having taken a part 
in all those great enterprises of Napoleon which 
have now become matter of history. Should 
these pages meet the eye of General * * * * * *, 
they will call to his mind the days we passed to- 
gether in Normandy, a few summers since ;— 
more especially our excursion to Bayeux, when, 
as we talked on the way of old college times 
and friends, all the eyentful and stormy scenes 
he had passed through sinee seemed quite 
| forgotten. 


36 


the college authorities must have pos- 
sessed some information which led them 
to suspect him of being an accomplice 
in the conspiracy. In the course of his 
examination, some questions were put 
to him which he refused to answer,— 
most probably from their tendency to 
involve or nculpate others ; and he was 
accordingly dismissed, with the melan- 
choly certainty that his future prospects 
in life were blasted; it being already 
known that the punishment for such 
contumacy was not merely expulsion 
from the University, but also exclusion 
from all the learned professions. 

The proceedings, indeed, of this 
whole day had been such as to send me 
to my home in the evening with no very 
agreeable feelings or prospects. I had 
heard evidence given affecting even the 
hres of some of those friends whom I 
had long regarded with admiration as 
well as affection; and what was still 
worse than even their danger,—a danger 
ennobled, I thought, by the cause in 
which they suffered,—was the shameful 
spectacle exhibited by those who had 
appeared in evidence against them. Of 
these witnesses, the greater number had 
been themselves involved in the plot, 
and now came forward either as volun- 
tary informers, or else were driven by 
the fear of the consequences of refusal 
to secure their own safety at the ex- 
pense of companions and friends. 

I well remember the gloom, so un- 
usual, that hung over our family circle 
on that evening, as, talking together of 
the events of the day, we discussed the 
likelihood of my being among those 
who would be called up for examination 
on the morrow. The deliberate conclu- 
sion to which my dear honest advisers 
came, was that, overwhelming as the 
consequences were to all their plans and 
hopes for me, yet, to the questions 
leading to criminate others, which had 
been put to almost all examined on that 
day, and which poor* * * * * * *alone 
had refused to answer, I must, in the 


same manner, and at all risks, return a | 


similar refusal. I am not quite certain 
whether I received any intimation, on 
the following morning, that I was to be 
one of those examined in the course of 
the day ; but I rather think some such 
notice had been conveyed to me,—and, 


/ 


| to take this oath.” 


PREFACE, 


at last, my awful turn came, and I 
stood in presence of the formidable 
tribunal. 
the vice-chancellor, and. by his side, the 
venerable Doctor Duigenan,—memora- 
ble for his eternal pamphlets against 
the Catholics. 

The oath was proffered to me. 
have an objection, my Lord,” said I, 
‘to taking this oath.” ‘‘ What is your 
objection?” he asked sternly. “1 have 
no fears, my Lord, that any thing I 
might say would criminate myself; i 
it might tend to mvolve others, and I 
despise the character of the person who 
could be led, under any such circum- 
stances, to inform against his associ- 
ates.” This was aimed at some of the 
revelations of the precedimg day; and, 
as I learned afterwards, was so under- 
stood. ‘‘How old are you, Sir?” he 
then asked. ‘‘ Between seventeen and 
eighteen, my Lord.” He then tumed to 
his assessor, Duigenan, and exchanged 
a few words with him, in an under tone 
of voice. ‘‘ We cannot,” he resumed, 
again addressing me, ‘‘suffer any one 
to remain in our University who refuses. 
“T shall, then, m 
Lord,” I replied, ‘‘take the oath,—still 
reserving to myself the power of refus- 
ing to answer any such questions as I 
have just described.” ‘‘ We do not sit 
here to argue with you, Sir,” he rejoined 
sharply ; upon which I took the oath, and 
seated myself in the witnesses’chair. 

The following are the questions and 
answers that then ensued. After ad- 
verting to the proved existence of United 
Irish Societies, mn the University, he 
asked, ‘‘ Have you ever belonged to an 
of these societies?” ‘‘No, my Lord.” 
‘‘Have you ever known of any of the 
proceedings that took place in them?” 
“ΝΟ, my Lord.’’ ‘Did you ever hear 
of a proposal at any of their meetings, 
for the purchase of arms and ammuni- 
tion?” ‘‘Never, my Lord.”’ ‘“ Did you 
ever hear of a proposition made, in one 
of these societies, with respect to the ex- 
pediency of assassination?” “Oh no, 
my Lord.” He then turned a to 
Duigenan, and, after a few words with 
him, said to me :—‘‘ When such are the 
answers you are able to give,* pray what 

* There had been two questions put to all 
those examined on the first day,—'* Were you 


There sat, with severe look, ~ 


sq, 


΄ 


PREFACE. 


37 


was the cause of your great repugnauce 
to taking the oath?” ‘‘I have already 
told your Lordship my chief reason ; in 
addition to which, it was the first oath 
I ever took, and the hesitation was, I 
think, natural.”* 

I was now dismissed without any fiur- 
ther questioning; and, however trying 
had been this short operation, was 
amply repaid for it by the kind zeal 
with which my young friends and com- 
panions flocked to congratulate me ;— 
not so much, I was inclined to hope, on 
my acquittal by the court, as on the 
manner in which I had acquitted myself. 
Of my reception, on returning home, 
after the fears entertained of so very 
different a result, I will not attempt any 
description ;—it was all that such a home 
alone could furnish. 

I have continued thus down to the 
very verge of the warning outbreak of 


1798, the slight sketch of my early days | 


which I ventured to commence in the 
First Volume of this Collection: nor 
could I have furnished the Irish Mel- 
odies with any more pregnant illustra- 
tion, as it was in those times, and 
among the events then stirring, that the 


ever asked to join any of these societies ?"— 
and “ΒΥ whom were you asked ?’—which I 
should have refused to answer, and must, of 
course, have abided the consequences. 


* For the correctness of the above report of 


this short examination, I can pretty confiden- | 


tially answer. It may amuse, therefore, my 
readers,—as showing the manner in which 
biographers make the most of small facts,—to 


see an extract or two from another account of | 


this affair, published not many years since, by 
an old and zealous friend of our family. After 
atating with tolerable correctness one or two of 
my answers, the writer thus proceeds :—‘* Upon 
this, Lord Clare repeated the question, and 
young Moore made such an appeal as caused 
his lordship to relax, austere and rigid as he 
was. The words Lecannot exactly remember ; 
the substance was as follows:—that he entered 
college to receive the education of a scholar 
and a gentleman; that he knew not how to 
compromise these characters by informing 
against his pallege companions ; that his own 
speeches in the debating society had been ill 
construed, when the worst that could be said 
of them was, if the truth had been spoken. that 
they were patriotic .. 
of the high minded nobleman he had the 
honor of appealing to, and if his lordship could 
for a moment condescend to step from his high 


feeling which afterwards found a voice 
in wy country’s music, was born and 
nurtured. 

I shall now string together such de- 
tached notices and memoranda respect- 
ing this work, as I think may be likely 
to interest my readers. 

Of the few songs written with a con- 

cealed political feeling,—such as “When 
he who adores thee,” and one or two 
more,—the most successful, in its day, 
was ‘‘ When first I met thee warm and 
young,” which alluded, in its hidden 
sense, to the Prince Regent’s desertion 
of his political friends. It was little 
| less, I own, than profanation to disturb 
the sentiment of so beautiful an air by 
/any connection with such a subject. 
_The great success of this song, soon 
| after I wrote it, among a large Bs 
| staying at Chatsworth, is thus alluded 
| to in one of Lord Byron’s letters to me: 
—‘T have heard from London that you 
have left Chatsworth and all there full 
_of ‘entusymusy’..... . . and, in par- 
ticular, that ‘When first I met thee’ 
has been quite overwhelming in its 
effect. I told you it was one of the 
| best things you ever wrote, though that 
|dog * * * * wanted you to omit part 
| of it.” 

It has been sometimes supposed that 
“Oh, breathe not his name,’’ was meant 
to allude to Lord Edward Fitzgerald: 
but this is a mistake; the song having 
been suggested by the well known pas- 
sage in Robert Emmet’s dying speech, 
‘‘Let no man write my epitaph .... 
let my tomb remain uninscribed, till 
other times and other men shall learn to 
do justice to my memory.” 

The feeble attempt to commemorate 
the glory of our great Duke—‘‘ When 
History’s Muse,” &c.—is in so far re- 
_markable, that it made up amply for its 
want of poetical spirit, by an outpouring, 
rarely granted to bards in these days, of 
the spirit of prophecy. It was in the 
year 1815that the following lines first 
made their appearance :— 


. . that he was aware . 


And still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, 
The grandest, the purest, θυ ἢ thow hast yet 
known; 


station and place himself in his situation, then | Though proud was thy task, other nations un- 


say how he would act under such circumstan- 
ces, it would be his guidanece.”—HERBERT'S 
Trish Varieties. London, 1836. 


1456 


| chaining, 


Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy 
own. 


73 


98 


At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou 
hast stood, 

Go, plead for the Jand that first cradled thy 
fame, &c. 


About fourteen years after these lines 
were written, the Duke of Wellington 
recommended to the throne the great 
measure of Catholic Emancipation. 

The fancy of the “‘ Origin of the Irish 
Harp,”’ was (as I have elsewhere ac- 
knowledged*) suggested by a drawing 
made under peculiarly painful circum- 
stances, by the friend so often mentioned 
in this sketch, Edward Hudson. 

In connection with another of these 
matchless airs,—one that defies all poet- 
ry to do it justice,—I find the follow- 
ing singular and touching statement in 
an article of the Quarterly Review. 
Speaking of a young and promising po- 
etess, Lucretia Davidson, who died very 
early from nervous excitement, the Re- 
viewer says, ‘‘ She was particularly sen- 
sitive to music. There was one song 
(it was Moore’s Farewell to his Harp) 
to which she took a special fancy. She 
wished to hear it only at twilight,— 
thus (with that same perilous love of 
excitement which made her place the 
Aolian harp in the window when she 
was composing) seeking to increase the 
effect which the song produced upon a 
neryous system, already diseasedly sus- 
ceptible; for it is said that, whenever 
she heard this song, she became cold, 
pale, and almost fainting; yet it was 
her favorite of all songs, and gave occa- 
sion to those verses addressed in her 
fifteenth year to her sister.” t 

With the Melody entitled ‘ Love, 
Valor, and Wit,’’ an incident is con- 
nected, which awakened feelings in me 
of proud, but sad pleasure—as showing 


*«* When, in consequence of the compact en- 
tered into between government and the chief 
leaders of the conspiracy, the State Prisoners, 
before proceeding into exile, were allowed to 
see their friends, I paid a visit to Henry Hud- 
son, in the jail of Kilmainham, where he had 
then lain immured for four or five months, hear- 
ing of friend after friend being led out to death, 
and expecting every week his own turn to 
come. I found that to amuse his solitude he 
had made a large drawing with charcoal on 
the wall of his prison, representing that fancied 
origin of the Irish Harp which, some years af- 
ter, I adopted as the subject of one of the ‘ Mel- 
odies.’ "—Life and Death of Lord Edward Fitz- 
gerald, vol. i. 

t Quarterly Review, vol. xli. p. 294. 


PREFACE. 


that my songs had reached the hearts of 
some of the descendants of those great 
Irish families, who found themselves 
forced, in the dark days of persecution, 
to seek in other lands a refuge from the 
shame and ruin of their own ;—those, 
whose story I have thus associated with 
one of their country’s most characteristic 
all's :— 
Ye Blakes and O’Donnells, whose fathers re- 
sign'd 
The green hills of their youth, among strangers 
to find 
That repose which at home they had sigh'd for 
in yailn. 
From a foreign lady, of this ancient ex- 
traction,—whose names, could I venture 
to mention them, would lend to the in- 
cident an additional Irish charm,—I re- 
ceived, about two years since, through 
the hands of a gentleman to whom it 
had been intrusted, a large portfolio, 
adorned inside with a beautiful drawing, 
representing Love, Wit, and Valor, as 
described in the song. In the border 
that surrounds the drawing are intro- 
duced the favorite emblems of Erin, the 
harp, the shamrock, the mitred head of 
St. Patrick, together with scrolls con- 
taining each, inscribed in letters of gold, 
the name of some favorite melody of the 
fair artist. 

This present was accompanied by the 
following letter from the lady herself; 
and her Irish race, I fear, 1s but too dis- 
cernible in the generous indiscretion 
with which, in this instance, she allows 
praise so much to outstrip desert :— 


“1.6 25 Aont, 1836. 
“¢ Monsieur, 

“Si les poétes n’étoient en quelque 
sorte une propricté sntelleoiela dont 
chacun prend sa part ἃ raison de Ja puis- 
sance quwils exercent, je ne saurois en 
vérité comment faire pour justifier mon 
courage !—car 1] en falloit beaucoup pour 
avoir osé consacrer mon pauvre talent 
@amateur ἃ vos délicieuses poésies, et 
plus encore pour en renvoyer le pale 
reflet ἃ son véritable auteur. 

κι Vespere toutefois que ma sympathie 
pour irlanide vous fera juger ma foible 
production avec cette heureuse partialite 
qui impose silence ἃ la critique: car, si 


je Wappartiens pas ἃ 1116 Verte par ma 


naissance, ni mes relations, je puis dire 
que je in’y intéresse avec un cour Irlan- 


PREFACE. 


dais, et que j'ai conservé plus que le 
nom de mes péres. Cela seul me fait 
espérer que mes petits voyageurs ne 
subiront pas le triste noviciat des 
étrangers. _Puissent-ils remplir leur 
mission sur le sol natal, en agissant con- 
jointement et toujours pour Ja cause 
Trlandaise, et amener enfin une ére 
nouvelle pour cette héreique et mal- 
heureuse nation: —le moyen de vaincre 
de tels adversaires 5115 ne font quun? 

“Vous dirai-je, Monsieur, les doux 
moments que je dois & vos ouvrages ? ce 
seroit répéter une fois de plus ce que 
vous entendez tous les jours et de tous 
les coins de la terre. Aussi j'ai garde 
de yous rayir un tems trop précieux par 
l’écho de ces vieilles vérités. 

“Si jamais mon étoile me conduit en 
Trlande, je ne m’y croirai pas ¢trangére. 
Je sais que le passé y laisse de longs 
souvenirs, et que la conformité des désirs 
et des espérances rapproche en dépit de 
Yespace et du tems. 

““Jusque 1a, receyez, je vous prie, 
Vassurance de ma parfaite considération, 
avec laquelle j’ai ’honneur d’¢tre, 

“Monsieur, 
“Votre trés-humble Servante, 
‘(a COMTESSE * * * * *” 

Of the translations that have appeared 
of the Melodies in different languages, I 
shall here mention such as have come to 
my knowledge. 

Latin.—‘‘Cantus Hibernici,” Nicholas 
Lee Torre, London, 1835. 

Ttalian.—G. Flechia, Torino, 1836.— 
Adele Custi, Milano, 1836. 

French.—Madame Belloc, Paris, 1823. 
—Loeve Veimars, Paris, 1829. 

Russian.—Several detached Melodies, 
by the popular Russian poet Kozlof. 


PREFACE 
TO THE 


Pre Tat VOLUME. 


In spite of the satirist’s assertion that 


“next to singing, the most foolish thing 
Is gravely to harangue on what we sing, ’— 
I shall yet venture to prefix to this 
Volume a few introductory pages, not 


39 


‘contains, as to my own thoughts and 


| 


7 


recollections respecting song-writing in 
general. 

The close alliance known to have 
existed between poetry and music, 
during the infancy of both these arts, 
has sometimes led to the conclusion that 
they are essentially kindred to each 
other, and that the trne poet ought to 
be, if not practically, at ae in taste 
andear, a musician. That was the case 
in the early times of ancient Greece, and 
that her poets then not only set their 
own verses to music, but sung them at 
ublic festivals, there is every reason, 
from all we know on the subject, to 
believe. A similar union between the 
two arts attended the dawn of modern 
literature in the twelfth century, and 
was, in a certain degree, continued down 
as far as the time of Petrarch, when, as 
it appears from his own memorandums, 
that poet used to sing his verses, in com- 
posing them ;* and when it was the cus- 
tom with all writers of sonnets and 
canzoni to prefix to their poems a sort of 
key-note, by which the intonation of 
reciting or chanting them was to be regu- 
lated. 

As the practice of uniting in one indi- 
vidual, — whether Bard, Seald, or Trou- 
badour,—the character and functions 
both of musician and poet, is known to 
have been invariably the mark of a rude 
state of society, so the gradual separa- 
ticn of these two callings, in accordance 
with that great principle of Political 
Economy, the division of labor, has 
been found an equally sure index of iin- 
proving civilization. So far, in Eng- 
land, indeed, has this partition of work- 
manship been carried, that, with the 
signal exception of Milton, there is not 
to be found, I believe, among all the 
eminent poets of England, a single 
musician. It is but fair, at the same 
time, to acknowledge, that out of the 
works of these very poets might be pro- 
duced a select number of songs, surpass- 
ing, in faney, grace and tenderness, all 


*The following is a specimen of these mem. 
orandums, as given by Foscolo :—‘* Τα δὲ make 
these two verses over again, singing them, and 
I must transpose them—3 o'clock, A. M., 19th 
October.” Frequently to sonnets of that time 
such notices as the following were prefixed :— 
“Tntonatum per Francum'’—" Scriptor dedit 


relating so much to the Songs witch it | sonwn.” 


40 


that the language, perhaps, of any other 
country could furnish. 

We witness, in our times,—as far as 
the knowledge or practice of music is 
concerned,—a similar divorce between 
the two arts; and my friend and neigh- 
bor, Mr. Bowles, is the only distin- 
guished poet of our day whom I can 
call to mind as being also a musician. * 
Not to dwell further, however, on living 
writers, the strong feeling, even to tears, 
with which I have seen Byron listen to 
some favorite melody, has been else- 


where described by me}; and the musical | 


taste of Sir Walter Scott I ought to be 
the last person to call in question, after 
the very cordial tribute he has left on 
record to my own untutored minstrelsy.t 
But I must say, that, pleased as my il- 
lustrious friend appeared really to be, 
when 1 first sung for him at Abbotsford, 
it was not tillan evening or two after, at 
his own hospitable supper-table, that I 
saw him in his true sphere of musical 
enjoyment. No sooner had the quaigh 
taken its round, after our repast, than 
his friend, Sir Adam, was called upon, 
with the general acclaim of the whole 
table, for the song of ‘‘ Hey tuttie tat- 
tie,” and gave it out to us with all the 
true national relish. But it was during 
the chorus that Scott’s delight at this 
festive scene chiefly showed itself. At 
the end of every verse, the whole com- 
pany rose from their seats, and stood 
round the table with arms crossed, so 
as to grasp the hand of the neighbor on 
each side. Thus interlinked, we con- 
tinued to keep measure to the strain, by 


moving our arms up and down, all chant- | 
“Hey tuttie 


ing forth vociferously, 
tattie, Hey tuttie tattie.” Sir Walter’s 
enjoyment of this old Jacobite chorus,— 
a little increased, doubtless, by seeing 
how I entered into the spirit of it,— 
gave to the whole scene, I confess, a 
zest and charm in my eyes such as the 

~ The late Rev. William Crowe, author of the 


noble poem of ‘‘ Lewisden Hill,’ was likewise 
ἃ. musician, and has left a Treatise on English 


versification, to which his knowledge of the | 


sister art lends a peculiar interest. 

So little does eyen the origin of the word 
“lyrick,” as applied to poetry, seem to be 
present to the minds of some writers, that the 
wale Young, has left us an Essay on Lyric 

oetry, in which there is not a single allusion 
to Musie, from beginning to end. 

{Life by Lockhart, vol. vi. p. 128. 


PREFACE. 


finest musical performance could not 
have bestowed on it. 

Having been thus led to allude to this 
visit, I am tempted to mention a few 
other circumstances connected with it. 
From Abbotsford I proceeded to Edin- 
burgh, whither Sir Walter, in a few 
days after, followed; and during my 
short stayin that city an incident oe- 
curred which, though already menticned 
by Scott, in his Diary,t and owing its 
chief interest to the connection of his 
name with it, ought not to be omitted 
among these memoranda. As I had ex- 
pressed a desire to visit the Edinburgh 
theatre, which opened but the evening 
before my departure, it was proposed to 
Sir Walter and myself, by our friend 
Jeffrey, that we should dine with him at 
an early hour for that purpose, and both 
were good-natured enough to accom- 

any me to the theatre. Having found, 
in a volume§ sent to me by some anony- 
mous correspondent, a more cireum- 
stantial account of the scene of that 
evening than Sir Walter has given in 


his Diary, I shall here avail myself of 
its graphic and (with one exception) ac- 
curate details. After adverting to the 
sensation produced by the appearance 
of the late Duchess of St. Alban’s in one 
of the boxes, the writer thus proceeds ; 
‘“‘There was a general buzz and stare, 
for a few seconds; the audience then 
turned their backs to the lady, and their 
attention to the stage, to wait till the 
first piece should be over ere they in- 
tended staring again. Just as it termi- 
nated, another party quietly glided into 
a box near that filled by the Duchess, 
One pleasing female was with the three 
male comers. ΠῚ ἃ minute the cry ran 
round :—‘Eh, yon’s Sir Walter, wi’ 
Lockhart an’ his wife,|| and wha’s the 


/wee bit bodie with the pawkie een? 


Wow, but it’s Tam Moore, just—Scott, 
Scott! Moore, Moore !’— with shouts, 
cheers, brayos, and applause. But 
Scott would not rise to appropriate 


1 We went to the theatre together, and the 
house being luckily a good one, received T. M. 
with rapture. I could have hugged them, for 


it paid back the debt of the kind reception I 
| met with in Ireland.” 


§ Written by Mr. Benson Hill. 
Ὶ The writer was here mistaken. There was 


one lady of our party; but neither Mr. nor Mrs. 
Lockhart was present. 


PREFACE. 


these tributes. One could see that he 
urged Moore to do so; and he, though 
modestly reluctant, at last yielded, and 
bowed, hand on heart, with much ani- 
mation. The cry for Scott was then 
redoubled. He gathered himself up, 
and, with a benevolent bend, SOREL 
edged this deserved welcome. The 
orchestra played alternately Scotch and 
Trish Melodies.” 

Among the choicest of my recollec- 
tions of that flying visit to Edinburgh, 
are the few days I passed with Lord 
Jeffrey at his agreeable retreat, Craig 
Crook, I had then recently written the 
words and music of a glee contained in 
this volume, ‘‘ Ship a hoy !” which there 
won its first honors. So often, indeed, 
was I called upon to repeat it, that the 
upland echoes of Craig Crook ought long 
to haye had its burden by heart. 

Having thus got on Scottish ground, 
I find myself awakened to the remem- 
brance ofa name which, whenever song- 
writing is the theme, ought to rank sec- 
oud to none im that sphere of poetical 
fume. Robert Burns was wholly un- 
skilled im music; yet the rare art of 
adapting words successfully to notes, of 
wedding verse in congenial union with 
melody, which, were it not for his ex- 
ample, I should say none but a poet 
versed in the sister-art ought to attempt, 
has yet, by him, with the aid of a music 
to which my own country’s strains are 
alone comparable, been exercised with 
so workinanly a hand, and with so rich 
a variety of passion, playfulness, and 
power, as no song-writer, perhaps, but 
himself, has ever yet displayed. 

That Burns, however untaught, was 
yet, m ear and fecling a musician,* is 
clear from the skill with which he adapts 
his verse to the structure and charac- 
ter of each different strain. 


this peculiar task, by the sort of in- 
stinet with which, in more than one 
instance, he discerned the real 
innate sentiment which an air was ¢al- 
culated to convey, though previously 


* It appears certain, notwithstanding, that 
he was, in his youth, wholly insensible to mu- 
sic. In speaking of him and his brother, Mr 
Murdoch, their preceptor, says, * Robert's ear, 
in particular, was remarkably dull, and his 
voice untunable. It was long before I could 
get liim to distinguish ene time from another.” 


Still more | 
strikingly did he prove his fitness for | 


and | 


41 


associated with words expressing a 
totally different cast of feeling. Thus 
the air of a ludicrous old song, ‘‘ Fee 
him, father, fee him,” has been made 
the medium of one of Burns’s most pa- 
thetic effusions; while, still more mar- 
vellously, ‘‘ Hey tuttie tattie” has been 
elevated by him into that heroic strain, 
“Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled ;’— 
a song which, in a great national cri- 
sis, would be of more avail than all the 
eloquence of a Demosthenes.t 

It was impossible that the example of 
Burns, in these, his lgher inspirations, 
should not materially contribute to ele- 
vate the character of English song-writ- 
|ing, and even to lead to a reunion of 
| the gifts which it requires, if not, as of 
old, in the same individual, yet in that 
perfect sympathy between poet and mu- 
sician which almost amounts to iden- 
tity, and of which, in our own times, we 
have seen so interesting an example in 
the few songs which bear the united 
names of those two sister muses, Mrs. 
Arkwright and the late Mrs. Hemans. 

Very different was the state of the 
song department of English poesy at 
| the eriod when I first tried my novice 
| hand at the lyre. The divorce between 
song and sense had then reached its ut- 
most range; and to all verses connected 
with music, from a Birth-day Ode down 
to the libretto of the last new opera, 
might fairly be applied the solution 
which Figaro gives of the quality of the 
words of songs, in general,—‘‘ Ce qui ne 
vaut pas la peine Wétre dit, on le 
chante.” 

It may here be suggested that the 
convivial lyrics of Captain Morris pre- 
sent an exception to the general charac- 
ter I have given of the songs of this 
period; and, assuredly, had Morris writ- 
ten much that at all approached the 
following verses of his ‘* Reasons for 
Drinking,” (which I quote from recol- 
/ lection, ) few would have equalled him 
either in fancy, or in that lighter kind 

+ I know not whether it has ever been before 
| remarked, that the well-known lines in one of 
| Burns’s most spirited songs, 

Ry 


«The title’s but the guinea’s stam 

The man’s the gold for a’ that, 
|; may possibly have been suggested by the fol- 
lowing passage in Wycherley’s play, the 
‘Country Wife;’—‘‘I weigh the man, not his 


| title; ‘tis not the King’s stamp can make the 
{ metal better.” 


42 


PREFACE. 


---π----------.-.-.-.--ο.ο.ἨὨἨἨ.0..-ὌὈ.0----- -  ΠΠΠΠΠρΠρΡΠρρῤρᾶῤᾶῤῴῤῴῤώιι 


of pathos, which comes, as in this in- 
stance, like a few melancholy notes in 
the middle of a gay air, throwing a soft 
and passing shade over mirth :— 


“My muse, too, when her wings are dry 
No frolic thehts will take ; 
But round a bow! she'll dip and fly, 
Like swallows round a lake. 
If then the nymph must have her share, 
Before she'll bless her swain, 
Why, that I think’s a reason fair 
To fill my glass again. 
“Then, many a lad Τ lik’d is dead, 
And many a lass grown old ; 
And, as the lesson strikes my head, 
My weary heart grows cold. 
But wine awhile holds off despair, 
. Nay, bids a hope remain ;— 
And that T think’s a reason fair 
Yo fill my glass again." 

How far my own labors in this field 
—if, indeed, the gathering of such idle 
flowers may be so desiguated—haye 
helped to advance, or even kept pace 
with the progressive improvement Ihave 
here described, it is not for me to pre- 
sume to decide. I only know that in a 
strong and inborn feeling for music lies 
the source of whatever talent I may 
have shown for poetical composition; 
and that it was the effort to translate 
mto language the emotions and passions 
which music appeared to me to express, 
that first led to my writing any poetry 
at all deserving of the name. Dryden 
has happily described music as being 
“inarticulate poetry;” and I haye al- 
ways felt, in adapting words to an ex- 
pressive air, that I was but bestowing 


upon it the gift of articulation, and thus | 


enabling it to speak to others all that 
was conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, 
to myself. 
led to devote, in our last volume, to 
subjects connected with the Irish Melo- 
dies, I was forced to postpone some rec- 
ollections, of a very different descrip- 
tion, respecting the gala at Boyle Farm, 
by which my poem, entitled The Sum- 
mer Fete, was suggested. In an old 
letter of my own to a friend in Ireland, 
giving an account of this brilliant festi- 
val, I find some memorandums which, 
besides their reference to the subject. of 
the poem, contain some incidents also 
comnected with the first appearance be- 
fore the public of one of the most suc- 
cessful of all my writings, the story of 
the Hpicurean, I shall give my extracts 


Owing to the space I was | 1 
/ near a grotto took imy fancy particular- 


from this letter, in their original diary- 
like form, without alteration or dress- 
ing:— 

June 30, 1837,—Day threatening for 
the Féte. Was with Lord Essex* at three 
o’clock, and started about half an hour 
after. The whole road swarming with 
carriages-and-four all the way to Boyle — 
Farm, which Lady de Roos has lent, for 
the occasion, to Henry ;—the five giy- 
ers of the Fete, being Lords Chesterfield, 
Castlereagh, Alvanley, Henry de Roos, 
and Robert Grosvenor, subscribing four 
or five hundred pounds each towards it. 
The arrangements all in the very best 
taste. The pavilion for quadrilles, on 
the bank of the river, with steps de- 


| scending to the water, quite eastern— 


like what one sees in Daniel’s pictures. 
Towards five the élite of the gay world 
Was assembled—the women all looking 
their best, and scarce a single ugly face 
to be found. About half past five, sat 
down to dinner, 450 under a tent on the 
lawn, and fifty to the Royal Table in 
the conservatory. The Tyrloese musi- 
cians sung during dinner, and there 
were, after dinner, gondolas on the riy- 
er, with Caradori, De Begnis, Velluti, 
&e., singing barcarolles and rowing off 
occasionally, so as to let their voices 
die away andagain return. After these 
succeeded a party in dominos, Madame 
Vestris, Fanny Ayton, &c., who rowed 
about in the same manner, and sung, 
among other things, my gondola song, 
‘‘Oh come to me when daylight sets.” 
The evening was delicious, and, as soon 
as it grew dark, the groves were all 
lighted up with colored lamps, in differ- 
ent shapes and devices. A little lake 


ly, the shrubs all round being ilumin- 
ated, and the lights reflected im the 
water. Six-and-twenty of the prettiest 
girls of the world of fashion, the F****t- 
*rs, Br* d*** lis, 6. ἘΠ ΕΒ; = Mossek ead 
*** 9 Miss F*x, Miss R*ss*Il, Miss 
B**ly, were dressed as Rosiéres, and 
opened the quadrilles in the pavilion . 
While talking with 

* ITeannot let pass the incidental mention 
here of this social and publie-spirited noble- 
man, without expressing my strong sense of 
his kindly qualities, and lamenting the loss 
which not only society, but the cause of sound 
and progressive Political Reform, has sustained 
by lus death. 


PREFACE. 


D—n, (Lord P.’s brother,) he said to 
me, ‘‘I never read any thing so touch- 
ing as the death of your heroine.” 
“What,” said I, ‘have you gotso faral- 
ready ?”* ‘Oh, I read it in the Liter- 
ary Gazette.” This anticipation of my 
catastrophe is abominable. Soon after, 
the Marquis P—lm—a said to me, as he 
and I and B—m stood together, look- 
-ing at the gay scene, ‘‘ This is like one 
of your Fetes.” ‘Oh yes,” said B—m, 
thinking he alluded to Lalla Rookh, 
“quite oriental.” ‘‘ Non, non,” replied 
P—Im—a, ‘“‘je veux dire cette Féte 
d’Athénes, dont j’ai lu la. description 
dans la Gazette @aujourd’hui.” 

Respecting the contents of the pres- 
ent Volume I have but a few more 
words to add. Accustomed as I have 
always been to consider my songs as a 
sort of compound creations, in which 
the music forms no less essential a part 
than the verses, it is with a feeling which 
I can hardly expect my uanlyrical read- 
ers to understand, that I see such a 
swarm of songs as crowd these pages 
all separated from the beautiful airs 
which have formed hitherto their chief 
ornament and strength—their ‘‘ decus et 
tutamen.” But, independently of this 
uneasy feeling, or fancy, there is yet 
another inconvenient consequence of the 
divorce of the words from the music, 
which will be more easily, perhaps, com- 
prehended, and which, in justice to my- 
self, as a metre-monger, ought to be 
noticed. Those occasional breaches of 
the laws of rhythm, which the task of 
adapting words to airs demands of the 
poet, though very frequently one of the 
happiest results of his skill, become 
blemishes when the verse is separated 
from the melody, and require, to justify 
them, the presence of the music to 
whose wildness or sweetness the sacri- 
fice had been made. 

In a preceding page of this preface, 
I have mentioned a Treatise by the late 
Rey. Mr. Crowe, on English versifica- 
tion; and I remember his telling me, 
in reference to the point I have just 
touched upon, that, should another edi- 
tion of that work be called for, he meant 
to produce, as examples of new and 
anomalous forms of versification, the 


43 


following songs from the Trish Melodies : 


—‘‘Oh the days are gone when Beauty 


bright !’””—‘*‘ At the dead hour of night, 
when stars are weeping, I fly,’’"—and, 
“Through grief and through danger thy 
smile hath cheer’d my way.” t 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


SL EL ΟΜ 


THE Poem, or Romance, of LALLA 
Rooxg, haying now reached its twenti- 
eth edition, a short account of the origin 
and progress of a work which has been 
hitherto, at least, so very fortunate in 
its course, may not be deemed, perhaps, 
superfluous or misplaced. 

It was about the year 1812 that, im- 
pelled far more by the encouraging sug- 
gestions of friends than impelled by any 
confident promptings of my own ambi- 
tion, 1 was induced to attempt a Poem 
upon some Oriental subject, and of those 
quarto dimensions which Scott’s late 
triumphs in that form had then rendered 
the regular poetical standard. <A nego- 
tiation on the subject was opened with 
the Messrs. Longman in the same year, 
but from some causes which have now 
escaped my recollection, led to no deci- 
sive result; nor was it till a year or two 
after, that any further steps were taken 
in the matter,—their house being the 
only one, itis right to add, with which, 
from first to last, I held any communi- 
cation upon the subject. 

On this last occasion, an old friend 
of mine, Mr. Perry, kindly offered to 
lend me the aid of his advice and _ pres- 
ence in the interview which I was 
about to hold with the Messrs. Long- 
man, for the arrangement of our mnu- 
tual terms; and what with the friend- 

tI shall avail myself of this opportunity of 
noticing the charge brought by Mr. Bunting 
ugainst Sir John Stevenson, of having made 
alterations in many of the airs that formed our 
Trish Collection. Whatever changes of this 
kind have been ventured upon, (and they are 
but few and slight,) the responsibility for them 


| rests solely with me, as, leaving the Harmo- 
| nist’s department to my friend Stevenson, I 


* The Epicurean had been published but the | reserved to myself entirely the selection and 


day before. 


| management of the airs, 


44 


f 


ly zeal of my negotiator on the one 
side, and the prompt and liberal spirit 
with which he was met on the other, 
there has seldom occurred any transac- 
tion in which Trade and Poesy have 
shone out so advantageously in each 
other’s eyes. The short discussion that 
then took place between the two parties, 
may be comprised ina very few sen- 
tences. 


PREF ACH. 


certainly impatient for the perusal of the 
Poem; but solely for our gratification. 
Your sentiments are always honor- 
able.”* 

I continued to pursue my task for 
another year, being likewise occasionally 
occupied with the Irish Melodies, two 
or three numbers of which made their 
appearance during the period employed 


“T am of opinion,” said Mr. in writing Lalla Rookh. At length, in 


Perry,—enforcing his view of the case | the year 1816, I found my work sutli- 
by arguments which it is not forme to) ciently advanced to be placed in the 


cite,—“‘ that Mr. Moore ought to receive | hands of the publishers. 


for his Poem the largest price that has 
been given, in our day, for such a work.” 
“That was,” answered the Messrs. 
Longman, ‘‘three thousand guineas.” 
“Hxactly so,” replied Mr. Perry, ‘and 
no less a sum ought he to receive.” 

It was then objected, and very reason- 
ably, on the part of the firm, that they 
oad never yet seen a single line of the 
Poem; and that a perusal of the work 
ought to be allowed to them, before 
they embarked so large a sum in the 
purchase. But, no;—the romantic 
view which my friend, Perry, took of 
the matter, was, that this price should 
be given as a tribute to reputation 
already acquired, without any condition 
for a previous perusal of the new work. 
This high tone, I must confess, not a 
little startled and alarmed me; but, to 
the honor and glory of Romance,—as 
well on the publisher’s side as the poet’s, 
—this very generous view of the trans- 
action was, without any difficulty, ac- 
ceeded to, and the firm agreed, before 
we separated, that I was to receive three 
thousand guineas for my Poem. 

At the time of this agreement, but lit- 
tle of the work, as it stands at present, 
had yet been written. But the ready 
confidence in my success shown by 
others, made up for the deficiency of 
that requisite feeling within myself; 
while a strong desire not wholly to dis- 
appoutt this ‘‘auguring hope,” became 
almost a substitute for inspiration. 
the year 1815, therefore, having made 
some progress in my task, I wrote to 
report the state of the work to the 
Messrs. Longman, adding, that I was 
most willing and ready, should they 


In | 


| 


desire it, to submit the manuscript for | 


Their 
follows:—‘‘ We are 


their consideration. 
this offer was 


as 


answer to | 


| 
{ 


But the state 
of distress to which England was re- 
duced, in that dismal year, by the ex- 
hausting effects of the series of wars she 
had just then concluded, and the general 
embarrassment of all classes, both agri- 
cultural and commercial, rendered it a 
juncture the least favorable that could 
well be conceived for the first launch 
into print of so light and costly a venture 
as Lalla Rookh. Feeling conscious, 
therefore, that, under such circum- 
stances, I should act but honestly in 
putting it in the power of the Messrs. 
Longman to reconsider the terms of their 
engagement with me,—leaving them free 
to postpone, modify, or even, should 
such be their wish, relinquish it alto- 
gether, I wrote them a letter to that 
effect, and received the following an- 
swer :—‘‘ We shall be most happy in 
the pleasure of seeing you in February. 
We agree with you, indeed, that the 
times are most inauspicious for ‘ poetry 
and thousands;’ but we believe that 
your poetry would do more than that of 


|any other living poet at the present 
| moment.” ἢ 


The length of time I employed in 


| writing the few stories strung together 


in Lalla Rookh will appear, to some 
persons, much more than was necessary 
for the production of such easy and 
“light o’love” fictions. But, besides 


| that I have been, at all times, a far more 


slow and painstaking, workman than 
would ever be guessed, I fear, from the 
result, I felt that, in this instance, I had 
taken upon myself a more than ordinary 
responsibility, from the immense stake 
risked by others on my chance of suc- 
cess. For a long time, therefore, after 
the agreement had been concluded 

* April 10, 1815. 

tNovember 9, 1816. 


PREFACE. 


though ΡΒ Υ at work with a view to | 
this task, I made but very little real. 

rogress in it, and T have still by me the | 

eginnings of several stories, continued, 
some of them, to the length of three or 
four hundred lines, which, after in vain 
endeavoring to mould them into shape, 
I threw aside, like the tale of Cambus- 
can, ‘‘left half-told.” One of these 
stories, entitled The Peri’s Daughter, 
was meant to relate the loves of a nymph 
of this erial extraction with a youth of 
mortal race, the rightful Prince of | 
Ormuz, who had been, from his ἀνθ Ἢ: 
brought up, in seclusion, on the banks 
of the river Amou, by an aged guardian 
named Mohassan. The story opens) 
with the first meeting of these destined 
lovers, then in their childhood; the 
Peri having wafted her daughter to this 
holy retreat, in a bright, enchanted 
boat, whose first appearance is thus 
described :— 


For, down the silvery tide afar, 
There came a boat, as swift and bright 

As shines, in heay’n, some pilgrim-star, 
That leaves its own high home at night, 
To shoot to distant shrines of light. 
“Tt comes, it comes,”’ young Orian cries, 
And panting to Mohassan flies. 
Then, down upon the flowery grass 
Reclines to see the vision pass ; 
With partly joy and partly fear, 
To find its wondrous light so near, 
And hiding oft his daz sed eyes 
Among the flowers on whic he lies 

κ « * 


Within the boat a baby slept, 

Like a young pearl within its shell; 
While one, who seem'd of riper years, 
But not of earth, or earth-like spheres, 

Her watch beside the slumberer kept; 

Gracefully waving, in her hand, 

The feathers of some holy bird, 
With which, from time to time, she stirr’d | 

The fragrant air, and coolly fann’d 

The baby’s brow, or brush’d away 
The butterflies that, bright and blue 

As on the mountains of Malay, 

Around the sleeping infant flew. 

And now the fairysboat hath stopp'd 

Beside the bank,—the nymph has dropp’d 

Her golden anchor in the streain; 

Α * x * ἧς 


A song is sung by the Peri in ap- 
proaching, of which the following forms 
& part :— 

My child she is but half divine, 

Her father sleeps in the Caspian water ; 

Sea-weeds twine 
His funeral shrine, 
But he lives again in the Peri's daughter. 


45 


Fain would I fly from mortal sight 
To my own sweet bowers of Peristan ; 
But, there, the flowers are all too bright 
For the eyes of a baby born of man. 
On flowers of earth her feet must tread ; 
So niier ny light-winged bark hatk brought 
her, 
Stranger, spread 
Thy leafiest bed, 
To rest the wandering Peri’s daughter. 


In another of these inchoate frag- 
ments, a proud female saint, named 
Banou, plays a principal part; and her 
progress through the streets of Cufa, on 
the night of a great illuminated festival, 
I find thus described :— 


Τί was a scene of mirth that drew 

A smile from ey’n the Saint Banon, 

As, through the hush'd, admiring throng, 
She went with stately steps along, 

And counted o’er, that all might see, 
The rubies of her rosary. 

But none might see the worldly smile 
That lurk’d beneath her veil, the while :— 
Alla forbid! for, who would wait 

Her blessing at the temple's gate,— 
What holy man would eyer run 

To kiss the ground she knelt upon, 

Τί onee, by Iuckless chance, he knew 

She look’d and smiled as others do. 

Her hands were join’d, and from each wrist, 
By threads of pearl and golden twist, 
Hung relies of the saints of yore, 

And seraps of talismanic lore, — 

Charms for the old, the sick, the frail, 
Some made for use, and all for sale. 

On either side the crowd withdrew, 

To let the Saint pass proudly through; 
While turban’d heads of every hue, 
Green, white, and crimson, bow'd around, 
And gay tiaras touch'd the ground,— 

As tulip-bells, when o’er their beds 

The musk-wind passes, bend their heads. 
Nay, some there were among the crowd 
Of Moslem heads that round her bow’d, 
So fill'd with zeal, by many a draught 

Of Shiraz wine profanely quatfd, 

That, sinking low in reverence then, 
They never rose till morn again. 


There are yet two more of these un- 
finished sketches, one of which extends 
to a much greater length than I was 
aware of; and, as faras I can judge from 
a hasty renewal of my acquaintance 
with it, is not incapable of being yet 
turned to account. 

In only one of these unfinished 
sketches, the tale of The Peri’s Daugh- 


‘ter, had I yet ventured to invoke that 


most home-felt of all my inspirations, 
which has lent to the story of The Fire- 
worshippers its main attraction aud in- 
terest. Thatit was my inteution, in the 


|eoncealed Prince of Ormuz, to shadow 


40 


PREFACE. 


out some impersonation of this feeling, 
I take for granted from the prophetic 
words supposed to be addressed to him 
by his aged guardian :— 
' Bright child of destiny! even now 
Tread the promise on that brow, 
That tyrants shall no more defile 
The glories of the Green-Sea Isle, 


But Ormuz shall again be free, 
And hail her native Lord in thee! 


In none of the other fragments do I 
find any trace of this sort of feeling, 
either in the subject or the personages 
ef the intended story; and this was the 
reason, doubtless, though hardly known, 
at the time, to myself, that, finding my 
subjects so slow in kindling my own 
sympathies, I began to despair of their 
ever touching the hearts of others; and 
felt often inclined to say, 


“Oh no, I have no voice or hand 
For such a song, in such a land.” 


Had this series of disheartening ex- 
periments been carried on much further, 
{ must have thrown aside the work in 
despair. But, at last, fortunately, as it 
proved, the thought occurred to me of 
founding a story on the fierce struggle 
so long maintained between the Ghe- 
bers,* or ancient Fire-worshippers of 
Persia, and their haughty Moslem mas- 
ters. From that moment, a new and 
deep interest In my whole task took 
possession of me. The cause of toler- 
ance was again my inspiring theme; 
and the spirit that had spoken in the 
melodies of Ireland soon found itself at 
home in the East. 

Having thus laid open the secrets of 
the workshop to account for the time 
expended in writing this work, I must 
also, in justice to my own industry, 
notice the pains I took in long and 
laboriously reading for it. To form a 
store-house, as it were, of illustration, 
purely Oriental, and so familiarize my- 
self with its various treasures, that as 
quick as Fancy, in her airy spiritings, 
required the assistance of fact, the mem- 
ory was ready, like another Ariel, at her 
‘strong bidding,” to furnish materials 


- * Voltaire, in his tragedy of ‘‘ Les Guébres,” 
written with a similar under-current of mean- 
ing. was accused of having transformed his 
iive-worshippers into Jansenists :—‘* Quelques 
figuristes,’’ he says, ‘ prétendeut que les Gue- 
bres sont les Jansenistes.”’ 


for the spell-work,—such was, for a long 
while, the sole object of my studies ; and 
whatever time and trouble this prepara- 
tory process may have cost me, the ef- 
fects resulting from it, as far as the 
humble merit of truthfulness is con- 
cerned, have been such as to repay me 
more than sufficiently for my pains. I 
have not forgotten how great was my 
pleasure, when told by the late Sir James 
Mackintosh, that he was once asked by 
Colonel Wilks, the historian of British 
India, ‘‘ whether it was true that Moore 
had never been in the East?” “Never,” 
answered Mackintosh. ‘Well, that 
shows me,” replied Colonel Wilks, 
“that reading over D’Herbelot is as 
good as riding on the back of a camel.” 

I need hardly subjoin to this lively 
speech, that although D’Herbelot’s 
valuable work was, of course, one of 
my manuals, I took the whole range of 
all such Oriental reading as was access- 
ible to me; and became, for the time, 
indeed, far more conversant with all 
relating to that distant region, than I 
have eyer been with the scenery, pro- 
ductions, or modes of life of any of those 
countries lying most within my.reach. 
We know that D’ Anville, though never 
in his life out of Paris, was able to cor- 
rect a number of errors in a plan of the 
Troad taken by D’Choiseul, on the 
spot; and, for my own very different, 
as well as far inferior, purposes, the 
knowledge I had thus acquired of dis- 
tant localities, seen only by me in day- 
dreams, was no less ready and useful. 

An ample reward for all this pains- 
taking has been found in such weleome 
tributes as I have just cited; nor ean I 
deny myself the gratification of citing a 
few more of the same description. From 
another distinguished authority on Bast- 
ern subjects, the late Sir John Malcohn, 
I had myself the pleasure of hearing a 
similar opinion publicly expressed ;— 
that eminent person Raving remarked, 
in a speech spoken by him at a Literary 
Fund Dinner, that together with those 
qualities of the poet which he much too 
partially assigned to me, was combined 
also ‘the truth of the historian.” 

Sir Wilham Ouseley, another high 
authority, in giving his testimony to the 
same effect, thus notices an exception 
to the general accuracy for which he 


- 
δι 


ives me credit:—‘Dazzled by the 

eauties of this composition,” few read- 
ers can perceive, and none surely can 
regret, that the poet, in his magnificent 
catastrophe, has forgotten, or boldly and 
most happily violated, the precept of 
Zoroaster, above noticed, which held it 
impious to consume any portion of a 
human body by fire, especially by that 
which glowed upon their altars.” Hay- 
ing long lost, I fear, most of my Eastern 
learning, I can only cite, in defence of 
my catastrophe, an old Oriental tradi- 
tion, which relates that Nimrod, when 
Abraham refused, at his command, to 
worship the fire, ordered him to be 
thrown into the midst of the flames. t 
A precedent so ancient for this sort of 
use of the worshipped element, ap- 
pears, for all purposes at least of poetry, 
to be fully sufficient. 

In addition to these agreeable testi- 
monies, I haye also heard, and, need 
hardly add, with some pride and _ pleas- 
ure, that parts of this work have been 
rendered into Persian, and have found 
their way to Ispahan. To this fact, as 
IT am willing to think it, allusion is 
‘made in some lively verses, written 
many years since, by my friend, Mr. 
Luttrell :-— 

“I'm told, dear Moore, your lays are sung, 

(Can it be true, you lueky man 7) 
By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, 
Along the streets of Ispahan.”’ 

That some knowledge of the work 
may have really reached that region, 
appears not improbable from a passage 
in the Travels of Mr. Frazer, who says, 
that ‘‘ being delayed for some time at a 
town on the shores of the Caspian, he 
was lucky enough to be able to amuse 
himself with a copy of Lalla Rookh, 
which a Persian had lent him.” 

Of the description of Balbee, in “ Par- 
adise and the Peri,” Mr. Carne, in his 
Letters from the East, thus speaks: 
‘The description in Lalla Rookh of the 
plain and its ruins is exquisitely faithful. 
The minaret is on the declivity near at 
hand, and there wanted only the muez- 
zin’s ery to break the silence.” 

I shall now tax my readers’ patience 

* The Fire-worshippers. 

{ Tradunt autem Hebreei hane fabulam quod 
Abraham inignem missus sit quia ignem ado- 


rare noluit.—St. HIkKON. in Quest. in Gene- 
sim. 


PREFACE. 


47 


with but one more of these generous 
vouchers. Whatever of vanity there 
may be in citing such tributes, they 
show, at least, of what great value, even 
in poetry, is that prosaic quality, indus- 
try ; since, as the reader of the forego- 
ing pages is now fully apprized, it was 
in a slow and laborious collection of 
small facts, that the first foundations of 
this fanciful Romance were laid. 

The friendly testimony I have just re- 
ferred to, appeared, some years since, in 
the form in which I now give it, and, if 
I recollect right, in the Athenzeum :— 

“1 embrace this opportunity of bear- 
ing my individual testimony (if it be of 
any value) to the extraordinary accu- 
racy of Mr. Moore, in his topographical, 
antiquarian, and characteristic details, 
whether of costume, manners, or less- 
changing monuments, both in his Lalla 
Rookh, and in the Epicurean. It has 
been my fortune to read his Atlantic, 
Bermudean, and American Odes and 
Epistles, in the countries and among 
the people to which and to whom they 
related ; I enjoyed also the exquisite de- 
light of reading his Lalla Rookh, in Per- 
sia itself; and I have perused the Epi- 
curean, while all my recollections of 
Egypt and its still existing wonders are 
as fresh as when I quitted the banks of 
the Nile for Arabia :—I owe it, there- 
fore, as a debt of gratitude (though the 
payment is most inadequate) for the 
great pleasure I have derived from his 
productions, to bear my humble testi- 
mony to their local fidelity. 

HOR Ai ts el a 

Among the incidents connected with 
this work, I must not omit to notice the 
splendid Divertissement, founded upon 


it, which was acted at the Chateau 
Royal of Berlin, during the visit of the 
Grand Duke Nicholas to that capital, in 
the year 1822. The different stories 
composing the work were represented in 
Tableaux Vivans and songs ; and among 
the crowd of royal and noble personages 
amgaged in the performances, I shall 
mention those only who represented the 
principal characters, and whom I find 
thus enumerated in the published ac- 
| count of the Divertissement. | 

| { Lalla Rofkh, Divertissement mélé de Chants 
}etde Danses, Berlin, 1822. ‘The work contains 
la series of colored engravings, representing 


48 


‘*Fadladin, Grand- ΠΣ Haack, (Mavré- 
Nasi te ae 5 : chal de Cour.) 
Aliris, Roi de Βα. : ᾿ 
Gharie ers γεν S.A. I. Le Grand Due, 


Lalla Rotikh, ... 


Aurungzeb, le { 
Grand Mogol, .. 
Abdallah, Pere d’ (8. 


5. A. I. La Grand 

| Duchesse. 

S.A.R. Le Prince Guil- 
laume, frére du Roi. 

Ss. A. Rk. Le Due de 


PASLITISS πεν πος ὶ Cumberland. 
La Reine, son (3. A. κα, La Princesse 
E€pouse, ......0. { Louise Radzivill.” 


Besides these and other leading per- 
sonages, there were also brought into 
action, under the various denominations 
of Seigneurs et Dames de Bucharie, 
Dames de Cachemire, Seigneurs et 
Dames dansans ἃ la Féte des Roses, 
&c., nearly 150 persons. 

Of the manner and style in which the 
Tableaux of the different stories are de- 
seribed in the work from which I cite, 
the following account of the perform- 
ance of Paradise and the Peri will afford 
some specimen :— 

‘Ta décoration répresentoit les por- 
tes brllantes du Paradis, entourées de 
nuages. Dans le premier tableau on 
voyoit la Péri, triste et desolée, cou- 
chée sur le seuil des portes fermées, et 
l Ange de lumiere qui lui addresse des 
consolations et des conseils. Le second 
représente le moment, ou la Peri, dans 
Vespoir que .ce don lu ouvrira l’entree 
du Paradis recueille la derni¢re goutte 
de sang que vient de verser le jeune 
PUCMICHMUNCICN τοῖς + seh cl ge 

‘‘La Pén et l’Ange de lumiere répon- 
doient pleinement ἃ Vimage et a [1466 
qwon est tenté de se faire de ces deux 
individus, et ’impression qu’a faite gén- 
éralement la suite des tableaux de cet 
épisode délicat et intéressant est loin 
de s’effacer de notre souvenir.” 

In this grand Fete, it appears, origi- 
nated the translation of Lalla Rookh 
to German yerse, by the Baron de la 
Motte Fouqué, and the circumstances 
which led him to undertake the task are 
described by himself, m a Dedicatory 
Pocm to the Empress of Russia, which 
he has prefixed to bis translation. As 
soon as the performance, he tells us, 
had ended, Lalla Rookh (the Empress 
herself) exclaimed, with a sigh, “ Is it, 
then, all over? are we now at the close 
of all that hasgivenus so much dehght? 


groups, processions &e.,1n different Criental 


2OSRLUMECS. 


PREFACE. ; 


and lives there no poet who will impart 
to others, and to future times, some no- 
tion of the happiness we have enjoyed 
this evening?” On hearing this appeal, 
a Knight of Cachmere (who is no 
other than the poetical Baron himself) 
comes forward and promises to attempt 
to present to the world ‘the Poem it- 
self in the measure of the original :”’— 
whereupon Lalla Rookh, it is added, 
approvingly smiled. 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


SEVENTH VOLUME. 


THE station assigned to “ The Fudge 
Family” in the following pages, imme- 
diately after Lalla Rookh, agrees but too 
closely with the actual order in which 
these two works were originally written 
and published. The success, far ex- 
ceedmg my hopes and deserts, with 
which Lalla Rookh was immediately 
crowned, reheyed me at once from the 
anxious feeling of responsibilty under 
which, as my readers have seen, that 
enterprise had been commenced, and 
which continued for some time to haunt 
me amidst all the enchantments of my 
task. Iwas therefore in the true holy- 
day mood, when a dear friend, with 
whose name is associated some of the 
brightest and pleasantest hours of my 
past life,“ kindly offered me a seat m 
his carriage fora short visit to Paris. 
This proposal I, of course, most gladly 
accepted; and, m the autumn of the 


'vear 1817, found myself, for the first 


time, m that gay capital. 

As the restoration of the Bourbon dy- 
nasty was still of too recent a date for 
any amalgamation to haye yet taken 


| place between the new and ancient or- 
|der of things, all the most prominent 
| features of both régimes were just then 


brought, in their fullest relief, into jux- 
taposition; and, aceordimgly, the result 
was such as to suggest to an uncon: 
cerned spectator quite as abundant mat- 
ter for ridicule as for grave pohtical con- 
ideration. It would be diificuit, mdeed, 


* Mr Rogers. 


PREFACE. 


49 


ESS 


to convey to those who had not them- 
selves seen the Paris of that period, any 
clear notion of the anomalous aspect, 
both social and political, which it then 
presented. It was as if, in the days 
succeeding the Deluge, a small coterie 
of antediluvians had been suddenly 
eyoked from out of the deep to take the 
command of a new and freshly-starting 
world. 

To me, the abundant amusement and 
interest which such a scene could not 
but afford, was a good deal heightened 
by my having, in my youthful days, 
been made acquainted with some of 
those personages who were now most 
interested in the future success of the 
Legitimate cause. The Comte D’ Artois, 
or Monsieur, I had met in the year 
1802-3, at Donington Park, the seat of 
the Harl of Moira, under whose prince- 
ly roof I used often and long, in those 
days, to find a most hospitable home. 
A small party of distinguished French 
emigrants were already staying on a 
visit in the house when Monsieur and 
his suite arrived; and among those were 
the present King of France and his two 
brothers; the Due de Montpensier, and 
the Comte de Beaujolais. 

Some doubt and uneasiness had, I 
remember, been felt by the two latter 
brothers, as to the reception they were 


hkely to encounter from the new guest ; 
and as, in those times, a cropped and 
unpowdered head was regarded gen- 


erally as a symbol of Jacobinism, the | 


Comte Beaujolais, who, like many other 
young men, wore his hair in this fashion, 
thought it, on the present occasion, 
most prudent, in order to avoid all risk 
of offence, not only to put powder in his 
hair, but also to provide himself with 
an artificial queue. This measure of 
precaution, however, led to a slight in- 
cident alter dinner, which, though not 
very royal or dignified, was at least 
creditable to the social good-humor of 
the future Charles X. On the departure 
of the ladies from the diming-room, we 


had hardly seated ourselves in the old- | 


fashioned style round the fire, when Mon- 
sieur, Who had happened to place him- 


self next to Beaujolais, caught a glimpse 
| 


a ee ΣΕ τ τς 
Waica, aaAVIE | 


of the ascititious tail, § 
been rather carelessly put on, had a 
good deal straggied out of its place. 


With a sort of scream of jocular pleasure, 
as if delighted at the discovery, Monsieur 
seized the stray appendage, and, bring- 
ing it around into full view, to the great 
amusement of the whole company, 
popped it into poor grinning Beaujolais’ 
mouth. 

On one of the evenings of this short 
visit of Monsieur, I remember Curran 
arriving unexpectedly, on his way te 
London; and, having come too late for 
dinner, he joined our party in the even- 
ing. As the foreign portion of the com- 
pany was then quite new to him, I 
was able to be useful, by informing him 
of the names, rank, and other particulars 
of the party he found assembled, from 
Monsieur himself, down to the old Due 
de Lorge and the Baron de Rolle. 
When I had gone through the whole 
list, ‘‘ Ah, poor fellows!” he exclaimed, 
with a mixture of fun and pathos in his 
look, truly Irish, ‘‘ Poor fellows, all dis- 
mounted cavalry !” 

On the last evening of Monsiew’s 
stay, I was made to ning for him, amon 
other songs, ‘‘ Farewell Bessy!” one o 
my earliest attempts at musical com- 
position. As soon as I had finished, he 
paid me the compliment of reading 
aloud the words as written under the 
music; and most royal havoc did he 
make, as to this day I well remember, 
of whatever little sense or metre they 
could boast. 

Among my earlier poetic writings, 
more than one grateful memorial may 
be found of the happy days I passed in 
this hospitable mansion,—* 


Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights 

On Donington’s green lawns and breesy heights. 
But neither verse nor prose could do any 
justice to the sort of impression I still 
retain of those long-vanished days. The 
library at Donington wast extensive and 
valuable; and through the privilege 
kindly granted to me of retiring thither 
for study, even when the family were 
absent, I frequently passed whole weeks 
alone in that fine library, indulging in 


all the first airy castle-building of 
| authorship. The various projects, in- 
“See p. 193 of this edition. 
{in employing the past tense here. I do the 
reseut lord injustice, whose {11} wish I know 


jit is to keep all at Donington exactly as bis 


noble father left it. 


50 


PREFACE, 


ν 


deed, of future works that used then to 
pass _in fruitless succession through my 
mind, can be compared only to the waves 
as described by the poet, — 


“And one no sooner touch’d the shore, and died, 
Than a new follower rose.” 


With that library is also connected 
another of my earlier poems,—the verses 
addressed to the Duke of Montpensier 
on his portrait of the Lady Adelaide 
Forbes,* for it was there that this truly 
noble lady, then in the first dawn of her 
beauty, used to sit for that picture; 
while, in another part of the library, the 
Duke of Orleans,—engaged generally at 
that time with a volume of Clarendon, 
—was by such studies unconsciously 
preparing himself for the high and 
arduous destiny, which not only the 
Good Genius of France, but his own 
sagacious and intrepid spirit, had early 
marked out for him. 

I need hardly say how totally differ- 
ent were all the circumstances under 
which Monsieur himself and some of his 
followers were again seen by me in the 
year 1817;—the same actors, indeed, 
but with an entirely new change of 
scenery and decorations. Among the 
variety of aspects presented by this 
change, the ridiculous certainly predom- 
mated ; nor could a satirist who, like 
Philoctetes, was smitten with a fancy 
for shooting at geese,t ask any better 
supply of such game than the high 
places, in France, at that period, both 
lay and ecclesiastical, afforded. Not 
being versed, however, sufficiently in 
French politics to venture to meddle 
with them, even in sport, I found a 
more ready conductor of laughter—for 
which I was then much in the mood— 
in those groups of ridiculous English 
who were at that time swarming in all 
directions throughout Paris, and of all 
whose various forms of cockneyism and 
nonsense I endeavored, in the person- 
ages of the Fudge Family, to collect the 
concentrated essence. The result, as 
usual, fell very far short of what I had 
myself preconceived and intended. 
But, making its appearance at such a 
crisis, the work brought with it that best 

*See p. 152 of this edition. 

1" Pinmgero, non armigero in corpore tela 
exerceantur:” the words put by Accius in the 
month of Philoctetes. 


Seasoning of all such jeuw-d’esprit, the 
a-propos of the moment; and, accord- 
ingly, in the race of successive editions, 
Lalla Rookh was, for some time, kept 
pace with by Miss Biddy Fudge. 

The series of trifles contained in this 
volume, entitled “Rhymes on the 
Road,’’ were written partly as their ti- 
tle implies, and partly at a subsequent 
period from memorandums made on the 
spot. This will account for so many of 
those pieces being little better, I fear, 
than “ prose fringed with rhyme.” The 
journey to a part of which those Rhymes 
owed their existence, was commenced 
in company with Lord John Russell in 
the autumn of the year 1819. After a 
week or two passed at Paris, to enable 
Lord John to refer to Barillon’s Letters 
for a new edition of his Life of Lord 
Russell then preparing, we set out to- 
gether for the Simplon. At Milan, the 
agreeable society of the late Lord Kin- 
naird detained us for a few days; and 
then my companion teok the route to 
Genoa, while I proceeded on a visit to 
Lord Byron, at Venice. 

It was during the journey, thus brief- 
ly described, I addressed the well-known 
Remonstrance to my noble friend,t 
which has of late been frequently cou- 
pled with my prophetic verses on the 
Duke of Wellington,§ from the prescient 
spirit with which it so confidently looked 
forward to all that Lord John has since 
become in the eyes of the world. 

Of my visit to Lord Byron,—an event 
to me so memorable,—I have already 
detailed all the most interesting particu- 
lars in my published Life of the poet; 
and shall here only cite, from that work, 
one passage, as haying some reference 
to a picture mentioned in the following 
pages. ‘As we were conversing after 
dinner about the various collections of 
paintings I had seen that morning, on 
my saying that, fearful as I was of ever 
praising any picture, lest I should draw 
on myself the connoisseur’s sneer, for 
my pains, I would yet, to him, venture 
to own that I had seen a picture at Mi- 
lan, which ‘The Hagar!’|| he ex- 
| claimed, eagerly interrupting me; and 
it was, in fact, that very picture I was 


| See Miscellaneous Poems. 
ὃ See p. 264 of this edition. ; 
| Abraham dismissing Hagar, by Guereino. 


about to mention to him as haying 
awakened in me, by the truth of its ex- 
ression, more real emotion than any I 
nad yet seen among the chefs-d’w@uvre 
of Venice.” 

In the society I chiefly lived with, 
while at Rome, I considered myself 
singularly fortunate; though but a blind 
and uninitiated worshipper of those pow- 
ers of Art of which my companions 
were all high-priests. | Canova himself, 
Chantrey, Lawrence, Jackson, Turner, 
Eastlake,—such were the men of whose 
presence and guidance I enjoyed the 
adyantage in visiting all that unrivalled 
Rome can boast of beautiful and grand. 
That I derived from this course of tu- 
tion any thing more than a very hum- 
bling consciousness of my own ignorance 
and want of taste, in matters of art, I 
will not be so dishonest as to pretend. 
But, to the strangerin Rome every step 
forms an epoch; and, in addition to all 
its own countless appeals to memory 
and imagination, the agreeable auspices 
under which 1 first visited all its memor- 
able places could not but render every 
impression I received more vivid and 
permanent. Thus, with my recollection 
of the Sepulchre of St. Peter, and its 
eyer-burning lamps, for which splendid 
spot Canova was then meditating a 
statue,* there is always connected in 
my mind the exclamation which I heard 
break from Chantrey after gazing, for a 
few moments, in silence, upon that glori- 
ous site,— What a place to work for! ”’ 

In one of the poems contained in this 
volume,t allusion is made to an evening 
not easily forgotten, when Chantrey and 
myself were taken by Canova to the 
Borghese Palace, for the purpose of 
showing us, by the light of a taper—his 
favorite mode of exhibiting that work— 
his beautiful statue of the Princess Bor- 
ghese, called the Venere Vincitrice. In 
Chantrey’s eagerness to point out some 
grace or effect that peculiarly struck 
him, he snatched the light out of 
Canova’s hand; and to this circumstance 
the followmg passage of the poem re- 
ferred to was meant to allude :— 


When he, thy peer in art and fame, 
Hung o'er the marble with delight ;{ 


* A statue, I beheve, of Pius VI. 
! See Rhymes on the Road, Extr. xv. 
ΤΑ slight alteration here has rendered these 


PREFACE. 


51 


And, while his ling’ring hand would steal 
O’er every grace the taper’s rays, 
Gave thee, with all the gen'rous zeal 
Such master-spirits only feel, 
The best of fame—a rival's praise. 

One of the days that still linger most 
pleasantly in my memory, and which, 
I trust, neither Lady Calcott nor Mr. 
Eastlake have quite forgotten, was that 
of our visit together to the Palatine 
Mount, when, as we sauntered about 
that picturesque spot, enjoying the 
varied views of Rome which it com- 
mands, they made me, for the first time, 
acquainted with Guidi’s spirited Ode on 
the Arcadians, in which there is poetry 
enough to make amends for all the non- 
sense of his rhyming brethren. Truly 
and grandly does he exclaim,— 


“ TIndomita e superba ancor ὁ Roma 
Bencheé si veggia col gran busto a terra; 
*« * x ων ΩΣ 


Son piene di splendor le sue ruine, 
E il gran cenere suo si mostra eterno.” 

With Canova, while sitting to Jackson 
for a portrait ordered by Chantrey, I 
had more than once some interesting 
conversation,—or, rather, listened while 
he spoke,—respecting the political state 
of Europe at that period, and those 
‘“‘briceoni,” as he styled them, the soy- 
ereigns of the Holy Alliance, and, be- 
fore I left Rome, he kindly presented 
to me a set of engrayngs ‘rom some of 
his finest statues, together with a copy 
of the beautifully printec. collection of 
Poems, which a Roman poet, named 
Missirini, had written in praise of his 
different ‘‘ Marmi.” 

When Lord John Russell and myself 
parted at Milan, it was agreed between 
us, that after a short visit to Rome, and 
(if practicable within the allowed time) 
to Naples, I was to rejoin him at Genoa, 
and ae thence accompany him to 
England. But the early period for 
which Parliament was summoned, that 
year, owing to the violent proceedings 
at Manchester, rendered it necessary 
for Lord John to hasten his return to 
England. I was, therefore, most fortu- 
nate, under such circumstances, mn being 
permitted by my friends Chantrey and 
Jackson to jom in them journey home- 
ward; through which lucky arrangement, 
the same precious privilege [had enjoyed, 
verses more true to the actual fact than they 
were in the original form. 


52 


at Rome, of hearing the opinions of such 
practised judges, on all the great works 
of art I saw in their company, was con- 
tinued afterwards to me through the 
various collections we visited together, 
at Florence, Bologna, Modena, Parma, 
Milan, and Turin. 

To some of those pictures and statues 
that most took my fancy, during my 
tour, allusions will be found in a few of 
the poems contained in this volume. 
But the great pleasure I derived from 
these and many other such works arose 
far more from the poetical nature of 
their subjects than from any judgment I 
had learned to form of their real merit 
as works of art,—a line of lore in which, 
notwithstanding my course of schooling, 
I remained, I fear, unenlightened to the 
last. For all that was lost upon me, how- 
ever, in the halls of Art, I was more than 


consoled im the cheap picture-gallery of 


Nature; and a glorious sunset I wit- 
nessed in ascending the Simplon is still 
remembered by me with » depth and 
freshness of feeling which no one work 
of art I saw in the galleries of Italy 
has left behind. 

IT haye now a few words to devote to 
a somewhat kindred subject, with which 
a poem or two contained in the follow- 
ing pages are clos ly connected.* In 
my Preface to the first Volume of this 
collection, I briefly noticed the taste 
for Privat» Theatrical Performances 
which prevailed during the latter half of 
the last century among the higher ranks 
in Ireland. This taste continued for 
nearly twenty years to survive the epoch 
of the Union, and in the performances 
of the Privaie Theatre of Kilkenny gaye 
forth its last, as well as, perhaps, bright- 
est flasho. The life and soul of this 
institution was our manager, the late 
Mr. Richard Power, a gentleman who 
could boast a larger circle of attached 
friends, and *hrough a life more free 
from shadow or alloy, than any mdi- 
vidual it has ever been my lot to know. 
No liveher proof, mdeed, could be re- 
quired of the sort of feelmg entertained 
towards him than was once shown in the 
reception given to the two following 
homely lines which occurred in a Pro- 
logue I wrote to be spoken by Mr. Corry 
in the character of Vapid. 

* See page 542, 


PREFACE. 


*Tis said our worthy manager intends 
To help my night,and he, you know, has friends.f 


These few simple words I wrote with 
the assured conviction that they would 
produce more effect, from the homefelt 
truism they contained, than could be 
effected by the most labored burst of 
eloquence ; and the result was just what 
1 had anticipated, for the house rung, 
for a considerable time, with the hearti- 
est p audits. 

The chief comic, or rather farcical, 
force of the company lay in my friend 
Mr. Corry, and ‘‘ longo intervallo,” my- 
self; and though, as usual with low 
comedians, we were much looked down 
upon by the lofty lords of the buskin, 
many was the sly joke we used to in- 
dulge together at the expense of our 
heroic brethren. Some waggish critic, 
indeed, is said to have declared that of 
all the personages of our theatre he most 
admired the prompter,—‘‘ because he 
was least seen and best heard.” But 
this joke was, of course, a mere good- 
humored slander. There were two, at 
least, of our dramatic corps, Sir Wrixon 
Becher and Mr. Rothe, whose powers, 
as tragic actors, few amateurs have ever 
equalled ; and Mr. Corry—perhaps alone 
of all our company—would have been 
sure of winning laurels on the public 
stage. ¥ 

Astomy own share in these represen- 
tations, the following list of my most sue- 
cessful characters will show how remote 
from the line of the Heroic was the 
small orbit through which Lranged ; my 
chief parts having been Sam, im “ Rais- 
ing the Wind,” Robin Roughhead, Mun- 
go, Sadi, in the ‘‘ Mountaineers,” Spado, 
and Peeping Tom. In the part of Spa- 
do there occur several allusions to that 
gay rogue’s shortness of stature, which, 
never failed to be welcomed by my an- 
ditors with laughter and cheers ; and the 
words *‘ ven Sanguino allows 1 am a 
clever little fellow ” was always a signal 
for this sort of friendly explosion. One 
of the songs, indeed, written by O’Keefe 
for the character of Spado, so much 
abounds with points thus personally ap- 
plicable, that many supposed, with no 
great compliment either to my poetry or 
my modesty, that the song had been 


{ See page 542. 


PREFACE. 


53 


written, expressly for the occasion, by 
myself. The following is the verse to 
which I allude, and for the poetry of 
which I was thus made responsible :— 


“ Though born to be little’s my fate, 
Yet so was the great Alexander ; 
And, when 1 walk ander a gate, 
I've no need to stoop like a gander. 
I'm no lanky, long hodd -doddy, 
Whose paper-kite sails in the sky; 
Though wanting two feet, in my body, 
In soul, I am thirty feet high.” 


Some further account of the Kilkenny 
Theatre, as well as of the history of Pri- 
vate Theatricals in general, will be 
found in an article 1 wrote on the sub- 
ject for the Edinburgh Review. vol. xlvi. 
No. 92, p. 368. 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


Piolo Ἢ VOLUME. 


ON my retwmn from the mteresting 
visit to Rome, of which some account has | 
been given in the preceding Preface, I 
took up my abode in Paris, and, being | 
joined there by my family, continued to | 
reside in that capital, or its environs, | 
till about the close of the year 1822. 
As no life, however sunny, is without 
its clouds, I could not escape, of course, | 
my share of such passing shadows ; and | 
this long estrangement from our happy | 
English home, towards which my fam- | 
ily yearned even more fondly than my- | 
self, had been caused by difficulties of a 
pecuniary nature, and to a large amount, 
in which 1 had been mvolved by the 
conduct of the person who acted as my 
deputy in the small office 1 held at Ber- 
muda, 

That I should ever have come to be 
chosen for such an employment, seems 
one of those freaks or anomalies of hu 
man destiny which baffle all ordinary 
speculaticn; and went far, indeed, to 
reakze Beaumarchais’ notion of the sort 
of standard by which, too frequently, 
qualification for place is regulated,— 
“Tl fallut un caleulateur; ce fut un | 
danseur qui l’obtint.” 

But however much, in this instance, I 


se 
| ties. 
| sons,—and they were many,—who thus 


| suffered from my want of schooling in 


matters of business, and more especially 
from my having neglected the ordinary 
pacar of requiring security from my 

eputy, I was more than consoled for 
all such embarrassment, were it even 
ten times as much, by the eager kind- 
ness with which friends pressed forward 
to help to release me from my difficul- 
Could I venture to name the per- 


volunteered their aid, it would be found 
they were all of them men whose char- 
acters enhanced such a service, and that, 
in all, the name and the act reflected 
honor upon each other. 

I shall so far lift the veil in which 
such delicate generosity seeks to shroud 
itself, as to mention briefly the manner 
in which one of these kind friends,— 
himself possessing but limited means, 
—proposed to contribute to the object of 
releasing me from my embarrassments. 
After adverting, in his letter, to my mis- 
fortunes, and ‘the noble way,” as he 
was pleased to say, ‘in which I bore 
them,’ he adds,—** would it be very im- 
pertinent to say, that I have 500/. en- 
tirely at your disposal, to be paid when 
you like; and as much more that I could 
advance, upon any reasonable security, 
payable in seven years?” The writer 
concludes by apologizing anxiously and 
delicately for “ the liberty which he thus 
takes,” assuring me that ‘‘ he would not 
have made the offer if he did not feel 
that he would most readily accept the 
same assistance from me.” I select this 
one instance from among the many 
which that trying event of my life en- 
ables me to adduce, both on account οἱ 
the deliberate feeling of manly regard 
which it manifests, and also from other 
considerations which it would be out of 
place here to mention, but which ren- 
dered so genuine a mark of friendship 
‘rom such a quarter peculiarly touching 
and welcome to me. 

Whensuch were the men who hastened 
to my aid in this emergency, I need 
hardly say, it was from no squeamish 
pride,—for the pride would haye been in 
receiving favors from such hands,—that 
I came to the resolution of gratefully 
declining their offers, and endeavoring 
to work out my deliverance by my own 
efforts, With a credit still fresh in the 


54 


PREFACH. 


market of literature, and with publish- 
ers ready as ever to risk their thousands 
on my name, I could not but feel that, 
however gratifying was the generous 
zeal of such friends, I should best show 
that I, in some degree, deserved their 
offers, by declining, under such circum- 
stances, to accept them. 

Meanwhile, an attachment had been 
issued against me from the Court of Ad- 
miralty ; and as a negotiation was about 
to be opened with the American claim- 
ants, for a reduction of their large de- 
mand upon me,—supposed, at that time, 
to amount to six thousand pounds,— 
it was deemed necessary that, pending 
the treaty, I should take up my abode 
in France. 

To write for the means of daily sub- 
sistence, and even in most instances to 
‘forestall the slow harvest of the brain,” 
was for me, unluckily, no novel task. 
But I had now, in addition to these 
home calls upon the Muse, a new, pain- 
ful, and, in its first aspect, overwhelin- 
ing exigence to provide for; and, cer- 
tainly, Paris, swarming throughout as it 
was, at that period, with rich, gay, and 
dissipated English, was, to a person of 
ry social habits and multifarious ac- 
quaintance, the very worst possible place 
that could have been resorted to for 
even the semblance of a quiet or studi- 
ous home. The only tranquil, and, 
therefore, to me, most precious portions 
of that period were the two summers 
passed by my family and myself with 
our kind Spanish friends, the V* * * * * 
**1s, at their beautiful place, La Butte 
Coaslin, on the road up to Bellevue. 
There, in a cottage belonging to M. 
Vee *)) and but a few steps 
from his house, we contrived to conjure 
up an apparition of Sloperton;* and I 
was able for some time to. work with a 
fecling of comfort and home. 1 used 
frequently to pass the morning in ramb- 
ling alone through the noble park of St. 
Cloud, with no apparatus for the work 
of authorship but my memorandum- 
book and pencils, forming sentences to 
run smooth and moulding verses into 
shape. In the evenings I generally 
joined with Madame V******* in 

*** A little cot, with trees arow, 


And, like its master, very low.” 
POPE. 


Italian duetts, or, with far more pleas- 
ure, sat as listener, while she sung to 
the Spanish guitar those sweet songs of 
her own country to which few voices 
could do such justice. 

One of the pleasant circumstances 
connected with our summer visits to 
La Butte was the near neighborhood of 
our friend Mr. Kenny, the lively dra- 
matic writer, who was lodged pictur- 
esquely in the remains of the Palace of 
the King’s Aunts, at Bellevue. I re- 
member, on my first telling Kenny the 
particulars of my Bermuda mishap, his 
saying, after a pause of real feeling, 
“ Well,—it’s lucky you’re a poet;—a 
philosopher never could have borne it.” 
Washington Irving also was, for a short 
time, our visitor; and still recollects, I 
trust, his reading to me some parts of 
his then forthcoming work, Bracebridge 
Hall, as we sat together on the grass 
walk that leads to the Rocher, at La 
Butte. 

Among the writings, then but in em- 
bryo, to which I looked forward for the 
means of my enfranchisement, one of 
the most important, as well as most 
likely to be productive, was my intend- 
ed Life of Sheridan. But I soon found 
that, at such a distance from all those 
living authorities from whom alone 1 
could gain any interesting information 
respecting the private life of one whe 
left behind him so little epistolary cor- 
respondence, it would be wholly impos- 
sible to proceed satisfactorily with this 
task. Accordingly I wrote to Mr. Mur- 
ray and Mr. Wilkie, who were at that 
time the intended publishers of the 
work, to apprise them of this temporary 
obstacle to its progress. 

Being thus baffled in the very first of 
the few resources Lhad looked to, I 
next thought of a Romance in yerse, in 
the form of Letters, or Epistles; and 
with this view sketched out a story on 
an Egyptian subject, differing not much 
from that which, some years after, 
formed the groundwork of the Hpi- 
eurean. After laboring, however, for 
some months, at this experiment, amidst 
interruption, dissipation, and distraction, 
which might well put all the Nine Muses 
to flight, I gave up the attempt in de- 
spair ;—fully convinced of the truth of 
that warning conveyed in some early 


PREFACE. 


verses of my own, addressed to the 
Invisible Girl :— 

Oh hint to the bard, ’tis retirement alone 

Can hallow its harp or ennoble its tone ; 

Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, 

His song to tiie world let him utter unseen, 

&e. &e.t 

It was, indeed, to the secluded life I 
led during the years 1813—1816, in a 
lone cottage among the fields in Derby- 
shire, that I owed the inspiration, what- 
ever may have been its value, of some 
of the best and most popular portions of 
Lalla Rookh. It was amidst the snows 
of two or three Derbyshire winters that 
1 found myself enabled, by that concen- 
tration of thought which retirement 
alone gives, to call up around me some 
of the sunniest of those Eastern scenes 
which have since been welcomed in 
India itself, as almost native to its 
clime. 

But, abortive as had now been all 
my efforts to woo the shy spirit of 
Poesy, amidst such unquiet scenes, the 
course of reading I found time to pur- 
sue, on the subject of Egypt, was of 
no small service in storing my mind 
with the various knowledge respecting 
that country, which some years later I 
turned to account, in writing the story 
of the Epicurean. The kind facilities, 
indeed, towards this object, which some 
of the most distinguished French 
scholars and artists afforded me, are 
still remembered by me with thankful- 
ness. Besides my old acquaintance, 
Denon, whose drawings of Egypt, then 
of some value, I frequently consulted, I 
found Mons. Fourier and Mons. Langlés 
no less prompt in placing books at my 
disposal. With Humboldt, also, who 
was at that time in Paris, I had more 
than once some conversation on the 
subject of Bgypt, and remember his 
expressing himself in no very laudatory 
terms respecting the labors of the French 
savans in that country. 

Τ had now been foiled and frustrated 
in two of those literary projects, on 
which I had counted most sanguinely in 
the calculation of my resources; and, 
though I had found sufficient time to 
furnish my musical publisher with the 
Righth Number of the Irish Melodies, 


t See p. 131 of this edition. 


55 


and also a Number of the National Airs, 
these works alone, I knew, would yield 
but an insufficient supply, compared 
with the demands so closely and threat- 
eningly hanging over me. In this difli- 
culty I called to mind a subject,—the 
Eastern allegory of the Loves of the 
Angels,—on which I had, some years 
before, begun a prose story, but in 
which, as a theme for poetry, I had now 
been anticipated by Lord Byron, in one 
of the most sublime of his many poetical 
miracles, ‘‘ Heaven and Earth.” Know- 
ing how soon I should be lost in the 
shadow into which so gigantic a precur- 
sor would cast me, i had endeavored, 
by a speed of composition which must 
have astonished my habitually slow pen, 
to get the start of my noble friend in the 
time of publication, and thus afford my- 
self the sole chance I could perhaps 
expect, under such unequal rivalry, of 
attracting to my work the attention of 
the public. In this humble speculation, 
however, I failed; for both works, if I 
recollect right, made their appearance 
at the same time. 

In the mean while, the negotiation 
which had been entered into with the 
American claimants, for a reduction of 
the amount of their demands upon mé, 
had continued to “drag its slow length 
along ;’’ nor was it till the month of Sep- 
tember, 1822, that, by a letter from the 
Messrs. Longman, I received the wel- 
come intelligence that the terms offered, 
as our ultimatum, to the opposite party, 
had been at last accepted, and that I 
might now with safety return to Eng- 
land. I lost no time, of course, in avail- 
ing myself of so welcome a privilege; 
and as all that remains now to be told of 
this trying episode in my past life may be 
comprised within a small compass, I shall 
trust to the patience of my readers for 
tolerating the recital. 

On arriving in Wngland I learned, for 
the first time,—having been, till then, 
kept very much in darkness on the sub- 
ject,—that, after a long and frequently 
interrupted course of negotiation, the 
amount of the claims of the American 
merchants had been reduced to the sum 
of one thousand guineas, and that to- 
wards the payment of this the uncle of 
my deputy,—a rich London merchant,— 
had been brought, with some difficulty, 


56 


to contribute three hundred pounds. I 
was likewise informed, that a very dear 
and distinguished friend of mine, to 
whom, by his own desire, the state of 
the negotiation was, from time to time, 
reported, had, upon finding that there 
appeared, at last, some chance of an ar- 
rangement. and learning also the amount 
of the advance made by my deputy’s 
relative, immediately deposited in the 
hands of a banker the remaining portion 
(7501.) of the required sum, to be there 
in readiness for the final settlement of 
the demand. 

Though still adhering to my original 
purpose of owing to my own exertions 
alone the means of relief from these dif- 
ficulties, I yet felt a pleasure in allow- 
ing this thoughtful deposite to be applied 
to the generous purpose for which it was 
destined ; and having employed in this 
mauner the 750/., I then transmitted to 
my kind friend, —I need hardly say with 
what feelings of thankfulness, —a check 
on my publishers for the amount. 

Though this effort of the poet’s purse 
was but, as usual, a new launch into the 
Future, ἃ new anticipation of yet un- 
born means,—the result showed that, at 
least in this instance, I had not count- 
ed on my bank “in nubibus” too san- 
guinely ; for, on receiving my publish- 
ers’ account, in the month of June fol- 
lowing, I found 10007. placed to my 


credit from the sale of the Loves of the | 


Angels, and 500]. from the Fables of the 
Holy Alliance. 


I must not omit to mention, that, | 


among the resources at that time placed 
at my disposal, was one small and sacred 
sum, which had been set apart by its 
young possessor for some sue! benefi- 
cent purpose. This fund, amounting to 
about 3001, arose from the proceeds of 
the sale of the first edition of a biograph- 
ical work, then recently published, 
which will long be memorable, as well 
from its own merits and subject, as from 
the lustre that has been since shed back 
upon it from the public career of its no- 
ble author. Toa gift from such hands 
might well have been applied the words 
of Ovid, 


accentissima semper 
Munere sunt, auccor Gus pretiosa facit. 
In this volu 
cessor, will be found collected almost all 


PREFACE. 


those delinquencies of mine, in the way 
of satire, which have appeared, from 
time to time, in the public journals dur- 
ing the last twenty or thirty years. The 
comments and notices required to throw 
light on these political trifies must be re- 
served for our next volume. 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


NINTH VO LURE. 


In one of those Notices, no less friend- 
ly than they are able and spirited, which 
this new Edition of my Poetical Works 
has called forth from a leading political 
journal, I find, in reference to the nu- 
merous satirical pieces contained in 
these volumes, the following sugges- 
tion :*—“ It is now more than a quar- 


* The Times, Jan. 9, 1841. 


ter of a century since this bundle of po- 
litical pasquinades set the British pub- 
lic ina roar; and though the events to 
which they allude may be well known 
to every reader, 


“ Cujus octayum trepidavit cetas 
Claudere lustrum,”’ 


there are many persons, now forming a 
part of the literary public, who have 
come into existence since they happen- 
ed, and who cannot be expected, even 
if they had the leisure and opportunity, 
to rummage the files of our old newspa- 
pers for a history of the perishable facts 
on which Mr. Moore has so often rested 
the flying artillery of his wit. Many of 
those facts will be considered beneath 
the notice of the grave historian ; and it 
is, therefore, incumbent on Mr. Moore— 
if he wishes his political squibs, imbued 
as they are with a wit and humor quite 
Aristophanie, to be relished, as they de- 
serve to be relished, by our great-grand- 
children—to preface them with a rapid 
summary of the events which gave 
them birth.” 

Without pausing here to say how grat- 
ifying it is to me to find my lone course 
of Anti-‘ory warfare thus tolerantly, 
and even generously spoken of, and by 


1, and its immediate suc- | so distinguished an organ of public opin- 


lion, I shall, as briefly 551 ean, advert 


PREFACE. 


: E : | 
to the writers’s friendly suggestion, and 
then mention some of those reasons which | 


have induced me to adopt it. That I 
was disposed, at first, to annex some 
such commentary to this series of squibs, 
may have been collected from the con- 
cludin 
Hut a little further consideration has led 
ine to abandon this intention. 

To that kind of satire which deals only 
with the lighter follies of social life, with 
the passing modes, whims, and scandal 
of the day, such illustrative comments 
become, after a short time, necessary. 
But'the true preserving salt of political 
satire is its applicability to future times 
and generations, as well as to those 
which had first called it forth ; its pow- 
er of transmitting the scourge of ridicule 
through succeeding periods, with a lash 
still fresh for the back of the bigot and 
the oppressor, under whatever new 
shape they may present themselves. I 
can hardly flatter myself with the per- 
suasion that any one of the satirical 
pieces contained in this yolume is likely 
to possess this principle of vitality ; but 
I feel quite certain that, without it, not 
all the notes and illustrations in which 
even the industry of Dutch commenta- 
torship could embalm them would en- 
sure to these trifles a life much beyond 
the present hour. 

Already, to many of them, that sort 
of relish—by far the least worthy source 
of their suecess—which the names of 
living victims lend to such sallies, has 
become, in the course of time, wanting. 
But, as far as their appositeness to the 
passing political eyents of the day has 
yet been tried—and the dates of these 
satires range over a period of nearly 
thirty years—their ridicule, thanks to 
the undying nature of human absurdity, 
appears to have lost, as yet, but little of 
the original freshness of its first applica- 
_ tion. Nor is this owing to any peculiar 
felicity of aim in the satire itself, but to 
the sameness, throughout that period, 
of all its original objects;— the un- 
changeable nature of that spirit of Mo- 
nopoly by which, under all its various 
impersonations, commercial, religious, 
and political, these satires had been first 
provoked. To refer but to one instance, 
the Corn Question,—assuredly, the en- 


tire appesiteness, at this very moment, | 


sentences of my last Preface; | 


°T 


of such versicles as the following, re- 
dounds far less to the credit of poesy 
than to the disgrace of legislation,— 


| How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment 


a 
The Peers of the realm about cheap'ning the 
corn, 

When you know if one hasn ta very high rental, 
‘Tis hardly worth while to be very high-born. 
That, being by nature so little prone 

to spleen or bitterness, I should yet have 

frequented so much the thorny paths of 
satire, has always, to myself and those 
best acquainted with me, been a matter 
of surprise. By supposing the imagina- 
tion, however, to be, in such cases, the 
sole or chief prompter of the satire— 
which, in my own instance, I must say, 
it has generally been—an easy solution 
is found for the difficulty. The same 
readiness of fancy which, with but lit- 
tle help from reality, can deck out ‘‘ the 

Cynthia of the minute” with all possible 

attractions, will likewise be able, when 

in the vein, to shower ridicule on a po 

litical adversary, without allowing a 

single feeling of real bitterness to mix 

itself with the operation. Even that 

sternest of all satirists, Dante, who, not 
content with the penal fire of the pen, 
kept an Inferno ever ready to receive 
the victims of his wrath,—eyen Dante, 
on beccming acquainted with some of the 
persons whom he had thus doomed, not 
only revoked their awful sentence, but 
even honored them with warm praise ;* 
and probably, on alittle further acquaint- 
ance, would have admitted them into 
his Paradiso. When thus loosely and 
shallowly even the sublime satire of 

Dante could strike its roots in his own 

heart and memory, it is easy to con- 

ceive how light and passing may be the 
feeling of hostility with which a partisan 
in the field of satire plies his laughing 
warfare ; and how often it may happen 
that even the pride of hitting his mark 
outlives but a short time the flight of 
the shaft. 

Τ cannot dismiss from my hands these 
political trifles,— 

‘“ This swarm of themes that settled on my pen, 
Which I, like summer-flies, shake off 

again, ’— 
* In his Convito he praises very warmly some 


persons whom he had before abused.—See Fos- 
colo, Discorso sul Testo di Dante. 


53 


without venturing to add that I have 
now to connect with them one mourn- 
ful recollection—one loss from among 
the circle of those I have longest looked 
up to with affection and admiration— 
which I little thought, when I began 
this series of prefatory sketches, I should 
have to mourn before their close. I 
need hardly add, that, in thus alluding 
to a great light of the social and polit- 
ical world recently gone out, I mean the 
late Lord Holland. 

It may be recollected, perhaps, that, 
in mentioning some particulars respect- 
ing an early squib of mine,—the Parody 
on the Prince Regent’s Letter,—I spoke 
of a dinner at which I was present on 
the very day of the first publication of 
that Parody, when it was the subject of 
much conversation at table, and none of 
the party, except our host, had any sus- 
picion that I was the author of it. This 
host was Lord Holland; and as such a 
name could not but lend value to any 
anecdote connected with literature, I 
only forebore the pleasure of adding 
such an ornament to my page, from 
knowing that Lord Holland had long 
viewed with disapprobation and regret 
much of that conduct of the Whig party 
towards the Regent in 1812-13,” of the 
history of which this squib, and the wel- 
come reception it met with, forms an 
humble episode. 

Lord Holland himself, m addition to 
his higher intellectual accomplishments, 
possessed in no ordinary degree the talent 
of writing easy and playful vers de soci- 
été; and among the instances I could 
give of the lightness of his hand at such 
trifles, there is one no less characteristic 
of his good-nature than his wit, as 1t ac- 
companied a copy of the octavo edition 
of Bayle,t which, on hearmg me _ rejoice 
one day that so agreeable an author had 
been at last made portable, he kindly 
ordered for me from Paris. 

So late, indeed, as only a month or 
two before his lordship’s death, he was 
employing himself, with all his usual 
cheerful eagerness, in translating some 

* This will be seen whenever those valuable 

papers come to be published, which Lord Ifol- 
and left behind him, containing Memon's of his 
own times and of those immediately preecding 
them. 

| In sixteen yolumes, published at Paris, by 
Desoer, 


PREFACH. 


verses of Metastasio; and occasionally 
consulted both Mr. Rogers and myself 
as to different readings of some of the 
lines. In one of the letters which I re- 
ceived from him while thus occupied, I 
find the following postscript :— 


“ΤῚΝ thus I turn th’ Italian's song, 
Nor deem I read his meaning wrong. 
But with rough English to combine 
The sweetness that’s in every line, 
Asks for your Muse,and not for mine. 
Sense only will not quit the score ; 
We must have that, and—little More.” 
He then adds, “1 send you, too, a 
melancholy Epigram of mine, of which 
I have seen many, alas, witness the 
truth :— 
“A niinister’s answer is always so kind! 
I starve, and he tells me hell keep me in 
mind. 
Half his promise, God knows, would my 
spirits restore : 
Let him keep me—and, faith, I will ask for ne 
more.” 


The only portion of the mass of trifles 
contained in this yolume, that first found 
its way to the public eye through any 
more responsible channel than a news- 
paper, was the Letters of the Fudge 
Family in England,—a work which was 
sure, from its very nature, to encounter 
the double risk of being thought dull as 
a mere sequel, and light and unsafe as 
touching on follies connected with the 
name of Religion. Into the question of 
the comparative dullness of any of my 
productions, it is not for me, of course, 
to enter; but to the charge of treatin 
religious subjects irreverently, I shal 
content myself with replymg in the 
words of Pascal, —‘‘Il a bien de la dif- 
férence eutre rire de la religion et rire de 
ceux qwi la profanent par leurs opmions 
extravagantes.” 


PREFACE 


TO THE 


TENTH VOLUME; 


THE story which occupies this volume 
was intended onginally to be told in 
verse; and a great portion of it was at 
first written in that form. This fact, 
us well as the character, perhaps, of the 


PREFACE. 


59 


whole work, which a good deal partakes 
of the cast and coloring of poetry, have 
been thought sufficient to entitle it to a 
place in this general collection of my 
poetical writings. 

How little akin to romance or poesy 
were some of the circumstances under 
which this work was first projected by 
me, the reader may have seen from a 
preceding preface ;* and the following 
rough outline, which I have found among 
my papers, dated Paris, July 25, 1820, 
will show both my first general concep- 
tion, or foreshadowing of the story, and 
likwise the extent to avhich I thought 
right, in afterwards working out this 
design, to reject or modify some of its 
details. 

‘Began my Egyptian Poem, and 
wrote about thirteen or fourteen lines of 
it. The story to be told in letters from 
a young Epicurean philosopher, who, in 
the second century of the Christian era, 
goes to Egypt for the purpose of discoy- 
ering the elixir of immortality, which is 
supposed to be one of the secrets of the 
Egyptian priests. During a Festival on 
the Nile, he meets with a beautiful 
maiden, the daughter of one of the 
priests lately dead. She enters the 
catacombs, and disappears. He hovers 
around the spot, and at last finds the 
well and secret passages, &e., by which 
those who are initiated enter. He sees 
this maiden in one of those theatrical 
spectacles which formed a part of the 
subterranean Elysium of the Pyramids 
—finds opportunities of conversing with 
her—their intercourse in this mysterious 
region described, They are discovered ; 
and he is thrown into those subterranean 
prisons, where they who violate the rules 
of Initiation are confined. He is liber- 
ated from thence by the young maiden, 
and taking flight together, they reach 
some beautiful region, where they linger, 
for a time, delighted, and she is near be- 
coming a victim to his arts. But taking 
alarm, she flies; and seeks refuge with a 
Christian monk, in the Thebaid, to whom 
her mother, who was secretly a Chris- 
tian, had consigned her in dying. The 
struggles of her love with her religion. 
A persecution of the Christians takes 
place, and she is seized (chiefly through 

*Prefaee to the Eighth Volume, p. 53 of this 
edition. 


| the unintentional means of her lover) 
and suffers martyrdom. ‘The scene of 
her martyrdom described, in a letter 
from the Solitary of the Thebaid, and 
the attempt made by the young philoso- 
yher to rescue her. He is carried off 
from thence to the cell of the Solitary. 
His letters from that retreat, after he 
has become a Christian, devoting his 
thoughts entirely to repentance and the 
recollection of the beloved saint who 
had gone before him.—If I don’t make 
something out of all this, the deuce is 
in’t.” 

According to this plan, the events of 
the story were to be told in Letters, or 
Epistolary Poems, addressed by the 
philosopher to a young Athenian friend ; 
but, for greater variety, us well as con- 
venience, I afterwards distributed the 
task of narration among the chief per- 
sonages of the Tale. The great difii- 
culty, however, of managing, in rhyme, 
the minor details of a story, so as to be 
clear without growing prosaic, and still 
more, the diffuse length to which I saw 
narration in verse would extend, de- 
terred me from following this plan any 
further, and I then commenced the tale 
anew in its present shape. 

Of the Poems written for my first ex- 
periment, a few specimens, the best I 
could select, were introduced into the 
prose story; but the remainder I had 
thrown aside, and nearly forgotten even 
their existence, when a circumstance 
somewhat characteristic, perhaps, of 
that trading spirit which has now con- 
verted Parnassus itself into a market, 
again called my attention to them. The 
late Mr. Macrone, to whose general tal- 
ents and enterprise in business all who 
knew him will bear ready testimony, 
had Jong been anxious that I should un- 
dertake for him some new Poem or 
Story, affording’ such subjects for illus- 
tration as might call into play the fanci- 
ful pencil of Mr. Turner. Other tasks 
and ties, howeyer, had rendered my 
compliance with this wish impractica- 
ble; and he was about to give up all 
thoughts of attaining his object, when 
on learning from me accidentally that 
‘the Epicurean was still my own prop- 
erty, he proposed to purchase of me the 
| use of the copyright for a single Ulustra- 
| ted edition. 


60 


The terms proffered by him being 
most liberal, I readily acceded to the 
proposed arrangement ; but, on further 
consideration, there arose some difficulty 
in the way of our treaty—the work it- 
self being found insufficient to form a 
volume of such dimensions as would 
yield any hope of defraying the cost of 
the numerous illustrations then intended 
for it. Some modification, therefore, of 
our terms was thought necessary ; and 
then first was the notion suggested to 
me of bringing forth from among my pa- 
pers the original sketch, or opening of 
the story, and adding these fragments, 
as a sort of make-weight, in the mutual 
adjustment of our terms. 

hat I had myself regarded the first 


PREFACE. — 


experiment as a failure, was sufficiently 
shown by my relinquishment of it. But, 
as the published work had then passed 
through several editions, and had been 
translated into most of the languages of 
Europe, it was thought that an insight 
into the anxious process by which such 
success had been attained, might, as an 
encouragement, at least, to the humble 
merit of painstaking, be deemed of some 
little use. 

The following are the translations of 
this Tale which have reached me: viz. 
two in French; two in Italian, (Milan, 
1836—YVenice, 1835;) one in German, 
(Insprue, 1828;) and one in Dutch, by 
M. Herman van Loghem, (Deventer, 
1829.) 


THE POETI 


CAL WORKS 


OF 


MOM AS MOORE. 


ODES OF ANACREON 


TRANSLATED INT 
WITH 


O ENGLISH VERSE. 
NOTES. 


To His ΟΥΑΙ, HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES. 


Sir,--In allowing me to dedicate this Work to Your Royal Highness, you have conferred 
sl mean honor which I feel very sensibly: and I have only to regret, that the pages 
which you have thus distinguished are not more deserving of such illustrious patronage. 
Believe me, Sir, with every sentiment of respect, Your Royal Highness’s very grateful 


and devoted Servant, 


ADVER 


THOMAS MOORE. 
TISEMENT. 


It may be necessary to mention, that, in arranging the Odes, the Translator has adopted 


the order of the Vatican MS. For those whe 


) wish to refer to the original, he has prefixed ar 


Index, which marks the number of each Ode in Barnes and the other editions. 


INDEX. 


ODE BARNES 
1, ANAKPEOQN ιδων pe 63 
2. Δοτε μοι Avpynv Ὅμηρον. 48 
3. Aye, ζωγραφων αριστε 49 
4. Tov ἀργυρον τορευων 17 
δ. KaAActexva μοι τορευσον. 18 
6. Στεφος πλεκων ποθ᾽ εὑρον 59 
7. Aeyovow αἱ γυναικες 11 
8. Ov μοι μελει τα Τυγου 15 
9. Ades με Tous ϑεους σοι 31 

10. Te σοι ϑέλεις ποιησω 12 

11.. Epwra κηρινον τις. 10 

12. Οἱ μεν καλην Κυβηβην 18 

13. Θελω, ϑέλω φιλησαι 14 

14. Εἰφυλλα παντα devdpwr . 32 

15. Ἐρασμιη πελεια " é 9 

16. Aye, ζωγραφων apiote ὃ 28 


1. πορφυρέοις VOX trisyllabica. Anacr. Fragnh. 
xxix. 3. ed. Fischer. πορφυρέη τ᾽ ᾿Αφροδίτη. 
Anacr. Fragm. xxxvi. 1. σφαίρη Sevté με πορ- 
φυρέη. ut legendum plane ex Athenwo. AAc- 
πορφύροις τάπησι dixit Pseud-Anacreon, Od. 
virr. 2. Theocr. Id. xv. 125. πορφύρεοι δὲ τάπητες 
ἄνω. μαλακώτεροι ὕπνω. 

δ. Tmesis pro ἀμφεχόρευον. Theocr. Id, vit. 
142. πωτῶντο ξουθαὶ περὶ midakas ἀμφὶ μέλισσαι, 
h. 6. ἀμφεπωτῶντο. 

6. Pseud Anacr. Od, 111. 12. τρομεροῖς ποσὶν 
_ χορεύει. 

7,10.6 μὲν, hic—o δὲ, ille. Bion. Id. τ. 82. 

ὦ μὲν ὀϊστὼς. | ὃς δ᾽ ἐπὶ τόξον ἐβαιν᾽, κ' τ’ A. 
itidem de Amoribus. 

8, 9. ἐποίει---ἐκ κεραυνοῦ. Pseud-Anacr, Od. 
XXVIII. 18. τὸ δὲ βλέμμα viv ἀληθῶς 1 ἀπὸ τοῦ 
πυρὸς ποίησον, 


ODE BARNES 
17. Τραφε μοι Βαθυλλον οὕτω . . 29 
18. Δοτε μοι, δοτε γυναικες . . 21 
19. Παρα την σκιην, Βαθυλλε 5 22 
20. Ai Μουσαι τον ἔρωτα. ᾽ 80 
21, Ἢ yn μελαινα πινει . Ἢ 19 
22. Ἢ Τανταλοῦυ mor’ ἐστὴ. ᾿ 20 
28. Θελω λεγειν Atperdas > 1 
| 24 Φυσις κερατα Tavpocs A 2 
| 25. Su μεν φιλὴ χελιδων = = 33 
| 26. Su μεν λέγεις Ta OnBns . 7 16 
| 27. Ee ισχιοις μεν ἱπποι : ᾿ δὅ 
| 28.‘ Oavnp ὃ τῆς Κυθηρης. 3 45 
29. Χαλεπον το μὴ φιλησαι. 46 
30. Ἑδοκουν οναρ τροχαζειν, 44 
31, “γακινθινω μὲ ῥαβδω 7 
32. ἔπι μυρσιναιῖις τερειναις. ὲ + 


10, 11. καλλιφύλλοις---ῥόδοισι. 
Od. V. 3. τὸ ῥόδον τὸ καλλίφυλλον. 

13. Tmesis pro καταβᾶσα. Pseud-Anacr. Od. 
ll. 15. ava δ᾽ εὐθὺ λύχνον ἅψας, h. 6. avawas. 

18. Supple ὄνομα, quo τοῦτο referatur. Eu- 
rip. Pheen. 12, τοῦτο yap πατὴρ | ἔθετο. h.c, τοῦτο 
ὄνομα. βροτῶν φῦλα πάντα adumbratum ex 
Pseud-Anacr. Od. 1. 4. μερόπων δὲ φῦλα πάντα. 

21. Pseud-Anacr. Od. XXIV. 2. βιότου τρίβον 
ὁδεύειν. 

25. Esch. Eumen. 538. μηδέ νιν, | κέρδος ἰδὼν, 
ἀθέῳ ποδὶ λὰξ ἀτί- | σῃς. 

82. παρὲκ νόον γε μή μοι χαλέπαινε, Ne preter 
rationem in me sevi. I. Y. 133. Ἥρη, μὴ 
χαλέπαινε παρὲκ νόον. Similem_ positionem 
particularum μή μοι exbibet Pseeud-Anacr. 
Od, xxvim. 13. 


Pseud-Anacr. 


61 


ο 


MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


ODE 


33. Mecoru«tiots ποθ᾽ wpars - 
34. Μακαριζομεν σε, τεττιξ - 
95. Epws ποτ᾽ εν ῥοδοισι - 


ὋὉ πλουτος εἰγε χρυσον 


. Ata vuxtos ἐεγκαθευδων. 


‘TAapot πιωμεν οἰνον . 
Φιλω yeporta τερπνον . 


- Ἐπειδὴ βροτος ετυχθην . 


Te καλον εστι βαδιζειν - 


- Ποθεω μεν Διονυσον 
. Στεφανους μεν πτετοιρυτα 
. To ῥοδον τὸ των ἐρωτων . 


Ὅταν πινὼ τον oLvoy . 
1δε, πως ἑαρος φανεντος . 
Ey γερων μεν εἰμε. δ 
Ὅταν ὃ Βακχος εἰισελθη. 
Tov Διος 6 wats Baxxos . 
τ᾽ eyo πίω Toy owor . 
My με φυγηξ ορωσα 


- Te με τους νομοὺς διδασκεις 


‘Or eyw νεων ὅμιλον . 
- Ὃ ταυρος ovT0s,w mat. 
. Στεφανηφορον μετ᾽ Hpos . 


Ὁ τον ev wovots ατειρηὴ - 
Apa τις τορευσε ποντον 


Ὃ δραπέτης ὃ χρυσος . 
. Τὸν μελανοχρωτα βοτρυν. 


Ava βαρβιτον δονησω - 
Ξ Ξ x 


- ToAcot μεν ἡμιν δὴ 

. Aye δη, dep’ ἣμιν, w παι 

. Tov Epwza yap τον aBpor 
. Tovvovpar σ᾽ ἐελαφηβολε 


. Πωλε Θρηκιη, τε dy με 
. Θεαὼν ανασσα. Κυπρι - 


. Ὦ παι παρθενιον βλεπων 
. Eyw δ᾽ ουτ᾽ αν Αμαλθειης 


AN ODE 


BY THE TRANSLATOR. 


ἘΠῚ ῥνυδινοις ταπησι, 
ποτ᾽ ὃ μελιστης 
“TAapos γελων εκειτο, 
Μεθνων τε και λυριζων" 
Αμῴι αντον οἱ δ᾽ ἐρωτες 
“Amadot συνεχορευσαν" 
*O Βελὴη τα της Κυθηρης 
Ἐποιει, ψυχῆς οἴστους" 
“O δε λευκα πορῴυροισι 
Sh συν ῥοδοισι πλεξας, 

Εφιλει οτεῴφων γεροντα- 
“H δε ϑίέαων avacca, 
EO#IH ποτ᾽ εξ Οχυμπον 
Ἐσορωσ᾽ Ἄνακρεοντα, 
Ἐσορωσα Tous ἐρωτας, 
‘Y πομειδιασσας εἰπε 


Τηΐος 


Σοφε δ᾽ ὡς Av axpeovr 


Tov σοφωτατον a ἅπεντων, 
Καλεουσιν οἱ σοῴφισται, 

Te, γερων, τεὸν βιον μεν 
Tots ἐρωσι, τῳ Λνσιῳ. 

K’ οὐκ ἐμοι κρατειν ἔδωκας; 


BARNES | 


3 


For the order of the rest, see the Notes. 


Te φιλημα τὴς Κυθηρης, 
Te xumeAAa τον Λναιου, 
Αἰεὶ γ᾽ etpudycas αδων, 
| Oux enous νομους διδασκων, 
| Oux ἐμον λαχὼν awTor 5 
| Ὃὧ Se Tyios μελιστης 
Myre δυσχεραινε, φησι, 
| “Ort, ϑεα, σον Ὗ ανεν μεν: 
Ϊ “O σοφωτατος ἁπαντων 
Ϊ Παρα των σοφων καλουμαι" 
Ϊ Φιλεω, πίω, λυριζω, 
Μετα των καλων γυναικων 
Ἄφελως δε τερπνα καιζω, 
“Qs λυρὴ yap, ἐμον nrop 
Avamvet wovous ερωτας" 
| “Qe βιοτον γαληνὴν 
- Φιλεων μαλιστα παντων, 
Ov codos μελωδος εἰμι; 
Tis σοφωτερος μεν εστι; 


CORRECTIONS OF THE PRECEDING ODE. 
SUGGESTED EY AN EMINENT-GREEK SCHOLAR, 


| 3 
"EDIT πορφυρέοις τάπησι Ἐπι podivors ταπησι 


] Τήϊάς ποτ᾽ ὡδοποιὺς Τηΐος ποτ᾽ ‘Oo μελισ- 
| iAapos γελῶν ἔκειτο, [της 
μεθύων τε καὶ λυρίζων.: 4 
περὶ δ᾽ αὐτὸν ἀμφ᾽ ἝΕρωτες Αμφι autor οἱ δ᾽ Ep- 


| 

ὠτες 

τρομεροῖς ποσὶν χόρευον. “Amado σννέχορευσαν 
τὰ βέλεμν᾽ ὃ μὲν Κυθήρης 
| ἐποίει καλῆς, ὀϊστεὺς 
πυρόεντας, ἐκ κεραυνοῦ" 

0 δὲ λευκὰ κἄλλιφύλλοις 

| κοίνα σὺν ῥόδοισι πλέξας, 
ἐφίλει στέφων γέροντα. 
κατὰ δ᾽ εὐθὺς ἐξ ᾽Ολύμπον 
Σοῴφέ ϑέαινα βᾶσα, 
ἐσορῶσ᾽ "Av 'ἀκρέοντα, 15 
ἐσορῶσα τοὺς Ἔρωτας, 
ὑπομειδιῶσά φησι" 


Ἐποιει, Wuxys οἴστους 


} Ἢ δε ϑέαων ανασσα 


“¥ πομειδιασσᾶς εἰπε 


Σόφ᾽,--ἐπεὶ βροτῶν σὲτοῦτο Τὸν σοφωτατὸν᾽ ἀπ- 
καλέουσι φῦλα πάντα, 19 αντων 
καλλέουσιν οἱ σαφιοπαὶ,-- 
τί, γέρων, μάτην odevers 
βιότον τρίβον τεοῦ μὲν 
μετὰ τῶν καλῶν ᾿Ερώτων, 
μετὰ τοῦ παλοῦ Avatou 


Τοῖς ἔρωσι, τῳ Av- 


| 2 

ἐμὲ δ᾽ ὧδε λὰξ ἀτίζεις; 25 K’ ove ἐμοῖς ἘΡατΕΙν 

| edwxas 

| τί φίλημα τῆς Κυθήρης, 

| τί κύπελλα τοῦ Λναίον᾽ 

| ἐσαεὶ τρυφῶν ἀείδεις, Αἴεῦ γ᾽ ετρυφησας 
adwy 

ἐμὰ ϑέσμι᾽ ov διδάσκων᾽ Οὐκ εμοὺυς νομους 
διδασκων 

guoy οὐ λαχὼν ἄωτον; 30 Οὔκ εμον λαχὼν aw- 

) ὁ δὲ Τήιος μελῳδὸς, τον 


Σὺ παρὲκ νόον γε μή μοι } Μῆτε δυσχεραινε, 


| χαλεπαινε, φήσ᾽, ἄνευθε φησι Ν 
ὅτι σεῦ σοφὸς καλοῦμαι “Ort, yea, σον γ᾽ αν- 
ev μεν 
| παρὰ τῶν σοφῶν ἁπάντων. Ὃ σοφωτατὸς ἁπαν- 
των 


| φιλέως πίω, λνρίζω, 86 
| μετὰ τῶν καλῶν γυναικῶν, 


as for luxury. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


63 


ἀφελῶς δε τερπνὰ παίζω" 
κιθάρη γὰρ, ὡς κεαρ μεῦ, 
ἀναπνεῖ μόνους “Ἔρωτας. 
βιότου δὲ την γαλήνην 
φιλέων μάλιστα πάντων 
σοφὸς οὐ μελῳδὸς εἰμι; 
τί σοφώτερον γενοιτ᾽ av ; 
ἐμέθεν σοφώτερος τις, 


‘Os λυρη yap, εμον 
my [nT0p 
41 Ὧδε Biorov γαληνὴν 


Ov σοφος μελῳδος 


[ειμε 
45 Tis σοφωτερος μεν 
εστι 


REMARKS ON ANACREON,. 


THERE is very little known with cer- 
tainty of the life of Anacreon. Chame- 
leon Heracleotes,“ who wrote upon the 
subject, has been lost in the general 
wreck of ancient literature. The editors 
of the poet have collected the few trifling 
anecdotes which are scattered through 
the extant authors of antiquity, and, 
supplying the deficiency of materials by 
fictions of their own imagination. they 
have arranged, what they call, a life of 
Anacreon. These specious fabrications 
are intended to indulge that interest 
which we naturally feel in the biography 
of illustrious men; but it is rather a 
dangerous kind of illusion, as it: con- 
founds the limits of history and_ ro- 
mance,t and is too often supported by 
unfaithful citation. ᾧ 

Our poet was born in the city of Téos,§ 


‘jn the delicious region of Ionia, and the 


time of his birth appears to have been in 
the sixth century before Christ.|| He 
flourished in that remarkable period, 
when, under the polished tyrants Hip- 
parehus and Polycrates, Athens and 


* Heis quoted by Athenzus ev τῳ περι tov 
AvakpeovTos. 

ihe History of Anacreon, by Gagon (le 
Poéte sans fard, as he styles himself.) is pro 
fessedly a romance; nor does Mademoiselle 
Seuderi, from whom he borrowed the idea, pre 
tend to historical veracity in her account of 
Anacreon and Sappho. ‘These, then, are al- 
lowable. But how can Barnes be forgiryen, 
who, with all the confidence of a biographer, 
traces every wandering of the poet, and settles 
him at last, in his old age, at a country villa 
near Téos? 

1 The learned Bayle has detected some infidel 
ities of quotation in Le Fevre. (Dictionnaire 
Historique, ὁ.) Madame Duacier is not more 
accurate than her father: they have almost 
made Anacreon prime minister to the monarch 
of Samos. 

§ The Asiaties were as remarkable for genius 
‘“‘Ingenia Asiatica inclyta per 
gentes fecére Poetze, Anacreon, inde Mimner- 
mus et Antimachus,” &¢.—Solinus, - 

|| Lhave not attempted to define the particu 


Samos were become the rival asylums 
of genius. There is nothing certain 
known about his family, and those who 
pretend to discover in Plato that he was 
a descendant of the monarch Codrus, 
show much more of zeal than of either 
accuracy or judgment.4 

The disposition and talents of Anac- 
reon recommended him to the monarch 
of Samos, and he was formed to be the 
friend of such a prince as Polycrates. 
Susceptible only to the pleasures, he 
felt not the corruptions of the court; 
and, while Pythagoras fled from the ty- 
rant, Anacreon was celebrating his 
praises on the lyre. We are told too by 
Maximus Tynuus, that, by the influence 
of his amatory songs, he softened the 
mind of Polycrates into a spirit of be- 
nevolence towards his subjects. ** 

The amours of the poet, and the rival- 
ship of the tyrant,tt I shall pass over in 
silence ; and there are few, I presume, 
who will regret the omission of most of 
those anecdotes, which the mdustry of 
some editors has not only promulged, 
but discussed. Whatever is repugnant 
to modesty and virtue 1s considered in 
ethical science, by a supposition very 
favorable to humanity, as impossible ; 
and this amiable persuasion should be 
much more strongly entertained, where 
the transgression wars with nature as 
well as virtue. But why are we not al- 
lowed to indulge in the presumption ? 
Why are we officiously reminded that 


Bayle, whosays, ‘‘ Je π᾿ αἱ point margué ἃ Olym- 
piade ; car pour un homme qui a τόσα 85 ans, 1] 
me semble que l'on ne doit point s enfermer 
dans des bornes si étroites.” 


1 This mistake is founded on a false inter- 
yretation of a very obvious passage in Plato's 
Jialogue on Temperance ; it originated with 
Madame Dacier, and has been received implic-~ 
itly by many. Gail, a late editor of Anacreon, 
seems to claim to himself the ment of detecting 
this error; but Bayle had observed it before 
him. 


ἘΞ Avaxpewy Σαμιοις TloAvxpatny ἥμερωσε. 
Maxim. Tyr.§ 91. Maximus Tyrius mentions 
this among other instances of the influence of 
poetry. If Gail had read Maximus Tyrius, 
how could he ridicule this idea in Moutonnet, 
as unauthenticated ? 


+t In the romance of Clelia, the anecdote to 
which I allude is told of a young girl, with 
whom Anacreon fell in love while she person. 
ated the god Apollo in amask. But here Made- 
moiselle Scuderi eonsulted nature more than 


lar Olympiad, but have adopted the idea of | truth, 


64 


theré have been really such instances of 
depravity ? 

Hipparchus, who now maintained at 
Athens the power which his father Pis- 
istratus had usurped, was one of those 

rinces who may be said to have pol- 

ished the fetters of their subjects. He 
was the first, according to Plato, who 
edited the poems of Homer, and com- 
manded them to be sung by the rhap- 
sodists at the celebration of the Pana- 
theneea. From his court, which was a 
sort of galaxy of genius, Anacreon could 
not long be absent. Hipparchus sent a 
barge ἕν him; the poet readily em- 
braced the invitation, and the Muses 
and the Loves were wafted with him 
to Athens. ἢ 

The manner of Anacreon’s death was 
singular. We are told that in the eighty- 
fifth year of his age he was choked by a 
grape-stone ;t and, however we may 
smile at their enthusiastic partiality, 
who see in this easy and characteristic 
death a peculiar indulgence of Heaven, 
we cannot help admiring that his fate 
should have been so emblematic of his 
disposition. Czlius Calcagninus  al- 
ludes to this catastrophe in the follow- 
ing epitaph on our poet :}— 

Those lips, then, hallow’d sage, which pour’d 


A music sweet as any cygnet’s song, {along 
* There is a very interesting French poem 
founded upon this anecdote, imputed to Desy- 


yetaux, and called ‘‘ Anacréon Citoyen.” 


| Fabricius appears not to trust very implicit- 
ly in this story. “ Uva passe acino tandem 
suffocatus, si credimus Suids in otvororns ; 
alii enim hoe mortis genere periise tradunt So- 
phoclem.”—Fabricii Bibliothec. Greece. lib. ἢ: 
cap. 15. It must be confessed that Lucian, who 
tells us that Sophocles was choked by a grape- 
stone, in the very same treatise mentions the 
longevity of Anacreon, and yet is silent on the 
manner of his death. Could he have been ig- 
norant of such a remarkable coincidence, or, 
knowing, could he have neglected to remark 
it? See Regnier's introduction to his Anac- 
reon. 


tAt te, sanete senex, acinus sub Tartara misit; 
Cygne clausit qni tibi vocis iter. 
Vos, heder, tumulum, tumulum vos cingite, 
lauri, 
Hoc rosa perpetuo yernet odora loco ; 
At vitis procul hine, procul hine odiosa faces- 
sat, 
Que causam dire protulit, uva, necis, 
Creditur ipse minus vitem jam Bacchus 
amare, 
In yatem tantum qua fuit ausa nefas. 


The author of this epitaph, Caxlius Caleagni 
nus, has translated or imitated the epigrams 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The grape hath closed forever ! 

Here let the ivy kiss the poet’s tomb, 

Here let the rose he loved with laurels bloom, 
In bands that ne’er shall sever. 

But far be thou, oh! far, unholy vine, 

By whom the favorite minstrel of the Nine 
Lost his sweet vital breath ; 

Thy God himselfnow blushes to confess, 

Once hallow’d vine! he feels he loves thee less 
Since poor Anacreon’s death. 


It has been supposed by some writers 
that Anacreon and Sappho were con- 
temporaries; and the very thought of 
an intercourse between persons so con- 
genial, both in warmth of passion and 
delicacy of genius, gives such play to 
the imagination, that the mind loves to 
indulge in it. But the vision dissolves 
before historical truth; and Chameleon 
and Hermesianax, who are the source of 
the supposition, are considered as hay- 
ing merely indulged in a poetical anach- 
ronism.§ 

To infer the moral dispositions of a 
poet from the tone of sentiment which 
pervades his works, is sometimes a very 
fallacious analogy; but the soul of 
Anacreon speaks so unequivocally 
through his odes, that we may safely 
coneult them as the faithful mirrors of 
his heart.|| We find him there the ele- 
gant voluptuary, diffusing the seductive 
charm of sentiment over passions and 


ets THY Mupwros Bovy,which are given under the 
name of Anacreon. 


§ Barnes is convineed (but very gratuitously) 
of the synchronism of Anacreon and Sappho. 
In citing his authorities, he has strangely neg- 
lected the line quoted by FulviusUrsinus,as from 
Anacreon, among the testimonies to Sappho :— 
Ειμι λαβὼν ecoapas Lampw παρθενον ἀδυφωνον. 
Fabricius thinks that they might have been con- 
temporary, but considers their amour as a tale 
of imagination. Vossius rejects the idea en- 
tirely ; as do also Olaus Borrichius and others. 

|| An Italian poet, in some verses on Bel- 
leaun’s translation of Anacreon, pretends to im- 
agine that our bard did not feel as he wrote :— 


Lyum, Venerem, Cupidinemque 
Senex lusit Anacreon poeta. 
Sed quo tempore nee capaciores 
Rogabat cyathos, nee inquictis 
Urebatur amoribus, sed 1psis 
Tantum versibus et jocis amabat, 
Nullum pre se habitum gerens amantis. 
To Love and Bacchus ever young 

While sage Anacreon touch’d the lyre, 
He neither felt the loves he sung, 

Nor fill’d his bow! to Bacchus higher. 
Those flowery days had faded long, 

When youth could act the lover's part ; 
And passion trembled in his song, 

But never, never, reach'd his heart. 


a ΟΜ. ΨΥ ee ΡΥ ΤΡΑΥΥ ὙΓΟ ΛΠ 


All that Creation’s varying mass assumes 
Of grand or lovely, here aspires and blooms ; 

Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow, 

Bright lakes expand and conquering rivers flow.—JZoore. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


propensities at which rigid morality 
must frown. His heart, devoted to in- 
dolence, seems to have thought that 
there is wealth enough in happiness, but 
seldom happiness in mere wealth. The 
cheerfulness, indeed, with which he 
brightens his old age is interesting and 
endearing: like his own rose, he is fra- 
grant even in decay. But the most pe- 
culiar feature of his mind is that love of 
simplicity which he attributes to him- 
self so feelingly, and which breathes 
characteristically throughout all that he 
has sung. In truth, if we omit those 
few vices in our estimate which religion, 
at that time, not only connived at, but 
consecrated, we shall be inclined to say 
that the disposition of our poet was 
amiable ; that his morality was relaxed, 
but not abandoned; and that Virtue, 
with her zone loosened, may be an apt 
emblem of the character of Anacreon.* 

Of his person and physiognomy time 


* Anacreon’s character has been variously 
colored, Barnes lingers on it with enthusiastic 
admiration ; but he is always extravagant. if 
not sometimes also a little profane.  Baillet 
runs too much into the opposite extreme, ex- 
ageerating also the testimonies which he has 
consulted; and we cannot surely agree with 
him when he cites such a compiler as Athe- 
neeus, as ‘un des plus savans critiques de l'an- 
tiquité.”"—Jugement des Seavans, M. CV. 

Barnes could hardly have read the passage 
to which he refers, when he accuses Le Fevre 
of having censured our poet's character in a 
note on Longinus ; the note in question being 
manifest irony, in allusion to some censure 
passed upon Le Fevre for his Anacreon. It is 
clear, indeed, that praise rather than censure 
is intimated. See Johannes Vulpius, (de Utili- 
tate Poétices,) who vindicates our poet's repu- 
tation. 

| It is taken from the Bibliotheca of Fulvius 
Ursinus. Bellori lfas copied the same head into 
his Imagines Johannes Faber, in his descrip- 
tion of the coin of Ursinus, mentions another 
head on a very beautiful cornelian, whieh he 
Supposes was worn in a ring by some admirer 
of the poet. In the Iconographia of Canini 
there is a youthful head of Anaereon from a 
Grecian medal], with the letters TEIOS around 
it; on the reverse there is a Neptune, holding 
ἃ spear in his right hand, and a dolphin, with 
the word TIANOQN inscribed, in the left; ‘ vol- 
endoci denotare (says Canini) che quelle cit- 
tadini la coniassero in honore del suo compatri- 
ota poeta.” There is also among the coins of 
De Wilde one which, though it bears no eftigy, 
was probably struck to the memory of Ana- 
-oreon. It has the word THION, encireled with 
aniyy crown. “At quidni respicit heee corona 
Anacreontem, nobilem lyricum ?’—De Wilde. 

} Besides those which are extant, he wrote 
hymns, elegies, epigrams, &c. Some of the 


has preserved such uncertain memorials, 
that it were better, perhaps, to leave the 
pencil to fancy; and few can read the 
Odes of Anacreon without imagining to 
themselves the form of the animated 
old bard, crowned with roses, and sing- 
ing cheerfully to his lyre. But the head 
of Anacreon, prefixed to this werk,t has 
been considered so authentic, that we 
scarcely could be justified in the omis- 
sion of it; and some have even thought 
that it is by no means deficient in that 
benevolent suavity of expression which 
should characterize the countenance of 
such a poet. 

After the very enthusiastic eulogiums 
bestowed both by ancients and moderns 
upon the poems of Anacreon,} we need 
not be diffident in expressing our rap- 
tures at their beauty, nor ἔξειμι ἴο 
pronounce them the most polished re- 
mains of antiquity.§ They are, indeed, 
all beauty, all enchantment.|| He steals 


epigrams still exist. Horace, in addition to the 
mention of him, (lib. iv. od. 9,) alludes also toa 
poem of his upon the rivalry of Circe and Pen- 
elope in the affections of Ulysses, lib. i. od. 17; 
and the scholiast upon Nicander cites a fragment 
from a poem upon Sleep by Anacreon, and 
attributes to him likewise a medicinal treatise. 
Fulgentius mentions a_work of his upon the 
war between Jupiter and the Titans, and the 
origin of the consecration of the eagle. 

§ See Horace, Maximus Tyrius, &e. “‘ His 
style (says Scaliger) is sweeter than the juice 
of the Indian reed. '—Poet. lib. i. cap. 44. 
“From the softness of his verses (says Olaus 
Borrichius) the ancients bestowed on him the 
epithets sweet, delicate, graceful, &e. —Dis- 
sertationes Academicew, de Poetis, diss. 2. 
Scaliger again praises him thus in a pun; speak- 
ing of the μελος, or ode, ‘“‘ Anacreon autem non 
solum dedit hee μελὴ sed etiam in ipsis mella.” 
See the passage of Rapin, quoted by all the 
editors. I cannot omit citing also the [Ὁ]: 
lowing very spirited apostrophe of the author 
of the Commentary prefixed to the Parma edi- 
tion: “Ὁ vos sublimes anim, vos Apollinis 
alumni, qui post unum Alemanem in tota Hel- 
lade lyricam poesim exsuscitastis, coluistis, 
amplificastis, queeso vos an ullus unquam fuerit 
yates qui Teio cantori vel nature eandore vel 
metri suavitate palmam previpuerit.” See like- 
wise Vincenzo Gravini della Rag. Peetie. libro 
primo, p. 97. Among the Ritratti of Marino, 
there is one of Anacreon beginning “ Cinge- 
temi la fronte,” &e., &c. 

|| ‘“ We may perceive,” says Vossius, “that 
the iteration of his words conduces very much 
to the sweetness of his style.” Henry Stephen 
remarks the same beauty in a note on the forty- 
fourth ode. This figure of iteration is his most 
appropriate grace :—but the modern writers of 
Juvenilia and Basia have adopted it to an ex- 
cess which destroys the effect. 


60 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


us so insensibly along with him, that we 
sympathize even in his excesses. In his 
amatory odes there is a delicacy of com- 
plment not to be found in any other 
ancient poet.- Love at that period was 
rather an unrefined emotion: and the 
intercourse of the sexes was animated 
more by passion than by sentiment. 
They knew not those little tendernesses 
which form the spiritual part of affec- 
tion; their expression of feeling was 
therefore rude and unvaried, and the 
poetry of love deprived it of its most 
captivating graces. Anacreon, however, 
attained some ideas of this purer gallan- 
try; and the same delicacy of mind 
which led him to this refinement, pre- 
vented him also from yielding to the 
freedom of language which has sullied 
the pages of all the other poets. His 
descriptions are warm; but the warmth 
is in the ideas, not the words. He is 
sportive without being wanton, and 
ardent without being licentious. His 
poetic invention is always most. bril- 
liantly displayed in those allegorical fic- 
tions which so many have endeavored 
to imitate, though all have confessed 
them to be inimitable. Simplicity is 
the distinguishing feature of these odes, 
and they interest by their innocence, as 
much as they fascinate by their beauty. 
They may be said, indeed, to be the 
very infants of the Muses, and to lisp in 
numbers. 

Τ shall not be accused of enthusiastic 
artiality by those who have read and 
elt the original; but, to others, I am 
conscious, this should not be the lan- 
guage of a translator, whose faint reflec- 
tion of such beauties can but ill justify 

his admiration of them. 

In the age of Anacreon music and 

poetry were inseparable. These kindred 

*In the Paris edition there are four of the 

original odes set to music, by Le Sueur, Gossee, 
Mehul, and Cherubini. ‘‘On chante du Latin, 
et de I'Italien,” says Gail, ‘* quelquefois méme 
san les entendre; qui empéche que nous ne 
chantions des odes Greeques ἢ The chromatic 
learning of these composers is very unlike what 
we are told of the simple melody of the ancients; 
and they have all, as it appears to me, mistaken 
the accentuation of the words. 

|The Parma commentator is rather careless 
in referring to this passage of Aulus Gellius, 
(lib, xix. cap. 9.) The ode was not sung by the 
rhetorician Julianus, as he says, but by the 


minstrels of both sexes, who wore introduced at 
the entertainment. 


‘positions to the lyre. 


talents were for a long time associated, 
and the poet always sung his own com- 
It is probable 
that they were not set to any regular 
air, but rather a kind of musical recita- 
tion, which was varied according to the 
fancy and feelings of the moment.* The 
poems of Anacreon were sung at ban- 
quets as Jate as the time of Aulus Gel- 
lius, who tells us that he heard one of 
the odes performed at a birthday enter- 
tainment.t 

The singular beauty of our poet’s 
style, and the apparent facility, per- 
haps, of his metre, have attracted, as I 
have already remarked, a crowd of imi- 
tators. Some of these have succeeded 
with wonderful felicity, as may be dis- 
cerned in the few odes which are at- 
tributed to writers of a later period. 
But none of his emulators have been 
half so dangerous to his fame as those 
Greek ecclesiastics of the early ages, who, 
being conscious of their own inferiority 
to their great prototypes, determined on 
removing all possibility of comparison, 
and, under a semblance of moral zeal, 
deprived the world of some of the most 
exquisite treasures of ancient times. 
The works of Sappho and Alczus were 
among those flowers of Grecian literature 
which thus fell beneath the rude hand of 
ecclesiastical presumption. It is true 
they pretended that this sacrifice of 
genius was hallowed by the interests of 
religion; but I have already assigned 
the most probable motive ;§ and if Gre- 
gorius Nazianzenus had not written 
Anacreontics, we might now perhaps 
have the works of the Teian unmutila- 
ted, and be empowered to say exultingly 
with Horace, 

Nee si quid olim lusit Anacreon 
Delevit etas. 

{See what Colomesius, in his ‘ Literary 
Treasures,” has quoted from Aleyonius de Ex- 
ilio; it may be found in Baxter. Colomesius, 
after citing the passage, adds, “Προ auro 
contra cara non potui non apponere.”’ 

_§ We may perceive by the beginning of the 
first hymn of Bishop Synesius, that he made 


Anacreon and Sappho his models of composi- 
tion. 


Aye μοι, Acyeca φορμιγξ, 
Mera Tyiav αοιδαν, 
Mera Λεσβιαν Te μολπαν. 


Margunius and Damascenus were likewise 


authors of pious Anacreunties. 


. 
. 
| 
. 
a 
| 


oT = 


See 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


67 


The zeal by which these bishops pro- 
fessed to be actuated, gave birth more 
innocently, indeed, to an absurd species 
of parody, as repugnant to piety as it is 
to taste, where the poet of voluptuous- 
ness was made a preacher of the gospel, 
and his muse, like the Venus in armor 
at Lacedemon, was arrayed in all the 
severities of priestly instruction. Such 
was the ‘‘Anacreon Recantatus,” by 
Carolus de Aquino, a Jesuit, published 
1701, which consisted of a series of 
palinodes to the several songs of our 
poet. Such, too, was the Christian Ana- 
ereon of Patriganus, another Jesuit,* 
who preposterously transferred to a 
most sacred subject all that the Grecian 
poet had dedicated to festivity and love. 

His metre has frequently been adopted 
by the modern Latin poets ; and Scaliger, 
Taubman, Barthius,t and others, have 
shown that it is by no means uncon- 
genial with that language.{ The Ana- 
creontics of Scaliger, however, scarcely 
deserve the name; as they glitter all 
over with conceits, and, though often 
elegant, are always labored. The beau- 
tiful fictions of Angerianus§ preserve 
more happily than any others the delicate 
tun of those allegorical fables, which, 
passing so frequently through the 
mediums of version and imitation, have 
generally lost their finest rays in the 
transmission. Many of the Itahan poets 
have indulged their fancies upon the 
subjects, and in the manner of Ana- 
ereon. Bernardo Tasso first introduced 
the metre, which was afterwards polished 


*This, perhaps, is the “Jesuita quidam 
Greculus “ alluded to by Barnes, who has hiin- 
self composed an Avaxpewy Χριστιανος, τ absurd 
as the rest, but somewhat more skilfully exe- 
~ euted. 

tI have seen somewhere an account of the 
MSs. of Barthius, written just after his death, 
which mentions many more Anacreonties of 
his than I believe have ever been published. 

{ Thus too Albertus, a Danish poet :— 

Fidii tui minister 
Gaudebo semper esse, 
Gaudebo semper illi 
Litare thure mulso ; 
Gaudebo semper illum 
Laudare pumilillis 
Anacreonticillis. 
See the Danish Poets collected by Rotsgaard. 

These pretty littlenesses defy translation. A 
beautiful Anacreontic by Hugo Grotius, may 
be found Lib. i. Farraginis. 

To Angerianus Prior is indebted for some 
of his happiest mythological subjects. 


and enriched by Chabriera and others. || 
To judge by the references of Degen, 
the German language abounds in Ana- 
creontic initations; and Hagedorn is 
one among many who have assumed him 
asa model. La Farre, Chaulieu, and the 
other oe poets of France, have also 
professed to cultivate the muse of Téos; 
but they have attaimed all her negligence 
with little of the simple grace that em- 
bellishes it. In the delicate bard of 
Schiras** we find the kindred spint of 
Anacreon : some of his gazelles, or songs, 
possess all the character of our poet. 
We come now to a retrospect of the 
editions of Anacreon. To Henry Stephen 
we are indebted for haying first recover- 
ed his remains from the obscurity in 
which, so singularly, they had for many 
ages reposed. He found the seventh 
ode, as we are told, on the cover of an 
old book, and communicated it to Vie- 
torius, who mentions the circumstance 
in his ‘‘ Various Readings.” Stephen 
was then very young ; and this discovery 
was considered by some eritics of that 
day asa hterary umposition. tt In 1554, 
however, he gave Anacreon to the 
world,t! accompanied with annotations 
and a Latin version of the greater part 
of the odes. The learned still hesitated 
to receive them as the relies of the Teian 
bard, and suspected them to be the 
fabrication of some monks of the six- 
teenth century. This was an idea from 
which the classic muse recoiled; and 
the Vatican manuscript, consulted by 
Sealiger and Salmasius, confirmed the 


||See Crescimbeni, Historia della Volg. Poes. 

9 ‘‘L'aimable Hagedorn vaut quelquefois An- 
acréon.’’—Dorat, Jdée dela Poesie Alemande. 

ἀκ See Toderini on the learning of the Turks, 
as translated by deCournard. Prince Cantemir 
has made the Russians acquainted with Ana- 
ereon. See his Life, prefixed to a translation of 
his Satires, by the Abbé de Guasco. 


1/Robortellus, in his work ‘‘ De Ratione corri- 
gendi,” pronounces these verses to be the 
triflings of some insipid Grecist. 

!t Ronsard commemorates this event :— 


Je vay boire ἃ Henrie Etienne 

Qui des enfers nous a rendu, 

Du vieil Anacréon perdu, 

La douce lyre Teienne. Ode xy, book 5. 


I fill the bowl to Stephen’s name, 

Who rescued from the gloom of night 
The Teian bard of festive fame, 

And brought his living lyre to light. 


63 


antiquity of most of the poems. A very 
inaccurate copy of this MS. was taken 
by Isaac Vossius, and this is the author- 
ity which Barnes has followed in his col- 
lation. Accordingly he misrepresents 
alinost as often as he quotes; and the sub- 
sequent editors, relying upon his author- 
ity, have spoken of the manuscript with 
not less confidence than ignorance. The 
literary world, however, has at length 
been gratified with this curious memorial 
of the poet, by the industry of the Abbé 
Spaletti, who published at Rome, in 1781, 
a fac-simile of those pages of the Vatican 
manuscript which contained the odes of 
Anacreon.* 

A catalogue has been given by Gail of 
all the different editions and translations 
of Anacreon. Finding their number to 
be much greater than I could possibly 
have had an opportunity of consulting, 
I shall here content myself with enu- 
merating only those editions and versions 
which it has been in my power to col- 
lect ; and which, though very few, are, I 
believe, the most important. 

The edition by Henry Stephen, 1554, 
at Paris—the Latin version is attributed 
by Colomesius to John Dorat.t 

The old French translations, by Ron- 
sard and Belleau—the former published 
in 1555, the latter in 1556. It appears 
from a note of Muretus upon one of the 
sonnets of Ronsard, that Henry Stephen 
communicated to this poet his manu- 
seript of Anacreon, before he promul- 
gated it to the world. 

The edition by Le Fevre, 1660. 

The edition by Madame Dacier, 1681, 
with a prose translation. ᾧ 

*This manuscript, which Spaletti thinks as 
old as the tenth century, was brought from the 
Palatine into the Vatican library; it is a kind 
of anthology of Greek epigrams, and in the 
676th page of it are found the Ἡαμιμβια 
Συμποσιακα of Anacreon. d 

{“ Le méme (M. Vossius) m’a dit qu il avoit 
possédé un Anacréon, ot Sealiger avoit marqué 
de sa main, qu’Henri Etienne n’étoit pas 
lanteur dela version Latine des odes de ce 
potéte, mais Jean Dorat.”—Paulus Colomesius, 
Particular ites. 

Colomesius, however, seems to haye relied 
too implicitly on Vossius;—almost all these 
Particularités begin with ‘‘M. Vossius τ ἃ 
dit.” 

+“ La fiction de ce sonnet, comme l'auteur 
meme m’a dit, est prise d’une ode d’Anacréon, 
eneore non imprimée, αἰ} a depuis traduit, 
Xv μεν didn χελιδων.᾽ 

§ The author of Nouvelles de la Répub. des 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The edition by Longepierre, 1684, 
with a translation in verse. 

The edition by Baxter; London, 1695. 

A French translation by 18 Fosse, 
1704. 

“17 Histoire des Odes d’ Anacreon,” by 
Gacon; Rotterdam, 1712. 

A translation in English verse, by 
several hands, 1713, in which the odes 
by Cowley are inserted. 

The edition by Barnes ; London, 1721. 

The edition by Dr. Trapp, 1733, with 
a Latin version in elegiac metre. 

A translation in English verse, by 
John Addison, 1735. 

A collection of Italian translations of 
Anacreon, published at Venice, 1736, 
consisting of those by Corsini, Regnier, || 
Salvini, Marchetti, and one by several 
anonymous authors. Ἧ 

A translation in English verse, by 
Fawkes and Doctor Broome, 1760.** 

Another, anonymous, 1768. 

The edition by Spaletti,at Rome, 1781; 
with the fae-simile of the Vatican MS. 

The edition by Degen, 1786, who pub- 
lished also a German translation of Ana- 
creon, esteemed the best. 

A translation im English verse, by 
Urquhart, 1787. 

The edition by Gail, at Paris, 1799, 
with a prose translation. 


ODES OF ANACREON.1 


ODE I. 
T saw the smiling bard of pleasure, 
The minstrel of the Teian measure ; 


Lett. bestows on this translation much more 
praise than its merits appear to me to justify. 

|| The notes of Regnier are not inserted in 
this edition; but they must be interesting, as 
they were for the most part communicated by 
the ingenious Menage, who, we may perceive. 
from a passage in the Menagiana, Rental 
some research on the subject. "Οὐδέ aussi lui 
(M. Bigot) quis’est donné la peine de conférer 
des munuserits en Italie dans le tems que je 
travaillois sur Anaeréon.’—Menagiana, sec- 
onde partie. 

41 find in Haym’s Notizia de’ Libri rari, 
Venice, 1670, an Italian translation by Cappone, 
mentioned. 

** This is the most complete of the English 
translations. 


ii This ode is the first of the series in the 
Vatican manuseript, which attributes it to no 


ODES OF ANACRHON. 


’Twas in a vision of the night, 

He beam’d upon my wondering sight. 
I heard his voice, and warmly press’d 
The dear enthusiast to my breast. 

His tresses wore a silvery dye, 

But beauty sparkled in his eye ; 
Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 

Through the mist gf soft desire.* 

His lip exhaled, whene’er he sigh’d, 
The fragrance of the racy tide ; 

And, as with weak and reeling feet 
He came my cordial kiss to meet, 

An infant, of the Cyprian band, 
Guided him on with tender hand. 
Quick from his glowing brows he drew 
His braid, of many a wanton hue; 

I took the wreath, whose inmost twine 
Breathed of him and blush’d with wine.t 
I hung it o’er my thoughtless brow 
And ah! I feel its magic now: ¢ 

I feel that even his garland’s touch 
Can make the bosom love too much 


ODE II. 


GIvE me the harp of epic song, 
Which Homer’s finger thrill’d along ; 
But tear away the sanguine string, 
For war is not the theme I sing. 


other poet than Anacreon. They who assert 
that the manuscript imputes it to Basilius, have 
been misled by the words Tov αὐτου βασιλικως 
in the margin, which are merely intended as a 
title to the following ode. Whether it be the 
produetion of Anacreon or not, it has all the 
features of ancient simplicity, and is a beauti- 
ful imitation of the poet’s happiest manner. 
* Sparkled in his eyes of fire, 

Through the mist of soft desire.| “ How 
could he know at the first look (says Baxter) 
that the poet was ¢Aevvos?” There are 
surely many tell-tales of this propensity ; and 
the following are the indices, which the physi- 
ognomist gives, describing a disposition per- 
haps not unlike that of Anacreon: Οφθαλμοι 
KAUCOMEVOL, κυμαινοντες EV aUTOLS, εἰς αφροδισια 
και εὐπαθειαν εἐπτοηνται" οὔτε δὲ αδικοι, οὔτε 
κακουργοι, οὐτε φυσεως φαύλης, οὔτε αμουσοι.-- 
Adamantius. ‘ The eyes that are humid and 
fluctuating show a propensity to pleasure and 
love; they bespeak too a mind of integrity and 
bencticenee, a generosity of disposition, and a 
genius for poetry.” 

Baptista Porta tells us some strange opinions 
of the ancient physiognomists on this subject, 
their reasons for which were curious, and per- 
haps not altogether fanciful. Vide Physiognom. 
Johan. Baptist. Portie. 

_1TI took the wreath, whose inmost twine 

Breathed of him, &c.| Philostratus has the 
same thought in one of his Ερωτικα, where he 
speaks of the garland which he had sent te his 
mistress. Εἰ de BovAer τι φιλω χαριζεσθαι, τα 


Proclaim the laws of festal rite, ᾧ 

I’m monarch of the board to-night ; 
And all around shall brim as high, 

And quaff the tide as deep as I. 

And when the cluster’s mellowing dews 
Their warm enchanting balm infuse, 
Our feet shall catch th’ elastic bound, 
And reel us through the dance’s round. 
Great Bacchus! we shall sing to thee, 
In wild but sweet ebriety ; 

Flashing around such sparks of thought, 
As Bacchus could alone have taught. 
Then, give the harp of epic song 
Which Homer’s finger thrill’d along ; 
But tear away the sanguine string, 

For war is not the theme I sing. 


ODE III,|| 


LISTEN to the Muse’s lyre, 

Master of the pencil’s fire! 
Sketch’d in painting’s bold display, 
Many a city first portray ; 
Many a city, revelling free, 

Full of loose festivity. 

Picture then a rosy train, 
Bacchants straying o’er the plain ; 
Piping, as they roam along, 


λειψανα αντιπεμψον, μηκετι πνεοντα podwy μονον 
adda και gov. ‘If thou art inclined to gratify 
thy lover, send him back the remains of the 
garland, no longer breathing of roses only, but 
of thee!" Which pretty conceit is borrowed 
(as the author of the Observer remarks) in a 
well-known little song of Ben Jonson's :— 
* But thou thereon didst only breathe 
And sent it back to me; 
Since when it looks and smells, I swear, 
Not of itself, but thee!” 
tAnd ah! I feel its magic now :| This idea, 
as Longepierre remarks, occurs in an epigram 
of the seventh book of the Anthologia. 


Εξοτε μοι πινοντι συνεσταουσα Χαρικλω 
Λαθρὴ τους ἰδιους αμφεβαλε στεφανους, 
IIvp ολοον δαπτει με. 


While I unconscious quaff'd my wine, 
Twas then thy fingers slyly stole 

Upon my brow that wreath of thine, 
Vhich since has madden’d all my soul. 

δ Proclaim the laws of festal rite.| The an- 
ejents preseribed certain laws of drinking at 
their festivals, for an account of which see the 
commentators. Anacreon here acts the sym- 
posiarch, or master of the festival. I have 
translated according to those who consider 
κυπελλα ϑεσμὼων as an inyersion of ϑέσμους 
κυπελλων. 

|| La Fosse has thought proper to lengthen 
this poem by considerable interpolations of his 
own, which he thinks are indispensably neces- 
sary to the completion of the deseription. 


70 


MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Roundelay or shepherd-song. 
Paint me next, if painting may 
Such a theme as this portray, 
All the earthly heaven of love 
These delighted mortals prove. 


ODE IV.* 


VuLcaNn! hear your glorious task 

I do not from your labors ask 

In gorgeous panoply to shine, 

For war was ne’er a sport of mine. 
No—let me have a silver bowl, 
Where I may cradle all my soul; 
But mind that, o’er its simple frame 
No mimic constellations flame ; 

No grave upon the swelling side, 
Orion, scowling o’er the tide. 

I care not for the glittering wain, 
Nor yet the weeping sister train. 

But let the vine luxuriant roll 

Its blushing tendrils round the bowl, 
While many a rose-lipp’d bacchant maidt 
Is culling clusters in their shade. 

Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, 
Wildly press the gushing grapes, 
And flights of Loves, in wanton play, 
Wing through the air their winding way; 
While Venus from her harbor green 
Looks laughing at the joyous scene, 
And young Lyzeus by her side 

Sits worthy of so bright a bride. 


* This ode, Aulus Gellius tells us, was per- 
formed at an entertainment where he was pres- 
ent. 

| While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid 
dc.) Ihave availed myself here of the addi 
tional lines givenin the Vatican manuscript, 
which have not been accurately inserted in any 
of the ordinary editions :— 


Ilotnoov ἀαμπελοὺυς μοι 
Και βοτρυας κατ᾽ αὐτων 
Και μαιναδας τρυγωσας. 
Ποιει δε ληνον οινοῦυ, 
AynvoBatas πατουντας, 
Τουςσ ατυρους γελωντὰς, 
Και χρυσοὺυς τους €pwras, 
Και Κυθερην γελωσαν, 
Ὅμον καλω Λναιω, 
Epwra κ᾿ ᾽Αφροδιτην. 

t Degen thinks that this ode is a more modern 
imitation of the preceding. There is a poem by 
Celius Caleagninus, in the manner of both, 
where he gives instructions about the making 
of a ring. 

Tornabis annulum mihi 
Kt fabre, et apte, et commode, &e. &e. 

§ Let Love be there, without his arms, €c.]| 
Thus Sannazaro in the eclogue of Gallicio nell’ 
Arcadia :— 


ODE V.t 


ScuLprTor, wouldst thou glad my soul, 

Grave for me an ample bowl, 

Worthy to shine in hall or bower, [hour. 

When spring-time brings the revellers 

Grave it with themes of chaste design, 

Fit for a simple board like mine. 

Display not there the-barbarous rites 

In which religious zeal delights ; 

Nor any tale of tragic fate 

Which History shudders to relate. 

No—cull thy fancies from above, 

Themes of heav’n and themes of love. 

Let Bacchus, Joye’s ambrosial boy, 

Distil the grape in drops of joy, 

And while he smiles at every tear, 

Let warm-eyed Venus, dancing near, 

With spirits of the genial bed, 

The dewy herbage deftly tread. 

Let Love be there, without his arms,§ 

In timid nakedness of charms; 

And all the Graces, link’d with Love, 

Stray, laughing, through the shadowy 
grove ; 

While rosy boys disporting round, 

In circlets trip the velvet ground. 

But ah! if there Apollo toys, 

I tremble for the rosy boys.|| ᾿ 


ODE VL.¥ 
As late I sought the spangled bowers, 
To cull a wreath of matin flowers, 


Vegnan li vaghi Amori 
Senza fiammelle, ὃ strali, 
Scherzando insieme pargoletti e nudi. 
Fluttering on the busy wing, 
A train of naked Cupids came, 
Sporting around in harmless ring, 
Without a dart, without a flame. 


And thus in the Pervigilium Veneris :— 
Ite nymph, posuit arma, feriatus est amor. 


Love is disarm’d—ye nymphs, in safety stray, 
Your bosoms now may boast a holiday! 


|| But ah! if there Apollo toys, 

I tremble for the rosy boys.) An allusion to 
the fable that Apollo had killed his beloved boy 
Hyacinth, while playing with him at quoits. 
* This (says M. La Fosse) is assuredly the sense 
of the text, and it cannot admit of any other.” 

The Italian translators, to save themselves 
the trouble of a note, have taken the liberty of 
making Anaecreon himself explain this fable. 
Thus Salvini, the most literal of any of them :— 

Ma con lor non giuochi Apollo; 
Che in fiero riseo 

Col duro disco 

A Giacinto fiaced il collo. 


| This beautiful fiction, which the commen- 
tators have attributed to Julian, a royal poet, 


Where many an early rose was weeping 
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping. * 

T caught the boy, a goblet’s tide 

Was richly mantling by my side, 

1 caught him by his downy wing, 

And whelm’d him in the racy spring. 
Then drank I down the poison’d bowl, 
And Love now nestles in my soul. 

Ob yes, my soul is Cupid’s nest, 

I feel him fluttering in my breast. 


ODE ὙἹΙ 


THE women tell me every day 
That all my bloom has pass’d away. 
“Behold,” the pretty wantons ery, 


the Vatican MS. pronounces to be the genuine 
offspring of Anacreon. It has, indeed, all the 
features of the parent :— 


et facile insciis 
Noscitetur ab omnibus. 
* Where many an early rose was weeping 
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.| This 
idea is prettily imitated in the following epigram 
by Andreas Naugerius :— 


Florentes dum forte vagans mea Hyella por 
Texit odoratis lilia cana rosis, {hortos 

Ecce rosas inter latitantem invenit Amorem 
Et simul annexis floribus implicuit. 

Luetatur primo, et contra nitentibus alis 
Indomitus tentat solvere vinela puer : 

Mox ubi lacteolas et dignas matre papillas 
Vidit et ora ipsos nata movere Deos, 

Impositosque come ambrosios ut sentit odores 
Quosque legit diti messe beatus Arabs; Ξ 

“TI (dixit) mea, quere noyum tibi, mater, 

Amorem 

Imperio sedes hee erit apta meo.” 


As fair Hyella, through the bloomy grove, 

A wreath of many mingled flow’rets wove, 

Within a rose a sleeping Love she found, 

And in the twisted wreaths the baby bound. 

Awhile he struggled, and impatient tried 

To break the rosy bonds the virgin tied; 

But when he saw her bosom’s radiant swell, 

Her features, where the eye of Jove might 
dwell; 

And caught th’ ambrosial odors of her hair, 

Rich as the breathings of Arabian air; 

“Oh! mother Venus,” (said the raptured child, 

By charms of more than mortal bloom beguiled,) 

“Go, seek another boy, thou’st lost thine own, 

“Hyella’s arms shall now be Cupid's throne!” 


x This epigram of Naugerius is imitated by 
Lodoyico Dolee in a poem, beginning 
Mentre raecoglie hor uno, hor altro fiore 
Vicina a un rio di chiare et lucid’ onde, 
Lidia, &e. &e. 


_| Alberti has imitated this ode in a poem, be- 
ginning 
Nisa mi dice e Clori 
Tirsi, tu se’ pur veglie. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


71 


“Behold this mirror with a sigh; 
The locks upon thy brow are few, 
And, like the rest, they’re withering too!” 
Whether decline has thinn’d my hair, 
I’m sure I neither know nor care,t 
But this I know, and this I feel, 

As onward to the tomb 1 steal, 

That still as death approaches nearer, 
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer; ὁ 
And had I but an hour to live, 

That little hour to bliss I’d give. 


ODE VIII. 


I CARE not for the idle state 
Of Persia’s king,{ the rich, the great: 


| Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, 

I'm sure I neither know nor care ;| Henry 
Stephen very justly remarks the elegant neghi- 
«ence of expression in the original here ; 


Eyw Se tas κομας μεν, 
Ect εἰσιν, εἰτ᾽ ἀπῆλθον, 
Ουκ οιδα. 


And Longepierre has adduced from Catullus 
what he thinks a similar instance of this sim- 
plicity of manner: 

Ipse quis sit, utrum sit, an non sit, id quoque 

nesclt. 

Longepierre was a good critic; but perhaps 
the line which he has selected is a specimen of 
τὰ carelessness not very commendable. At the 
same time I confess, that none of the Latin 
poets have ever appeared to me so capable of 
imitating the graces of Anacreon as Catullus, if 
le had not allowed a depraved imagination to 
hurry him so often into mere yulgar licentious- 
ness. 

§ That still as death approaches nearer, 

The joys of life are sweeter, @earer ;\ Pon- 
tanus has a very delicate thought upon the sub- 
ject of old age : 


Quid rides, Matrona? senem quid temnis 
amiuntem ὃ 
Quisquis amat nulla est conditione senex. 


Why do youscorn my want of youth, 
And with asmile my brow behold ? 
Lady dear! believe this truth, 
That he who loves cannot be old. 


|| ‘The German poet Lessing has imitated 
this ode. Vol. i. p. 94. Deven. Gailde Edi- 
tionibus. 
3axter conjectures that this was written 
upon the oceasion of our posta returning the 
money to Polyerates, according to the anecdote 
in Stobeeus. 
4« 7 care not for the idle state 
Of Persia's king, de.) “‘ There isa trag- 
ment of Archilochus in Plutarch, ‘ De tranquil- 
litate animi,’ which our poet has very closely 
imitated here; it-begins, 
Ov μοι ta Γύγεω tov πολυχρυσου μελει.᾿ 
BARNEs. 


72 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


I envy not the monarch’s throne, 

Nor wish the treasured gold my own. 

But oh! be mine the rosy wreath, 

Its freshness o’er my brow to breathe ; 

Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 

To cool and scent my locks of snow. ἢ 

To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, 

As if to-morrow ne’er would shine ; 

But if to-morrow comes, why then— 

ΤΊ] haste to quaff my wine again. 

And thus while all our days are bright, 

Nor time has dimm’d their bloomy light, 

Let us the festal hours beguile 

With mantling cup and cordial smile ; 

And shed from each new bowl of wine 

The richest drop on Bacchus’ shrine. 

For Death may come, with brow un- 
pleasant, Lent, 

May come, when least we wish him pres- 

And beckon to the sable shore, 

And grimly bid us—drink no more ! 


ODE IX. 


I pray thee, by the gods above,t 
Give me the mighty bowl I love, 
And let me sing, in wild delight, 
“41 will—I will be mad to-night !” 


In one of the monkish imitators of Anacreon 
we find the same thought :— 


Ψυχὴν ἐμὴν epwtw, 
Te σοι ϑελεις γενεσθαι; 
Θελεις Γνυγεω τα και τα; 


* Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, 

To cool and scent my locks of snow.] In 
the original, μυροισι καταβρεχειν ὑπήνην. 
On account of this idea of perfuming the beard, 
Cornelius de Pauw pronounces the whole ode 
to be the spurious production of some lascivious 
monk, who was ΠΠΣΕΙ͂ΠΕ his beard with ungu- 
ents. But he should have known, that this 
was an ancient eastern custom, which, if we 
may believe Savary, still exists: * Vous voyez, 
Monsieur, (says this traveller,) que l'usage an- 
tique de se parfumer la téte et la barbe,* eélé- 
bré par le prophéte Roi, subsiste encore de nos 
jours.” Lettre 12. Savary likewise cites this 
very ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not 
thought the idea inconsistent, having intro- 
duced it in the following lines: 


Hee mihi cura, rosis et cingere tempora myrto, 
Et curas multo delapidare mero. 

Hee mibicnra, comas et barbam tingere suecco 
Assyrio et dulces continuare jocos. 


This be my care, to wreathe my brow with 
flowers, 
To drench my sorrows in the ample bowl; 


*“Sicnt unguentum In capite quod descendit in 
barbam Acronis. Pseaume exxxiili,”’ 


Alemzon once, as legends tell, 

Was phrensied by the fiends of hell; 
Orestes too, with naked tread, 

Frantic paced the mountain-head ; 

And why? a murder’d mother’s shade 
Haunted them still where’er they stray- 
But ne’er could I a murderer be, [ed, 
The grape alone shall bleed by me ; 
Yet can I shout, with wild delight, 

“1 will—I will be mad to-night.” 


Alcides’ self, in days of yore, 
Imbrued his hands in youthful gore, 
And brandish'd, with a maniac joy, 
The quiver of th’ expiring boy: 
And Ajax, with tremendous shield, 
Infuriate scour’d the guiltless field. 
But I, whose hafids no weapon ask, 
No armor but this joyous flask ; 
The trophy of whose frantic hours 
Is but a seatter’d wreath of flowers, 
Ev’n I can sing with wild delight, 
“61 will—I will be mad to-night !” 


ODE X.t 


How am 1 to punish thee, 
For the wrong thou’st done to me, 
Silly swallow, prating thingS— 


To pour rich perfumes o'er my beard in showers, 
And give full loose to mirth and joy of soul. 


ἱ The poet is here in aphrensy of enjoy. 
ment, and it is, indeed, “᾿ amabilis insania ; ’— 
Furor di poesia, 
Di lascivia, e di vino, 
Triplicato furore, 
Baccho, Apollo, et Amore. 
Ritrattc del Cavalier Marino. 
This is truly, as Scaliger expresses it, 
—Insanire dulee 
Et sapidum furere furorem. 


| This ode is addressed to a swallow Ἱ find 
from Degen and from Gail's index, that the 
German poet Weisse has imitated it, Seherz. 
Lieder. lib. 11. carm. 5.; that Ramler also has 
imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 335; and 
some others. See Gail de Editionibus. 

Weare here referred by Degen to that dull 
book, the Epistles of Alciphron, tenth epistle, 
third book ; where Iophon complains to Eraston 
of being awakened by the crowing of a cock, 
from his vision of riches. 

§ Silly swallow, prating thing, &c.| The lo- 
quacity of the swallow was proverbialized ; 
thus Nicostratus :— 

Ec To guvexws Kat πολλα Kat ταχεως λαλειν 

Hv του φρονειν mapagypor, at χελιδονες 

Ἐλεγοντ᾽ av ἡμων σωφρονεστεραι πολυ. 

Ifin prating from morning till night 
A sign of our wisdom there be, 
The swallows are wiser by right, 
For they prattle much faster than we. 


we 


ς- ὦ ΑΛΓ 2t Jeo ores 


te Cote al ie 


ΨΨΣ 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


Shall I clip that wheeling wing ? 
Or, as Tereus did, of old, * 

(So the fabled tale is told,) 

Shall I tear that tongue away, 
Tongue that utter’d such a lay? 
Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been! 
Long before the dawn was seen, 
When a dream came o’er my mind, 
Picturing her I worship, kind, 

Just when I was nearly blest, 
Loud thy matins broke my rest! 


ODE XI.t 


“TELL me, gentle youth, I pray thee, 
What in purchase shall I pay thee 
For this little waxen toy, 

Image of the Paphian boy ?” 

Thus I said, the other day, 

To a youth who pass’d my way. 

ΚΕ Sir,” (he answer’d, and the while 
Answer’d all in Donic style, ) 

“Take it, for a trifle take it ; 

’Twas not I who dared to make it ; 
No, believe me, ’twas not I; 

Oh, it has cost me many a sigh, 

And I can no longer keep 

Little gods, who murder sleep "ἢ 

“ Here, then, here,” (I said with joy, ) 
‘“ Here 1s silver for the boy: 

He shall be my bosom guest, 

Idol of my pious breast !” 


Now, es ey I have thee mine, 
Warm me with that torch of thine ; 
Make me feel as I have felt, 

Or thy waxen frame shall melt: 


* Or, as Tereus did, of old, dc.| Modern po- 
etry has confirmed the name of Philomel upon 
the nightingale ; but many respectable author- 
ities among the ancients assigned this meta- 
morphose to Progne, and made Phifomel the 
swallow, as Anacreon does here. 

| It is difficult to preserve with any grace 
the narrative simplicity of this ode, and the hu- 
mor of the turn with which it coneludes. I 
feel, indeed, that the translation must appear 

. vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English reader. 

1 And I can no longer keep 

Little gods. who murder sleep !| I have not 
literally rendered the epithet mavtopexra; if it 
has any meaning here, it is one, perhaps, bet 
ter omitted. 

§ I must burn with warm desire, 

Or thou, my boy—in yonder fire.) From this 
Longepierre conjectures, that, whatever Ana- 
creon might say, he felt sometimes the inconve- 
niences of old age, and here solicits from the 
power of Love a warmth which he could no 

onger expect from Nature 

|| They tell how Atys, wild with love, 

Roams the mount and haunted greve;| There 
are many contradictory stories of the loves of 


73 


I must burn with warm desire, 
Or thou, my boy—in yonder fire. § 


ODE XII, 


THEY tell how Atys, wild with love, 
Roams the mount and haunted grove ; || 
Cybele’s name he howls around,{ 

The gloomy blast returns the sound! 
Oft too, by Claros’ hallow’d spring,** 
The votaries of the laurell’d king 
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream, 

And rave in wild, prophetic dream. 
But phrensied dreams are not for me, 
Great Bacchus is my deity! 

Full of mirth, and full of him, 

While floating odors round me swim,tt 
While mantling bowls are full supplied, 
And you sit blushing by my side, 

I will be mad and raving too— 

Mad, my girl, with love for you! 


ODE XIII. 


I WIL, I will, the conflict’s past, 

And I’ll consent to love at last. 

Cupid has long, with smiling art, 
Invited me to yield my heart; 

And I have thought that peace of mind 
Should not be for a smile resign’d: 

And so pee the tender lure, 

And hoped my heart would sleep secure. 


But, slighted in his boasted charms, 
The angry infant flew to arms; 
He slung his quiver’s golden frame, 
He took his bow, his shafts of flame, 


Cybele and Atys. It is certain that he was 
mutilated, but whether by his own fury, or 
Cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors 
are not agreed. 

| Cybele’s name he howls around, dc.) I have 
here adopted the accentuation which Elias An- 
dreas gives to Cybele :— 


In montibus Cybélen 
Magno sonans boatu. 

**Oft too, by Claros’ hallow'd spring, ἐς] 
This fountain was in a grove, consecrated to 
Apollo, and situated between Colophon and 
Lebedos, in Ionia. The god had an oracle 
there. Scaliger thus alludes to it in his Ana- 
creontica : 

Semel ut concitus cestro, 
Veluti qui Clarias aquas 
Ebibere loquaces, 

Quo plus canunt, plura yolunt. 


H While floating odors, &c.] Spaletti has quite 
mistaken the import of copea@ecs, as applied to 
the poet's mistress—" Mea fatigatus amicé ;"— 
thus interpreting it in a sense which must want 
either delicacy or gallantry; if not, perhaps, 
both. 


74 MOORL’S WORKS. 


And proudly summon'd me to yield, 
Or meet him on the martial field. 

And what did I unthinking do? 

I took to arms, undaunted, too ;* 
Assumed the corslet, shield, and spear, 
And, like Pelides, smiled at fear. 
Then (hear it, all ye powers above!) 

T fought with Love! 1 fought with Love! 
And new his arrows all were shed, 
And 1 had just in terror led— 

When, heaving an indignant sigh, 

To see me thus unwounded fly, 


* And what did I unthinking do ? 

I tovk to arms, undaunted, too;| Longepierre 
has here quoted an epigram from the Antho- 
logia, in which the poet assumes Reason as the 
armor against Love. 


Ὥπλισμαι προς ερωτα περι στερνοισι λογισμον, 
OvSe με νικήσει, μουνος εων προς Eva: 

Θνατος δ᾽ αθανατω συνελευσομαι" nv de βοηθον 
Βακχον €xn, τι μονος προς bv’ eyw δυναμαι. 


With Reason I cover my breast as a shield, 
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field; 
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er be dismay’d ; 
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid, 
Alas! then, unable to combat the two, 
Unfortunate warrior, what should I do? 


This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and 
Bacchus united, is delicately expressed in an 
Italian poem, which is so truly Anacreontic, 
that its introduction here may be pardoned. It 
is an imitation, indeed, of our poet’s sixth ode. 


Layossi Amore in quel vicino fiume 
Ove giuro (Pastor) ehe bevend’ io 
Beyei le fiamme, anzi l'istesso Dio, 
Ch’or con l’humide piume 

Lascivetto mi scherza al cor intorno. 
Ma che sarei s’io lo bevessi un giorno, 
Bacco, nel tuo liquore ? 

Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d’ Amore. 


The urchin of the bow and quiver 
Was bathing in a neighboring river, 
Where, as I drank on yester-eve, 
(Shepherd-youth, the tale believe,) 
Twas not a cooling, crystal draught, 
’Twas liquid flame I madly quaff'd; 

᾿ For Love was in the rippling tide, 
I felt him to my bosom glide ; 
And now the wily, wanton minion 
Plays round my heart with restless pinion. 
A day it was of fatal star, 
But ah, ‘twere e’en more fatal far, 
If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire, 
I found this flutt’ring young desire: 
Then, then indeed my soul would prove, 
E’en more than ever, drunk with owe! 


| And, having now no other dart, 

He shot himself into my heart !| Dryden has 
parodied this thought in the following extraya- 
gant lines :— 

I’m all o'er Love; 
Nay, I am Love, Love shot, and shot so fast, 
He shot himself into my breast at last. 

1 The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, 

means nothing more than, by a lively hyper- 


And, haying now no other dart, 

He shot himself into my heart !t 

My heart—alas the luckless day ! 
Received the god, and died away. 
Farewell, farewell my faithless shield ! 
Thy lord at length is forced to yield. 
Vain, vain is every outward care, 

The foe’s within, and triumphs there. 


ODE XIV.t 


CounT me, on the summer trees, 
Every leaf that courts the breeze ;§ 


bole, to inform us that his heart, unfettered by 
any one object, was warm with devotion to- 
wards the sex in general. Cowley is indebted 
to this ode for the hint, of his ballad, called 
““The Chronicle; '’ and the learned Menage 
has imitated it ina Greek Anacreontic, which 
has so much ease and spirit, that the reader 
may not be displeased at seeing it here: 


ΠΡΟΣ BIOQNA. 


Ἐπ αλσεων ta φυλλα, 
Λειμωνιοὺυς τε ποιας, 

Et νυκτὸς αστρα παντα 
ἸΠαρακτιους Te ψαμμους, 
Ἄλος τε κυματωδη, 
Δυνη, Βιων, αριθμειν, 
Και τους ἐμοὺς ερωτας 
Δυνη, Βιων, αριθμειν. 
Κορην, γυναικα, Χηραν, 
Σμικρὴν, Meonv, Μεγιστὴν, 
Λευκὴν τε και Μελαιναν, 
Opecadas, Ναπαιας, 
Νηρηϊδας Te πασας 

ὧ aos φιλος φιλησε 
TlavTwy κορος μεν εστιν. 
Αὐτὴν νεὼν ἔρωτων, 
Δεσποιναν Αφροδιτην, 
Χρυσην, καλὴν γλυκειαν, 
Epagputav, ποθεινὴν, 

Aec μονὴν φιλησαι 
Eywye μὴ δοναιμην. 


Tell the foliage of the woods, 

Tell the billows of the floods, 

Number midnight’s starry store, 

And the sands that crowd the shore, 

Then, my Bion, thou mayst count 

Of my loves the vast amount. 

I’ve been loving, all my days, 

Many nymplis, in many ways; 

Virgin, Le ed maid, and wife— 

I've been doting all my life. 

Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains, 

Goddesses of groves and mountains, 

Fair and sable, great and small, 
Yes, I swear I've loved them all! 

Soon was every passion over, 

I was but the moment's lover ; 

Oh! I’m such a roving elf, 

That the Queen of love herself, 

Though she practised all her wiles, 

Rosy blushes, wreathed smiles, 

All her beauty’s proud endeavor 

Could not chain my heart forever. 

§ Count me, on the summer trees, 
Bvery leaf, &e.) This figure is called, by 


ODES OF ANACREON. 73 


Count me, on the foamy deep, 

Every wave that sinks to sleep ; 
Then, when you haye number’d these 
Billowy tides and leafy trees, 

Count me all the flames I prove, 


ΑἸ] the gentle nymphs I love. 


First, of pure Athenian maids 
Sporting in their olive shades, 

You may reckon just a score, 

Nay, I'll grant you fifteen more. 

In the famed Corinthian grove, 
Where such countless wantons rove, * 
Chains of beauties may be found, 
Chains by which my heart is bound ; 
There, indeed, are nymphs divine, 
Dangerous to a soul like mine.t 
Many bloom in Lesbos’ isle ; 

Many in Jonia smile ; 

Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast ; 
Caria too contains a host. 

Sum them all—of brown and fair 
You may count two thousand there. 


rhetoricians, the ΠΓΑΒΟΒΒΙ ΕἾ, (αδυνατον,) and 
is very frequently made use of in poetry. The 
amatory writers have exhausted a world of im- 
agery by it, toexpress the infinite number of 
kisses which they require from the lips of their 
mistresses ; 1 this Catullus led the way. 


—Quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, 
Furtivos hominum yvident amores ; 
Tam te basia multa basiare 
Vesano satis, et super, Catullo est: 
Que nee pernumerare curiosi 
Possint, nee mala faseiare lingua. 


As many stellar eyes of light, 

As through the silent waste of night, 
Gazing upon this world of shade, 
‘Witness some secret youth and τη δ], 
Who fair as thou, and fond as I, 

In stolen joys enamor'd he,— 

So many kisses, ere I slumber, 

Upon those dew-bright lips Ill number ; 
So many kisses we shall count, 

Envy ean never tell th amount. 

No tongue shall blab the sum, but mine; 
No lips shall fascinate, but thine ! 


* In the famed Corinthian grove, 

Where such countless wantons rove, &c.} 
Corinth was very famous for the beauty and 
number ofits courtesans. Venus was the deity 
principally worshipped by the people, and their 
constant prayer was, that the gods should in- 
erease the number of her worshippers. We 
may perceive from the application of the verb 
κορινθιαζειν, in Aristophanes, that the lubrici- 
ty of the Corinthians had become proverbial. 

1 There, indeed, are nymphs divine, 

Dangerous to a@ soul like mine!) “ With 
justice has the poet attributed beauty to the 
women of Greece.’’— Degen. 

M. de Pauw. the author of Dissertations upon 
the Greeks, is of a different opinion ; he thinks, 
that by a capricious partiality of nature, the 
other sex had all the beauty ; and by this sup- 


Carm. 7. 


What, you stare? I pray you, peace! 
More Τὴ] find before I cease. 

Have I told you all my flames, 
’Mong the amorous Syrian. dames ? 
Have I number’d every one, 

Glowing under Egypt’s sun ? 

Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet, 
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete; 
Where the God, with festal play, 
Holds eternal holiday ? 

Still in clusters, still remain 

Gades’ warm, desiring train ;t 

Still there lies a myriad more 

On the sable India’s shore ; 

These, and many far removed, 

All are loving—all are loved ! 


ODE XV. 


TELL me, why, my sweetest dove,§ 
Thus your humid pinions moye, 
Shedding through the air in showers 


position endeayors to account for a very singu- 
lar depravation of instinct among that people. 

{Gades’ warm, desiring train ;| The Gadi- 
tanian girls were like the Baladiéres of India, 
whose dances are thus deseribed by a French 
author: ‘Les danses sont presque toutes des 
pantomimes d'amour; le plan, le dessein, les at- 
titudes, les mesures, les sons et les cadences de 
ces ballets, tout respire cette passion et en ex- 
prime les yoluptés et les fureurs."'--Histoire du 
Commerce des Europ. dans les deux Indes. 
Raynal. 

The music of the Gaditanian females had all 
the eolupiuows character of their dancing, as 
appears from Martial :— 

Cantica qui Nili, qui Gaditana susurrat. 

Lib. iii. epig. 63. 

Lodovico Ariosto had this ode of our bard 
in his mind when he wrote his poem ‘‘ De di- 
versis amoribus.”’ See the Anthologia Italoram. 

§The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from 
the poet to his mistress, is met by a stranger, 
with whom this dialogue is imagined. 

The ancients made use of letter-carrying 
pigeons, when they went any distance from 
home, as the most certain means of conveying 
intelligence back. That tender domestic attach- 
ment, which attracts this delicate little bird 
through every danger and difficulty till it setthes 
in its native nest, affords to the author of ‘‘ Phe 
Pleasures of Memory" a fine and interesting 
exemplificatian of his subject. 

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove 
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love! 
See the poem. Daniel Heinsius, in speaking of 
Dousa, who adopted this method at the siege of 
Leyden, expresses a similar sentiment. 

Quo patric non tendit amor? Mandata referre 

Postquam hominem nequit mittere, misit 

avem. 

Fuller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem, 
the Christians intercepted a letter, tied to the 


70 ΜΟΟΝΕΒ WORKS. 


Essence of the balmiest flowers ? 
Tell me whither, whence you rove, 
Tell me all, my sweetest dove. 


Curious stranger, I belong 
To the bard of Teian song ; 
With his mandate now I fly 
To the nymph of azure eye ;— 
She, whose eye has madden’d many.” 
But the poet more than any. 
Venus, for a hymn of love, 
Warbled in her votive grove, t 
(’Twas in sooth a gentle lay,) 
Gave me to the bard away. 
See me now his faithful minion.— 
Thus with softly-gliding pinion, 
To his lovely girl I bear 
Songs of passion through the air. 
Oft he blandly whispers me, 
“Soon, my bird, 1] set you free.” 
But in vain he’ll bid me fly, 
I shall serve him till I die. 
Never could my plumes sustain 
Ruffling winds and chilling rain, 
O’er the plains, or in the dell, 
On the mountain’s savage swell, 
Seeking in the desert wood 
Gloomy shelter, rustic food. 


legs of a dove, in which the Persian Emperor 
promised assistance to the Ἐπ το = ΠΡ 

Yar, cap. 24, book i. 

*She, whose eye has madden'd many, &c.| For 
τυραννον, in the original, Zeune and Schneider 
conjecture that we should read τυράννου, in allu- 
sion to the strong influence which this object of 
his love held over the mind of Polycrates. See 
Degen. 

tVenus, for a hymn of love, 

Warbled in her votive grove, &c.| ‘This pass- 
age is invaluable, and I do not think that any- 
thing so beautifut or so delicate has ever been 
said. What an idea does it give of the poetry 
of the man, from whom Venus herself, the 
mother of the Graces and the Pleasures, pur- 
chases a little hymn with one of her favorite 
doves!" Longepierre. 

De Pauw objects to the authenticity of 
this ode, because it makes Anacreon his own 

anegyrist; but poets have a license for prais- 
ing themselves, which, with some indeed, may 
be considered as comprised under their general 
privilege of fiction. 

1 This ode and the next may be called com- 
panion-pictures ; they are highly finished, and 
give us an excellent idea of the taste of the 
ancients 1n beauty. Franciscus Junius quotes 
them in his third book ‘‘ De Pictura Veterum.” 

This ode has been imitated by Ronsard, Giu- 
liano Goselini, &c., &e. Sealiger alludes to it 
thus in his Anacreontica: 


Olim lepore blando, 
Litis versibus 
Candidus Anacreon 


Now I lead a life of ease, 

Far from rugged haunts like these. 
From Anacreon’s hand 1 eat 

Food delicious, viands sweet ; 
Flutter o’er his goblet’s brim, 

Sip the foamy wine with him. 
Then when I have wanton’d round 
To his lyre’s beguiling sound ; 

Or with gently moving wings 
Fann’d the minstrel while he sings ; 
On his harp I sink in slumbers, 
Dreaming still of duleet numbers! 


This 1s all—away—away— 
You have made me waste the day. 
How I’ve chatter’d! prating crow 
Never yet did chatter so. 


ODE XVI. 


Tov, whose soft and rosy hues 
Mimic form and soul infuse, ᾧ 

Best of painters, come, portray 

The lovely maid that’s far away. 
Far away, my soul! thou art, 

But I’ve thy beauties all by heart. 
Paint her jetty ringlets playing, 
Silky locks, like tendrils straying ;{ 
And, if painting hath the skill 


Quam pingeret amicus 
Descripsit Venerem suam. 
The Teian bard of former days 
Attuned his sweet descriptive lays, 
And taught the painter’s hand to trace 
His fair beloved’s Overy EEUCEs 
In the dialogue of Caspar Barleus, entitled 
“ An formosa sit ducenda,”’ the reader will find 
many curious ideas and descriptions of woman- 
ly beauty. 
§Thou, whose soft and rosy hues 
Limie form and soulinfuse,) I have tollow- 
ed here the reading of the Vatican MS. podens. 
Painting is ealled “ the rosy art,” either in ref- 
erence to coloring, or as an indefinite epithet 
of excellence, from the association of beauty 
with that flower. Salvini has adopted this 
reading in his literal translation :— 
Della rosea arte signore. 


i The lovely maid that's far away.) If this : 


yortrait of the poet’s mistress be not merely 
ideal, the omission of her name is much to be re- 
gretted. Meleager, in an epigram on Ana- 
creon, mentions “the golden Eurypyle” as his 
mistress. 

BeBAnkws χρυσεὴν χειρας en’ Ἑυρυπυλην. 

{| Paint her jetty ringlets playing, 

Silky locks like tendrils straying ;] The an- 
cients have been very enthusiastic in their 
praises of the beauty of hair. Apuleius, in the 
second book of his Milesiaes, says, that Venus 
herself, if she were bald, though surrounded by 
the Graces and the Loves, could not be pleasing 
even to her husband Vulean 

Stesichorus gave the epithet καλλιπλοκαμος to 


tiene 


To make the spicy balm distil,* 
Let every little lock exhale 

A sigh of perfume on the gale. 
Where her tresses’ curly flow 
Darkles o’er the brow of snow, 
Let her forehead beam to light, 
Burnish’d as the ivory bright. 
Let her eyebrows smoothly rise 
In jetty arches o’er her eyes, 
Each, a crescent gently gliding, 
Just commingling, just dividing. 


But, hast thou any sparkles warm, 
The lightning of her eyes to form? 
Let them effuse the azure rays 
That in Minerva’s glances blaze, 
Mix’d with the hquid light that lies 
In Cytherea’s languid eyes.t 
O’er her nose and cheek be shed 


the Graces, and Simonides bestowed the same 
upon the Muses. See Hadrian Junius’s Dis- 
sertation upon Hair. 

Yo this passage of our poet, Seldon alluded 
1 anote on the Polyolbion of Drayton, Song the 
Second, where observing, that the epithet 
«black haired” was given by some of the an- 
eients to the goddess Tsis, he says, ** Nor will I 
swear, but that Anacreon, (a man very judi- 
cious in the provoking motives of wanton loye,) 
intending to bestow on his sweet mistress that 
one of the titles of woman's special ornament, 
well-haired, (καλλεπλοκαμος,) thought of this 
when*he gaye his painter direction to make 
her black-haired.” 

~ And, if painting hath the skill 

To make the spicy balm distil, dc.| Thus 
Philostratus, speaking of a picture: emaww καὶ 
τον evdpogov των ῥοδων, kat φημι γεγραφθαι αὐτὰ 
μετα τῆς οσμης. ‘‘ Ladmire thedewiness of these 
roses, and could say that their very smell was 
painted.” 

| Mia'd with the liquid light that lies 

In Cytherea’s languid eyes.) Marchetti ex- 
plains thus the ὑγρον of the original :— 

Dipingili umidetti 
Tremuli e lascivetti, 

Quai gli ha Ciprigna l’alma Dea d’Amore. 
‘Lasso has painted in the same manner the eyes 
of Armida: 

Qual raggio in onda le scintilla un riso 
Negli umidi oecchi tremulo ὁ lasciyo. 


Within her humid melting eyes 

A brilliant ray of laughter lies, 

Soft as the broken solar beam, - 
That trembles in the azure stream. 

The mingled expression of dignity and ten. 
derness, which Anacreon requires the painter 
to infuse into the eyes of his mistress, is more 
amply described in the subsequent ode. Both 
descriptions are so exquisitely touched, that 
the artist must have been great indeed, if he 
did not yield in painting to the poet 

hl tints, as when there glows 

n snowy milk the bashful rose.| Thus Pro- 
pertius, eleg. 3, lib. ii. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


77 


Flushing white and soften’d red ; 
Mingling tints, as when there glows 
In snowy milk the bashful rose. 

Then her lip, so nch in blisses, 

Sweet petitioner for kisses,§ 

Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, 
Mutely courting Love’s invasion. 
Next, beneath the velvet chin, 

Whose dimple hides a Love within, || 
Mould her neck with grace descending, 
In a heaven of beauty ending; 

While countless charms, above, below, 
Sport and flutter round its snow. 

Now let a floating, lucid veil, 

Shadow her form, but not conceal ;§ 
A charm may peep, a hue may beam, 
And leaye the rest to Fancy’s dream. 
Enough—'tis she! ’tis all I seek ; 

It glows, it lives, 1t soon will speak! 


Utque rosz puro lacte natant folia. 

And Davenant, in a little poem called “ The 
Mistress,” 

Catch as it falls the Scythian snow, 

Bring blushing roses steep'd in milk. 
Thus too Taygetus :— 
Que lae atque rosas vincis candore rubenti. 
These last words may perhaps defend the 
“flushing white” of the translation. 

§ Then her lip, so rich in blisses, 

Sweet petitioner for kisses,| The ‘lip, pro- 
voking kisses,’ in the original, is a strong and 
beautiful expression. Achilles Tatius speaks of 

etAy μαλθακα προς τα φιληματα, * Lipssoft and 
Aelioate for kissing.” A graye old commenta- 
tor, Dionysius Lambinus, in his notes upon 
Lucretius, tells us with the apparent authority 
of experience, that ‘‘Suavius viros oscnlantur 
puelle labiosze, quem que sunt brevibus labris.” 
And Aineas Sylvius, in his tedious uninterest- 
ing story of the loves of Euryalus and Luere- 
tia, where he particularizes the beauties of the 
heroine, (ina very false and labored style of 
latinity,) describes her lips thus :—“ Os parvum 
decensque, labia corallini coloris ad morsum 
aptissima.”"—Epist. 114, hb. i. 

|| Next, beneath. the velvet chin, 

Whose dimple hides a Love within, &c.| 
Madame Dacier has quoted here two pretty 
lines of Varro:— 

Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 

Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem. 

In her ehin is a delicate dimple, 

By Cupid’s own finger impress’d ; 

There Beauty, bewitchingly simple, 

Has chosen her innocent nest. 

{ Now let a floating, lucid veil, 

Shadow her form, but not conceal; &c.| This 
delicate art of description, which leaves imagi- 
nation to complete the picture, has been seldom 
adopted in the imitations of this beautiful poem, 
Ronsard is exceptionably minute; and Politi- 
anus, in his charming portrait of a girl, full of 
rich and exquisite diction, has lifted the veil 
rather too much. The ‘questo che tu m'in- 
tendi” should be always left to fancy. 


78 MOORE’S WORKS. 


ODE XVII.* 


AND now with all thy pencil’s truth, 

Portray Bathyllus, lovely youth! 

Let his hair, in masses bright, 

Fall like floating rays of light ;t 

And there the raven’s eye confuse 

With the golden sunbeam’s hues. 

Let no wreath, with artful twine, t 

The flowing of his locks confine ; 

But leave them loose to every breeze, 

To take what shape and course they 
please. 

Beneath the forehead, fair as snow, 

But flush’d with manhood’s early glow, 

And guileless as the dews of dawn,§ 

Let the majestic brows be drawn, 

Of ebon hue, enrich’d by gold, 

Such as dark, shining snakes unfold. 

Mix in his eyes the power alike, 

With love to win, with awe to strike; 


* The reader who wishes to acquire an accu- 
rate idea of the judgment of the ancients in 
beauty, will be indulged by consulting Junius 
de Pictura Veterum, lib. iil. ο. 9, where he will 
find a very curious selection of descriptions and 
epithets of personal perfections. Junius com- 
pares this ode with a description of Theodoric, 
king of the Goths, in the second epistle, first 
book, of Sidonius A pollinaris. 

t Let his hair, in masses bright, 

Fall like floating rays of light; d&c.| He 
here describes the sunny hair, the “flava 
coma,” which the ancients so much admired. 
The Romans gave this color artificially to their 
hair. See Stanisl. Kobienzyck. de Luxu Roman- 
orum. 

{Let no wreath, with artful twine, déc.| If 
the original here, which is particularly beauti- 
ful, can admit of any additional value, that 
value is conterred by Gray’s admiration of it. 
See his letters to West. 

Some annotators have quoted on this passage 
the description of Photis’s hair in Apuleius; 
but nothing ean be more distant from the sim- 
plicity of our poet's manner, than that affecta- 
tion of richness which distinguishes the style 
of Apuleius. 

§ But flush’'d with manhood's early glow, 

And guileless as the dews of dawn, &c.) 
Torrentius, upon the words “insignem tenui 
fronte,” in Horace, Od. 33, hb. i., is of opinion, 
incorrectly, I think, that ‘tenui” here bears 
the same meaning as the word amadov. 

|| Mia in his eyes the power alike, 

With love to win, with awe to strike, dc.] 
Tasso gives a similar character to the eyes of 
Clorinda :— 

Lampeggiar gli oechi, e folgorar gli sguardi 

Dolei ne J ira. 

Her eyes were flashing with a heavenly heat, 

A fire that, even in anger, still was sweet. 

The poctess Veronica Cambara is more dif- 
fuse upon this variety of expression. 

Occhi lucenti e belli, 

Come esser puo ch’ in un medesimo istante 


Borrow from Mars his look of ire, 
From Venus her soft glance of fire ; 
Blend them in such expression here, 
That we by turns may hope and fear ! 


Now from the sunny apple seek 
The velvet down that spreads his cheek ; 
And there, if art so far can go,' 
Th’ ingenious blush of boyhood show. 
While, for his mouth—but no,—in vain 
Would words its witching charm explain. 
Make it the very seat, the throne, 
That Eloquence would claim her own;{ 
And let the lips, though silent, wear 
A life-look, as if words were there.** 


Next thou his ivory neck must trace, 
Moulded with soft but manly grace ; 
Fair as the neck of Paphia’s boy, 
Where Paphia’s arms have hung in joy. 
Give him the winged Hermes’ hand,tt 
With which he waves his snaky wand; 


Nascan de voi si nuove forme et tante ? 

Lieti, mesti, superbi, humil’, altieri, 

Vi mostrate in un punto, onde di speme, 

Et ditimor, de empiete, &c., &e. 

Oh ! tell me, brightly-beaming eye, 
Whencein your little orbit lic τὸ 
So many different traits of fire, 
Expressing each a new desire. 

Now with pride or scorn you darkle, 

Now with love, with gladness, sparkle, 
While we who view the varying mirror, 
Feel by turns both hope and terror. 

Chevreau, citing the lines of our poet, in his 
critique on the poems of Malherbe, produces a 
Latin version of them from a manuscript which 
he had seen, entitled ‘‘ Joan. Faleonis Anacre- 
ontici Lusus.”’ 

{| That Eloquence would claim her own ;] In 
the original, as in the preceding ode, Pitho, the 
goddess of persuasion, or eloquence. It was 
worthy of the delicate imagination of the 
Greeks to deify Persuasion, and give her the 
lips for her throne. We are here reminded of 
a very interesting fragment of Anacreon, pre- 
served by the scholiast upon Pindar, and sup- 
posed to belong to a poem reflecting with some 
severity on Simonides, who was the first, we 
are told, that ever made a hireling of his 
muse :— 


Ovd apyvpen ποτ ἐλαμψε Πειθω. 


Nor yet had fair Persuasion shone 
In silver splendors, not her own. 


** And let the lips, though silent, wear 

A life-look, as if words were there.) In the 
original AaAwv σιωπὴ. The mistress of Petrarch 
“parla con silenzio,” which is perhaps the best 
method of female eloquence. 

H Give him the winged Hermes’ hand, &c.| In 
Shakspeare’s Cymbeline there is a similar 
method of description :— 
this is his hand, 

His foot mereurial, his martial thigh, 
The brawns of Hereules. 
We find it hkewise in Hamlet. 


Longepicrre 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


Let Bacchus the broad chest supply, 

And Leda’s s@ns the sinewy thigh ; 

While, through his whole transparent 
frame, 

Thou show’st the stirrings of that flame, 

Which kindles, when the first love-sigh 

Steals from the heart, unconscious why. 


But sure thy pencil, though so bright, 
Is envious of the eye’s delight, 
Or its enamor’d touch would show 
The shoulder, fair as sunless snow, 
Which now in veiling shadow lies, 
Removed from all but Fancy’s eyes. 
Now, for his feet—but hold—forbear— 
1 see the sun-god’s portrait there ;* 
Why paint Bathyllus? when, in truth, 
There, in that god, thou’st sketch’d the 

youth. 

Enough—let this bright form be mine, 


thinks that the hands of Mercury are selected 
by Anacreon, on account of the graceful ges- 
tures which were supposed to characterize the 
god of eloquence; but Mercury was also the 
patron of thieves, and may perhaps be praised 
as a light-fingered deity. 

τ But hold —forbear— 

I see the sun-god’s portrait there;| The ab- 
rupt turn here is spirited, but requires some 
explanation. While the artist is pursuing the 
portrait of Bathyllus, Anacreon, we must sup- 
pose, turns round and sees a pieture of Apollo, 
which was intended for analtar at Samos. He 
then instantly tells the painter to cease his 
work; that this picture will serve for Bathyllus ; 
and that, when he goes to Samos, he may make 
an Apollo of the portrait of the boy which he 
had begun. 

“ Bathyllus (says Madame Dacier) could not 
be more elegantly praised, and this one passage 
does him more honor than the statue, however 
beautiful it might be, which Polyerates raised 
to him.” 

t+ An elegant translation of this ode, says 
Degen, may be found in Ramler’s Lyr. Blumen- 
lese, lib. v. p. 403. 

t Bring me wine in brimming urns, 


ec.) 


Orig. πίεὶν αμυστι. The amystis was a method of 


Thus 


drinking used among the Thracians. 
Mad. 


Horace, ‘‘ Threicia vineat amystide.” 
Dacier, Longepierre, &e. &e. 
Parrhasius, 1n his twenty-sixth epistle, (The- 
saur. Critie. vol. i,) explains the amystis as a 
draught to be exhausted without drawing 
breath, “ἀπὸ haustu.”” A note in the margin 
of this epistle of Parrhasius says, ‘ Politianus 
vestem esse putabat,” but adds no reference. 
§ Give me all those humid flowers, &c.| Ac- 
cording to the original reading of this line, the 
ΠΟΘ᾽ says, ‘‘ Give me the flower of wine ’’—Date 
aoe σοι Lyiei, as it is in the version of Elias 
Andreas; and 
Deh porgetimi del fiore 
Di quel almo e buon liquore, 
as Regnier has it, who supports the reading. 


‘The word ἄνθος would undoubtedly bear this | 


79 


And send the boy to Samos’ shrine ; 
Pheebus shall then Bathyllus be, 
Bathyllus then, the deity ! 


ODE XVIIL+ 


Now the star of day is high, 

Fly, my girls, in pity fly, 

Bring me wine in brimming urns,f 
Cool my lip, it burns, it burns! 
Sunn’d by the meridian fire, 
Panting, languid I expire. 

Give me all those humid flowers,§ 
Drop them o’er my brow in showers. 
Searce a breathing chaplet now 
Lives upon my feverish brow ; 
Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears and withers there, || 
But to you, my burning heart, J 


application, which is somewhat similar to its 
import in the epigram of Simonides upon 
Sophocles:— ο 

EoBeoOys yepace SopokrAcees, avOos αοιδων" 


and flos in the Latin is frequently applied in 
the same manner—thus Cethegus is called by 
Ennius, Flos inlibatus popull, suadzeque me: 
dulla, ‘‘The immaculate flower of the people 
and the very marrow of persuasion.” See these 
verses cited by Aulus Gellius, lib. xii., which 
Cicero praised, and Seneca thought ridiculous. 

But in the passage before ‘us, if we admit 
εκεινων, according to Faber’s conjecture, the 
sense is sufficiently clear, without haying re- 
course to such refinements. 

|| Every dewy rose I wear 

Sheds its tears, and withers there,| There 
are some beautiful lines by Angerianus, upon 
agarland, which I cannot resist quoting here :— 


Ante fores madid sic sie pendete coroll, 

Mane orto imponet Czelia vos capiti ; 
At quum per niveam cervicem influxerit humor, 

Dicite, non roris sed pluvia hee lacrime. 
By Celia’s arbor all the night 

Hang, humid wreath, the lover's yow; 
And haply, at the morning light, 

My love shall twine thee round her brow. 
Then, if upon her bosom bright 

Some drops of dew shall fall from thee, 
Tell her they are not drops of night, 

But tears of sorrow shed by me! 


In the poem of Mr. Sheridan's, ‘‘ Uncouth is 
this moss-covered grotto of stone,” there is ar. 
idea very singularly coincident with this of 
Angerianus :— 

And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st pre- 
serve 

Some lingering drops of the night-fallen dew ; 
Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll 

serve 

As tears of my sorrow intrusted to you. 

{] But to you, my burning heart, &ce.| The 
transiton here is peenliarly delicate and im- 
passioned ; but the commentators haye per- 


80 25 MOORE'S WORKS. 


What can now relief impart? 
Can brimming bow], or flow’ret’s dew, 
Cool the flame that scorches you ? 


ODE ΧΙΧ. 


Here recline you, gentle maid,t 
Sweet is this embowering shade; 
Sweet the young, the modest trees, 
Rufiled by the kissing breeze ; 
Sweet the little founts that weep, 
Lulling soft the mind to sleep; 
Hark! they whisper as they roll, 
Calm persuasion to the soul; 


plexed the sentiment by a variety of readings 
and conjectures. 

* The description of this bower is so natural 
and animated, that we almost feel a degree of 
coolness and freshness while we peruse it 
Longepierre has quoted from the first book of 
the Anthologia, the following epigram, as some- 
what resembling this ode:— 

Epxeo και κατ᾽ ἐεμαν iGev πιτυν, a TO MEALXPOV 

Προς padakous χει κεκλιμενα ζεφυρους. 

Ἡνιδε και κρουνισμα μελισταγες. ενθα μελισδων 

“Hévuv ερημαιοις ὑπνον ayw καλαμοις. 


Come, sit by the shadowy pine 
That covers my sylvan retreat ; 
And see how the branches incline 
The breathing of zephyrs to meet. 
See the fountain that, flowing, diffuses 
Around me a glittering spray ; 
By its brink, as the traveller muses, 
I sooth him to sleep with my lay. 
tHere recline you, gentle maid, &éc.] The Vat- 
ican MS. reads βαθυλλου, which renders the 
whole poem metaphorical. Some commenta- 
tor suggests the reading of βαθυλλον, which 
makes a pun upon the name; a grace that Plato 
himself has condescended to in writing of his 
boy Ἄστηρ. See the epigram of this philosopher, 
which I quote on the twenty-second ode. 
There is another epigram by this philosopher, 
preserved in Laertius, which turns upon the 
same word. 
Ἀστὴρ πριν μεν ελαμπες Eve ζωοισιν Ewos 
Νυν de gavwv λαμπεις ἕσπερος εν φθιμενοις. 


In life thou wert my morning star, 
But now that death has stolen thy light, 
. Alas! thou shinest dim and far, 
Like the pale beam that weeps at night. 


In the Veneres Blyenburgice, under the head 
of ‘ Allusiones,”’ we find a number of such 
frigid coneeits upon names, selected from the 
poets of the middle ages. 

1 Who, my girl,would pass it by ? 

Surely neither you nor I.) The finish given 
to the picture by this simple exclamation τις av 
ουν ὅρων παρελθοι, is inimitable. Yet a French 
translator says on the passage, ‘ This con- 
clusion appeared to me too trifling after such a 
deseription, and I thought proper to add some- 
What to the strength of the original.” 

§ The poet appears, in this graceful allegory, 
to describe the softening influence which poetry 
holds over the mind, in making it peculiarly 


All a stilly scene of bliss? 


susceptible to the impressions of beauty. In the 


Tell me, tell me is not this 


Who, my girl, would pass it by ? 
Surely neither you nor 1.1 


ODE XX.§ 


OnE day the Muses twined the hands 
Of infant Love with flow’ry bands; 
And to celestial Beauty gave 

The captive infant for her slave. 

His mother comes, with many a ἴον, 
To ransom her beloved boy ;}} 


following epigram, however, by the philosopher 

Plato, (Diog. Laert. lib. 3,) the Muses are repre- 

sentedas disavowing the influence of Love. 

‘A Κυπρις Μουσαισι, κορασια, ταν Αφροδιταν 
Τιματ᾽, ἡ Tor ἔρωτα ὑμμιν εφοπλισομαι. 

At Μουσαι mote Κυπριν, ρει τα στωμυλα TavTa* 
Ἡμιν ov πεταται τουτο To παιδαριον. 


«ΕὙ Ἰρ]ἃ tc my gentle power, Parnassian maids;” 
Thus to the Muses spoke the Queen of 


Charms— 
“Or Love shall flutter through your classic 
shades, farms!” 


And make your grove the camp of Paphian 
“No,” said the virgins of the tuneful bower, 
“ Wescorn thine own and all thy urchin’s art: 
Though Mars has trembled at the infant’s 
power, 
His shaft is pointless o’er a Muse’s heart!” 
There is a sonnet by Benedetto Guidi, the 
thought of which was suggested by this ode. 
Scherzava dentro all’ auree chiome Amore 
Dell’ alma donna della vita mia: 
E tanta era il piacer ch’ ei ne sentia, 
Che non sapea, πὸ volea uscirne fore. 
Quando ecco ivi annodar si sente il core, 
Si, che per forza ancor convien che stia: 
Tai lacci alta beltate orditi avia 
Del crespo erin, per farsi eterno onore. 
Onde offre infin dal ciel degna mercede, 
A chi scioglie il figliuol la bella dea 
Da tanti nodi, in ch’ ella stretto il vede. 
Ma ci vinto a due occhi I’ arme cede: 
Et t’ affatichi indarno, Citerea ; 
Che s’ altri ’l scioglie, egli a legar si riede. 
Love, wandering through the golden maze 
Of my beloved’s hair, 
Found, at each step, such sweet delays, 
That rapt he linger’d there. 
And how, indeed, was love to fly, 
Or how his freedom find, 
When every ringlet was a tie, 
A chain, by Beauty twined. 
In vain to seek her boy’s release 
Comes Venus from above : 
Fond mother, let thy efforts cease, 
Love's now the slave of Love. 
And, should we loose his golden chain, 
The prisoner would return again ! 
\| Tis mother comes, with many a toy,« 
To ransom her beloved boy ; &c.| In the first 


ODES OF ANACREON, 


His mother sues, but all in yain,— 

He ne’er will leave his chains again. 
Even should they take his chains away, 
The little captive still would stay. 

‘«Tf this,” he cries, ‘‘a bondage be, 

Oh, who could wish for liberty ?” 


ODE XXI.* 


OBSERVE when mother earth is dry, 
She drinks the droppings of the sky, 
And then the dewy cordial gives 
To ev’ry thirsty plant that lives. 
The vapors, which at evening weep, 
Are beverage to the swelling deep ; 


idyl of Mosechus, Venus thus proclaims the re- 
ward for her fugitive child: 
Ὁ pavutas yepas ἐξει, 
Μισθος τοι, To φιλαμα το Κυπριδος" ἣν δ᾽ ayayns 
νιν 
Ov γυμνον τὸ φιλαμα, τυ δ᾽, ὦ Eeve, και πλεον 
ἕξεις. 


On him, who the haunts of my Cupid can show, 

A kiss of the tendergst stamp I'll bestow ; 

Buthe, who can bring back the urchin in chains, 

Shall receive even something more sweet for 
his pains. 

Subjoined to this ode, we find in the Vatican 
MS. the following lines, which appear to me to 
boast as little sense as metre, and which are 
suoRt probably the interpolation of the transcri- 
per :— 

“HévyeAns Avaxpewy 
“Héupedns δὲ Sarda a 
Πινδαρικον το de μοι wedos 
Συγκερασας τις εἐγχέοι 

Τα τρια ταυτα μοι δοκει 
Και Διονυσος εἰσελθων 
Και Παφιη παραχροος 

Και avtos ἔρως καν emecv. 

* Those critics who have endeavored to throw 
the chains of precision over the spirit of this 
beautiful trifle, require too much from Anacre- 
ontie phieeephy. Among others, Gail very sa- 
piently thinks that the poet uses the epithet 
μελαινὴ, because black earth absorbs moist- 
ure more quickly than any other ; and accord- 
ingly he indulges us with an experimental dis- 
quisition on the subject.—See Gail’s notes. 

One of the Capilupi has imitated this ode, in 
an epitaph on a drunkard :— 

Dum yixisine fine bibi, sic imbrifer arcus 


Sic tellus pluvias sole perusta bibit. 
Sie bibit assidué fontes et flumina Pontus, 
Sic semper sitiens Sol maris haurit aquas. 
Ne te igitur jactes plus me, Silene, bibisse ; 
Et mihida victas tu quoque, Bacche, manus. 
HIpPro_yTus CAPiLurus. 
While life was mine, the little hour 
In drinking still unvaried flew ; 
I drank as earth imbibes the shower, 
Or as the rainbow drinks the dew; 
As ocean quaffs the rivers up, 
. Or flushing sun inhales the sea: 
Silenus trembled at my ΟΡ, 
And Bacchus was outdone by me! 


81 


And when the rosy sun appears, 

He drinks the ocean’s misty tears. 

The moon too quaffs her paly stream 
Of lustre, from the solar beam. 

Then, hence with all your sober think- 
Since Nature’s holy lawis drinking; [ing! 
ΤΊ] make the laws of nature mine, 

And pledge the universe in wine. 


ODE XXII. 


ΤῊΝ Phrygian rock, that braves the 
storm, 

Was once a weeping matron’s form ;t 

And Progue, hapless, frantic maid, 


I cannot omit citing those remarkable lines 
of Shakspeare, where the thoughts of the ode 
before us are preserved with such striking simil- 
itude : 

I'll example you with thievery. 
The sun’s a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea. The moon’s an arrant thief, 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun. 
The sea’s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The mounds into salt tears. The earth's a thief, 
That feeds, and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrements. 

Timon of Athens, act iy. se. 3. 

t a weeping matron's form ;| Niobe. 
—Ogilvie, in his Essay on the Lyric Poetry of 
the Ancients, in remarking upon the Odes of 
Anacreon, says, ‘‘ In some of his pieces there 
is exuberance and eyen wildness of imagina- 
tion; in that particularly, which is addressed 
to a young girl, where he wishes alternately to 
be transformed to a mirror, a coat, a stream, a 
bracelet, and a pair of shoes, for the different 
purposes which he recites: this is mere sport 
and wantonness.” 

It is the wantonness, however, of a very 
graceful Muse; “ludit amabiliter.” The com- 
pliment of this ode is exquisitely delicate, and 
so singular for the period ir which Anacreon 
lived, when the seale of love had not yet been 
graduated into allits little progressive refine- 
ments, that if we were inclined to question 
the authenticity of the poem, we should find 
amuch more plausible argument in the features 
of modern gallantry which it bears than in ath 
of those fastidious conjectures upon which 
some commentators have preeumey sofar. De- 

en thinksit spurious,and De Pauw pronounces 
it to be miserable. Longepierre and Barnes 
refer us to several imitations of this ode, from 
which I shall only select the following epigram 
of Dionysius :— 

Ειθ᾽ ἀνέμος yevounv, ov de ye στειχουσα παρ᾽ 
avyas, 

Στηθεα yumvwoats, Kat we πνεοντα AaBots. 
Ειθε podov yevouny ὑποπορῴφυρον, ofpa με χερσιν 

Apapevy, κομισαις στεθεσι χιονεοῖς. 

Ειθε κρινον γενομὴν λευκοχροον, οῴρα με χερσιν 

Ἄραμενη, μαλλον ons χρότιὴῆς κορεσης. 

I wish I could like zephyr steal 
To wanton o’er thy mazy vest; 
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-yeil, 
And take me panting to thy breast! 


τῷ 


Is now ἃ swallow in the shade. 

Oh! that a mirror’s form were mine, 
That I might catch that smile divine; 
And like my own fond fancy be, 
Reflecting thee, and only thee; 

Or could I be the robe which holds 
That graceful form within its folds ; 
Or, turn’d into a fountain, lave 

Thy beauties in my circling wave. 
Would I were perfume for thy hair, 
To breathe my soulin fragrance there ; 
Or, better still, the zone, that lies 
Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs !* 
Or e’en those envious pearls that show 
So faintly round that neck of snow— 
Yes, I would be a happy gem, 

Like them to hang, to face like them. 
What more would thy Anacreon be ? 
Oh, any thing that touches thee ; 


I wish I might a rose-bud grow, 
And thou wouldst cull me from the bower 
To place me on that breast of snow, 
Where I should bloom, a wintry flower. 


I wish I were the lily’s leaf, 
To fade upon that bosom warm, 
Content to wither, pale and brief, 
The trophy of thy fairer form! 


I may add, that Plato has expressed as fanci- 
ful a wish in ἃ distich preserved by Laertius : 


Aotepas εἰισαθρεις, Αστὴρ esos: ede γενοιμὴν 
Ovpavos, ws πολλοῖς ομμασιν εἰς δε βλεπω. 


TO STELLA. 


Why dost thou gaze upon the sky ? 

‘Oh' that I were that spangled sphere, 
And every star should be an eye, 

To wonder on thy beauties here ! 


Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine 
philosopher, to justify himself for his verses on 
Danitias and Charinus. See his Apology, where 
he also adduces the example of Anacreon :— 
“Fecere tamen et alii talia, et si vos ignoratis, 
‘apud Grecos Teius quidam, &c. &c.”’ 

*Or, better still, the zone, that lies 

Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs !| This 
ταινιὴ Was ἃ riband, or band, called by the 
Romans fascia and strophium, which the 
women wore for the purpose of restraining the 
exuberance of the bosom. Vide Polluc. Ono- 
mast. Thus Martial :— 

Fascia crescentes domine compesce papillas. 

The women of Greece not only wore this 
zone, but condemned themselves to fasting, and 
made use of certain drugs and powders for the 
same punpoees To these expedients they were 
compelled, in consequence of their inelegant 
fashion of compressing the waist into a very 
nurow compass, which necessarily caused an 
excessive tumidity in the bosom, See Dioscori- 
des, lib. v. 

tNay, sandals for those airy feet— 

Te'en to be trod by them were sweet!| The 
sophist Philostratus, in one of his loye-letters, 


MOORL’S WORKS. 


Nay, sandals for those airy feet— 
H’en to be trod by them were sweet !t 


ODE XXIII.t 


I OFTEN wish this languid lyre, 

This warbler of my soul’s desire, 
Could raise the breath of song sublime, 
To men of fame, in former time. 

But when the soaring theme I try, 
Along the chords my numbers die, 
And whisper, with dissolving tone, 

“ Our sighs are given to love alone !” 
Indignant at the feeble lay, 

I tore the panting chords away, 
Attuned them to a nobler swell, 

And struck again the breathing shell ; 
In all the glow of epic fire,§ 

To Hercules I wake the lyre. 


has borrowed this thought; ὦ adetot modes, ὦ 
καλλος ελευθερος, ὦ τρισευδαιμων eyw και μακα- 
ριος εανπατησετε με.--- “ΟΠ lovely feet ! oh excel- 
lent beauty ! oh! thrice ha and blessed should 


| I be, if you would but tread on me!’’ In Shaks- 


peare, Romeo desires to be a glove :— 


Oh! that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might kiss that cheek ! 


And in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with 
an idea somewhat like that of the thirteenth 
line :—- 


He, spying her, bounced in, where as he stood, 
“Ὁ Jove!” quoth she, ‘* why was not I a floed?”’ 


In Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, that 
whimsical farrago of ‘‘all such reading as was 
never read,” we find a translation of this ode 
made before 1632.—‘‘Englished by Mr. B. 
Holiday, in his Technog. act. i. scene 7.”’ 

tAccording to the order in which the odes are 
usually placed, this (OeAw λέγειν Atpecdas) forms 
the first of the series; and is thought to be pe- 
culiarly designed as an introduction to the rest. 
It however characterizes the genius of the 
Teian but very inadequately, as wine, the 
burden of his lays, is not even mentioned in it: 


—cum multo Venerem confundere mero 
Precepit Lyrici Teia Musa senis. OVID, 


The twenty-sixth Ode, Su μεν λέγεις πα Θηβης: 
might, with just as much propriety, be placed 
at the head of his songs. 

We find the sentiment of the ode before us ex- 
pressed by Bion with much simplicity in his 
fourth idyl. The above translation is, perhaps, 
too paraphrastical; but the ode has been so 
frequently translated, that I could not other- 
wise avoid triteness and repetition. 

§In all the glow of epic fire, 

To Hercules I wake the lyre.) Madame Da- 
cier generally translates Avpy into alute, which 
I believe is inaccurate. “ D’expliquer la lyre 
des anciens (says M. Sorel) par un luth e’est 
ignorer la différence qwil y a entre ces deux in- 
strumens de musique.” — Bibliotheque Fran- 
gorse. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


But still its fainting sighs repeat, * 
“The tale of love alone is sweet !” 
Then fare thee well, seductive dream, 
That mad’st me follow Glory’s theme ; 
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, 
Shall never more in spirit part ; 

And all that one has felt so well 

The other shall as sweetly tell! 


ODE XXIV.t 


To all that breathe the air of heaven, 
Some boon of strength has Nature given. 
In forming the majestic bull, 

She fenced with wreathed horns his skull; 
A hoof of strength she lent the steed, 
And wing’d the timorous hare with speed. 
She gave the lion fangs of terror, 

And, o’er the ocean’s crystal mirror, 
Taught the unnumber’d scaly throng 
To trace their liquid path along; 

While from the umbrage of the grove, 
She plumed the warbling world of love. 
To man she gave, in that proud hour, 


* But still its fainting sighs repeat, 

“The tale of love alone is sweet 1] The word 
ἀντεφωνει in the original, may imply that 
kind of musical dialogue practised by the an- 
cients, in which the lyre was made to respond 
to the questions proposed by the singer. This 
was a method which Sappho used, as we are 
told by Hermogenes ; ““ὁταν τὴν λυραν epwra 
Σαπῴφω, και ὅταν αὐτὴ amoxpiyntat.”—Ilepe 
Idewv, τομ. δευτ. 

t Henry Stephen has imitated the idea of 
this ode in the following lines of one of his 

oems :— 

rovida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma, 

Et sua foemineum possidet arma genus, 
Ungulaque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua 

taurum, 

Armata est forma foemina pulchra sua. 

And the same thought occurs in those lines, 
spoken by Coriscea in Pastor Fido: 

Cosi noi la bellezza 
Ch’ ὁ verti nostra cosi propria, come 
La forza del leone, 
E l'ingegno del’ huomo. 
The lion boasts his savage powers, 
And lordly man his strength of mind ; 
But beauty’s charm is solely ours, 
Peculiar boon, by Heav'n assign’d. 

* An elegant explication of the beauties of 
this ode (says Degen) may be foundin Grimm 
an den Anmerk. tiber einige Oden des Anakr.” 

{ 70 man she gave, in that proud hour, 

The boon of intellectual power.) In my first 
attempt to translate this ode, 1 hud interpreted 
φρονημα, with Baxter and Barnes, as implying 
courage and military virtue ; but I do not think 
that the gallantry οἱ the idea suffers by the im- 
port which I have now given to it. For, why 
need we consider this possession of wisdom as 
exelusive ? and in trnth, as the design of Ana- 


83 


The boon of intellectual power. ἢ 

Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee, 
Was left in Nature’s treasury ? 

She gave thee beauty—mightier far 
Than all the pomp and power of war.§ 
Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power 
Like woman in her conquering hour. 
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
Smile, and a world is weak before thee !|| 


ODE XXV.9 


ONCE in each revolving year, 

Gentle bird! we find thee here. 

When Nature wears her summer-vest, 
Thou com’st to weave thy simple nest: 
But when the chilling winter lowers, 
Again thou seek’st the genial bowers 
Ot Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
Where sunny hours forever smile. 

And thus thy pinion rests and royes,— 
Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves, 
That brood within this hapless breast, 
And never, never change their nest !** 


creon is to estimate the treasure of beauty, 
above all the rest which Nature has distributed, 
it is perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of 
the compliment, to prefer the radiance of fe- 
male charms to the cold illumination of wis- 
dom and prudence ; and to think thut women’s 
eyes are ν 


————— the books, the academies, 
From whence doth spring the true Promethean 
fire. 


phe gave thee beauty—mightier far 
‘han all the pomp and power of war.) Thus 
Achilles Tatius:—xadAdAos οξυτερον τιτρωσκει 
βελους, και δια των οφθαλμων εἰς THY ψυχὴν 
καταρῥει. Οφθαλμος yap ὃδος ερωτικῳ τραυματι. 
‘Beauty wounds more swiftly than the arrow, 
and passes through the eye to the very soul; 
for the eye is the inlet to the wounds of love.” 
|| Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, 
Smile, and a world is weak before thee !] 
Longepierre’s remark here is ingenious :—‘** ‘The 
Romans,” says he, ‘“* were so convinced of the 
power of beauty, that they used a word imply- 
ing strength in the place of the epithet beauti- 
ful. Thus Plautus, act 2, scene 2. Bacchid. 
Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa. 
‘Fortis, id est formosa,’ say Servius and 
Nonius.”’ 
4 We have here another ode addressed to 
the swallow. Alberti has imitated both in 
one poem, beginning 


Perch’ io pianga al tuo canto, 
Rondinella importuna, &c. 


** Alas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, 

That brood within this hapless breast, 

And never, never change their nest!| Thus 
Loye is represented as a bird, in an epigram 
cited by Longepierre from the Anthclogia:— 


84 


Still every year, and all the year, 

They fix their fated dwelling here; 
And some their infant plumage try, 
And on a tender winglet fly ; 

While in the shell, impregn’d with fires, 
Still lurk a thousand more desires; 
Some from their tiny prisons peeping, 
And some in formless embryo sleeping. 
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, 
My breast resounds with warbling Loves; 
One urchin imps the other’s feather, 
Then twin-desires they wing together, 
And fast as they thus take their flight, 
Still other urchins spring to light 

But is there then no kindly art, 

To chase these Cupids from my heart ? 
Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear, 

They will forever nestle here ! 


ODE XXVI.* 


Tuy harp may sing of Troy’s alarms, 
Or tell the tale of Theban arms ; 

With other wars my song shall burn, 
For other wounds my harp shall mourn. 
’T was not the crested warrior’s dart, 
That drank the current of my heart, 


Αἰεὶ μοι Suvet μεν ev ουασιν χος EpwTos, 
Ομμα de σιγα ποθοις το γλυκυ δακρυ φερει. 
Ov’ ἡ νυξ, ov φεγγος εκοιμισεν, add’ ὑπο φιλ- 
τρων 
H6éy που κραδιη γνωστος ενεστι τυπος. 
QD πτανοι, μὴ και ποτ᾽ εφιπτασθαι μεν EpwTeEs 
Οιδατ᾽, ἀποπτηναῖι δ᾽ ουθ᾽ ὅσον ἰσχυετε. 


*Tis Love that murmurs in my breast, 
And makes me shed the secret tear ; 

Nor day nor night my soul hath rest, 
For night and day his voice I hear. 


A wound within my heart I find, 

And oh! ‘tis plain where Love has been ; 
For still he leaves a wound behind, 
Such as within my heart is seen. 

Oh, bird of Loye! with song so dear, 
Make not my soul the nest of pain ; 

But, let the wing which brought thee here, 
In pity waft thee hence again ! 

*«*The German poet Uz has imitated this 
ode. Compare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder, lib. 
fii., der Soldat.” Gail, Degen. 

| No—'twas from eyes of liquid blue, 

A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ;| Longepierre 
has quoted part of an epigram from the seventh 
book of the Anthologia, which has a faney some- 
thing like this. 

Ov με λεληθας, 
Tofora, ZynvodiAas ομμασι κρυπτόμενος 


Archer Love! though slyly creeping, 
Well I know where thou dost lie ; 
I saw thee through the curtain peeping, 
That fringes Zenophelia’s eye. 
The poets abound with conceits on the arch- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Nor nayal arms, nor mailed steed, 
Have made this vanquish’d bosom bleed ; 
No—’twas from eyes of liquid blue, 

A host of quiver’d Cupids flew ;t 

And now my heart all bleeding lies 
Beneath that army of the eyes ! 


ODE XXVII.t 


WE read the flying courser’s name 
Upon his side, in marks of flame ; 
And, by their turban’d brows alone, 
The warriors of the Hast are known ; 
But in the lover's glowing eyes, 
The inlet to his bosom lies ;§ 
Through them we see the small faint 
Where Love has dropp’d his burning | 
spark ! 


ODE XXVIII.|| 


As, by his Lemnian forge’s flame, 

The husband of the Paphian dame 
Moulded the glowing steel, to form 
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm ; 

And Venus, as he plied his art, 

Shed honey round each new-made dart, 


ery of the eyes, but few have turned the thought 
so naturally as Anacreon. Ronsard gives to the 
eyes of his mistress ‘‘ un petit camp d’amours.”’ 

+ This ode forms a part of the preceding in the 
Vatican MS., but I have conformed to the edi- 
tions in translating them separately. 

‘‘Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of 
Ramler Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blu- 
menlese, lib. iv. p. 313.” 

§ But in the lover's glowing eyes, 

The inlet to his bosom lies;| ‘‘ We cannot see 
into the heart,” says Madame Dacier. But the 
lover answers— 

Il cor ne gli occhi et ne la fronte ho seritto. 


M. La Fosse has given the following lines, as 
enlarging on the thought of Anacreon;— 
Lorsque je vois un amant, 
Il cache en vain son tourment, 
A le trahir tout conspire, 
Sa langueur, son embarras, 
Tout ce qwil peut faire ou dire, 
Méme ce αὐ} ne dit pas. 
In vain the lover tries to veil 
The flame that in his bosom lies; 
His cheeks’ confusion tells the tale, 
We read it in his languid eyes: 
And while his words the heart betray, 
His silence speaks e’en more than they. 
|| This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Va- 
yer, who, I believe, was the author of that euri- 
ous little work, called ‘‘ Hexameron Rustique. 
He makes use of this, as well as the thirty-tifth, 
in his ingenious but indelicate explanation of 


| Homer's Caye of the Nymphs.—Journée Qua- 


triéme. 


[mark, 


ΡΣ 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


While Love, at hand, to finish all, | 

Tipp’d every arrow’s point with gall;* | 

It chanced the Lord of Battles came 

To visit that deep cave of flame. 

’Twas from the ranks of war he rush’d, 

His spear with many a life-drop blush’d ; 

He saw the fiery darts, and smiled 

Contemptuous at the archer-child. 

“What!” said the urchin, “dost thou 
smile ? 

Here, hold this little dart awhile, 

And thou wilt find, though swift of flight, 

My bolts are not so feathery light.” 


Mars took the shaft—and, oh, thy leok, 
Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took !— 
Sighing, he felt the urchin s art, 

And cried, in agony of heart, 

“Tt is not light—I sink with pain! 
Take—take thy arrow back again.” 
‘“No,” said the child, ‘‘it must not be; 
That little dart was made for thee !” 


* While Love, at hand, to finish all, 

Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall ;} 
Claudian :— 

Labuntur gemini fontes, hie dulcis, amarus 

Alter, et infusis corrumpit mella venenis, 

Unde Cupidineas armayit fama sagittas. 


Thus 


In Cyprus’ isle two rippling fountains fall, 

And one with honey flows, andone with gall; 

In these, if we may take the tale from fame, 

The son of Venus dips his darts of flame. 

See Alciatus, emblem 91, on the close connec- 
tion which subsists between sweets and bitters. 
“ Apes ideo pungunt, (says Petronius,) quia ubi 
dulce, ibi et acidum invenies.”’ 

The allegorical description of Cupid's em- 
ployment, in Horace, may vie with this before 
us In faney, though not in delicacy :— 
ferus et Cupido 

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas 
Cote cruenta. 
And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts, 
Upon a whetstone stain’d with blood of hearts. 
cae has borrowed this, but has some- 
what softened the image by the omission of the 
epithet ‘‘ cruenta.”’ 
Fallor an ardentes acuebat cote sagittas ? 
Eleg. 1. 


t Yes—loving is a painful thrill, 

And not to love more painful still ; d&ce.] The 
following Anacreontic, addressed by Menage 
to Daniel Huet, enforces, with much grace, the 
“necessity of loving :” 


Περι του δειν φιλησαι. 
Ipos Πετρον Δανιηλα Ὕεττον. 


Μεγα ϑαυμα των αοιδων, 
Χαριτων ϑαλος, Ὕεττε, 
Φιλεωμεν, ὦ ἑταιρε 
Φιλεησαν οἱ σοφισται. 
Φιλεησε σεμνὸς avnp, 

To texvov του Σωφρονισκου, 
Σοφιης πατὴρ atacys. 


ODE XXIX. 


YeEs—loving is a painful thrill, 

And not to love more painful still ;t 
But oh, it is the worst of pain, 

To love and not be loved again! 
Affection now has fled from earth, 

Nor fire of genius, noble birth, 

Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile 

From beauty’s cheek one favoring smile. 
Gold is the woman’s only theme, 

Gold is the woman’s only dream. 

Oh! never be that wretch forgiven— 
Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! 
Whose grovelling eyes could first adore, 
Whose heart could pant for sordid ore. 
Since that devoted thirst began, 

Man has forgot to feel for man; 

The pulse of social life is dead, 

And all its fonder feelings fled ! 

War too has sullied Nature’s charms, 
For gold provokes the world to arms: 


Te δ΄ avev γενοιτ᾽ ἔρωτος; 
Axkovyn μεν εστι Wuxns.* 
Πτερυγεσσιν εἰς Ολυμπον 
Κατακειμενοὺυς αναιρει. 
Βραδεας τετηγμενοισι 
Βελεεσι εξαγειρει. . 
Πυρι λαμπαδος φαεινω 
Ῥυπαρωτερους καθαιρει. 
Φιλεωμεν ουν, Ὕεττε, 
Φιλεωμεν w ἑταιρε. 
Αδικως δε λοιδορουντι 
“Aylous ἐρωτας ἡμων 

* Kaxov εὐξομαι τὸ μουνον», 
Ἵνα μὴ δυναιτ᾽ εκεινος 
Φιλεειν τε και φιλεισθαι. 


Thou! of tuneful bards the first, 
Thou! by all the Graces nursed; 
Friend! each other friend above, 
Come with me, and learn to love. 
Loying is a simple lore, 

Graver men have learn’d before ; 
Nay, the boast of former ages, 
Wisest of the wisest sages, 
Sophroniscus’ prudent son, 

Was by love’s illusion won. 

Oh! how heavy life would move, 
If we knew not how to love! 
Love’s a whetstone to the mind; 
Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined. 
When the soul dejected lies, 
Love can waft it to the skies; 
When in langour sleeps the heart, 
Love can wake it with his dart ; 
When the mind is dull and dark, 
Love can light it with his spark ! 
Come, oh! come then, let us haste 
All the bliss of love to taste; 

Let us love both night and day, 


* This line is borrowed from an epigram by Alpheus 
of Mitylene which Menage, I think, Says somewhere 
he was himself the first to produce to the world;— 


Ψυχῆς ἐστιν Epws axovy. 


86 MOORE’S WORKS. 


And oh! the worst of all its arts, 
It rends asunder loving hearts. 


ODE XXX.* 


’TwaAs in a mocking dream of night— 

I fancied I had wings as light 

As a young bird’s, and flew as fleet ; 

While NS around whose beauteous 
eet, 

I knew not why, hung chains of lead, 

Pursued me, as 1 trembling fled; 

And, strange to say, as swift as thought, 

Spite of my pinions, I was caught! 

What does the wanton Fancy mean 

By such a strange, illusive scene? 

I fear she whispers to my breast, [rest ; 

That you, sweet maid, have stol’n its 

That though my fancy, for a while, 

Hath hung on many a woman’s smile, 

I soon dissolved each passing vow, 

And ne’er was caught by love till now! 


Let us love our lives away! 

And when hearts, from loving free, 
(If indeed such hearts there be,) 
Frown upon our gentle flame, 

And the sweet delusion blame ; 

This shall be my only curse, 

(Could I, could I wish them worse ἢ) 
May they ne’er the rapture prove, 
Of the smile from lips we love! 

* Barnes imagines from this allegory, that 
our poet married very late in life. But I see 
nothing in the ode which alludes to ae Oy, 
except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid; 
and | agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, 
in her life of the poet, that he was always too 
fond of pleasure to marry. 

+ The design of this little fiction is to intimate, 
that much greater pain attends insensibility 
than can eyer result from the tenderest impres- 
sions of love. Longepierre has quoted an 
ancient epigram which bears some similitude 
to this ode :— 

Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis 

Carpebam, et somno lumina vieta dabam ; 
Cum me s#yus Amor prensum, sursumque 

Excitat, et lacerum pervigilare jubet. [capillis 
Tu famulus meus, inquit, ames cum mille 

Solus Io, solus, dure jacere potes? [puellas, 
Exilio et pedibus nudis, tunicaque soluta, 

Omneiter impedio, nullum iter expedio. 
Nune propero, nunc ire piget ; rursumque redire 

Peenitet; et pudor est stare via media. [rum, 
Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque fera- 

Et volucrum cantus, turbaque fida canum. 
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torum- 

Et sequor imperium, seeve Cupido, tuum. [que, 
Upon my couch I Jay, at night profound, 

My languid eyes in magie slumber bound, [bed, 

When Cupid came and snatch’d me from my 

And forced me many a weary way to tread. 

“What! (said the god) shall you, whose vows 
are known, 


ODE ΧΧΧΙ 


ARM’D with hyacinthine rod, 

(Arms enough for such a god,) 

Cupid bade me wing my pace, 

And try with him the rapid race. 

O’er many a torrent, wild and deep, 

By tangled brake and pendent steep, 

With weary foot I panting flew, 

Till my brow dropp’d with chilly dew.t 

And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 

To my lip was faintly flying ;$ 

And now I thought the spark had fled, 

When Cupid hoyer’d o’er my head, 

And fanning light his breezy pinion, 

Rescued md soul from death’s domin- 
ion ;| 

Then said, in accents half-reproving, 

‘“Why hast thou been a foe to loving ?” 


ODE XXXIL4 


STREW me a fragrant bed of leaves, 
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves; 


Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone ?” 
I rise and follow ; all the night I stray, 
Unshelter’d, trembling, doubtful of my way ; 
Tracing with naked foot the painful track, 
Loath to proceed, yet fearful to go back. 

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd, 

Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard, 

1,1 alone, a fugitive from rest, 

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast, 

W ander the world around, unknowing where, 

The slave of love, the victim of despair! 

1 Till my brow dropp’d with chilly dew.) I 
have followed those who read τειρεν idpws for 
metpev ὑδρος ; the former is partly authorized by 
the MS., which reads πειρεν ἱδρως. 

And now my soul, exhausted, dying, 

To my lip was faintly flying; &c.] In the 
original, he says, his heart flew to his nose; 
but our manner more naturally transfers it to 
the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells us 
he felt from a kiss, in a distich quoted by Aulus 
Gellius:— 

Τὴν ψυχὴν, Ayabwva φιλων, emt χέιλεσιν εσχον. 
Ηλθε yap ἡ τλημων ws διαβησομενη. 
Whene'er thy nectar’d kiss I sip, 

And drink thy breath, in trance divine, 

My soul then flutters to my lip, 

Ready to fly and mix with thine. 

Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this 
epigram, in which we find a number of those 
mignardises of expression which mark the ef- 
femination of the Latin language. 

|| And fanning light his breezy pinion, 

Rescued my soul from death's dominion ;] 
“The facility with which Cupid recovers him, 
signifies that the sweets of love make us easily 
forget any solicitudes which he may occasion.” 
—La Fosse. 

| We here have the poet, in his true attri- 
butes, reclining upon myrtles, with Cupid for 
his cup-bearer. Some interpreters have ruined 
the picture by making Epws the name of his 


Ss διουκών 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


87 


And while in luxury’s dream I sink, 
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink ! 
In this sweet hour of revelry 

Young Love shall my attendant be— 
Dress’d for the task, with tunic round 
His snowy neck and shoulders bound, 
Himself shall hover by my side, 

And minister the racy tide ! 


Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, 
Our life is hurrying to the goal: 
A scanty dust, to feed the wind, 
Ts all the trace ’twill leave behind. 
Then wherefore waste the rose’s bloom 
Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? 
Can flowery breeze, or odor’s breath, 
Affect the still, cold sense of death ? 
Ob no; I ask no balm to steep 
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep : 
But now, while every pulse is glowing, 
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing ; 
Now let the rose, with blush of fire, 
Upon my brow in sweets expire; 
And bring the nymph whose eye hath 

power 

To brighten even death’s cold hour. 
Yes, Cupid! ere my shade retire, 
To join the blest elysian choir, 
With wine, and love, and social cheer, 
Τ᾽] make my own elysium here! 


ODE XXXIII.* 


*TwAs noon of night, when round the 
The sullen Bear is seen to roll; —_ [pole 
And mortals, wearied with the day, 

Are slumbering all their cares away : 
An infant, at that dreary hour, 

Came weeping to my silent bower, 


slave. None but Love should fill the goblet of 
Anacreon. Sappho, in one of her fragments, 
has assigned this office to Venus. EA@e, Κυπρι, 
χρυσειαισιν εν κυλικεσσιν ἅβροις συμμεμιγμενον 
ϑαλιαισι VEKTAP οινοχουσα TOVTOLGL τοῖς εταιροις 
ἐμοις ye και σοις. 


Which may be thus paraphrased :— 


Hither, Venus, queen of kisses, 
This shall be the night of blisses; 
This the night, to friendship dear, 
Thou shalt be our Hebe here. 
Fill the golden brimmer high, 
Let it sparkle like thine eye; 

Bid the rosy current gush, 

Let it mantle like thy blush. 
Goddess, hast thou e’er above 
Seen a feast so rich in love? 

Not a soul that is not mine! 

Not a soul that is not thine ! 


And waked me with a piteous prayer, 
To shield him from the midnight air. 

“ And who art thou,” I waking cry, 
“That bidd’st my blissful visions fly ? ’’t 
“ Ah, gentle sire!” the infant said, 
“Tn pity take me to thy shed; 

Nor fear deceit : a lonely child 

I wander o’er the gloomy wild. 

Chill drops the rain, and not a ray 
Illumes the drear and misty way!” 


1 heard the baby’s tale of wo; 
I heard the bitter night-winds blow ; 
And sighing for his piteous fate, 
I trimm’d my lamp and oped the gate. 
‘Twas Love! the little wand’ring sprite, ἢ 
His pinion sparkled through the night. 
I knew him by his bow and dart; 
I knew him by my fluttering heart. 
Fondly I take him in, and raise 
The dying embers’ cheering blaze ; 
Press from his dank and clinging hair 
The crystals of the freezing air, 
And in my hand and bosom hold 
His little fingers thrilling cold. 


And now the embers’ genial ray 
Had warm’d his anxious fears away ; 
“1 pray thee,” said the wanton child, 
(My bosom trembled as he smiled, ) 
‘‘T pray thee, let me try my bow, 
For through the rain ’vye wander’d so, 
That much I fear the midnight shower 
Has injured its elastic power.” 
The fatal bow the urchin drew ; 
Swift from the string the arrow flew ; 
As swiftly flew as glancing flame, 
And to my inmost spirit came! 
‘Pare thee well,” I heard him say, 


Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 296, ‘Amor als 
Diener.’ ” 

ἘΜ, Bernard, the author of L’Art d’aimer, 
has written a ballet called ‘* Les Surprises de 
Amour,” in which the subject of the third en- 
trée is Anacreon, and the story of this ode sug- 
gests one of the scenes.—(iuvres de Bernard, 
Anae. scene 4th. 

The German annotator refers us here to an 
imitation by Uz, lib. 111., ‘* Amor und sein 
Bruder; " and a poem of Kleist, ‘* die Heilung.” 
La Fontaine has translated, or rather imitated 
this ode. 

|“ And who art thou, ᾿ I waking ery, 

“That bidd'st my blissful visions fly?’ | 
Anacreon appears to have been a voluptuary 
even in dreaming, by the lively regret whieh he 
expresses at being disturbed from his visionary 
enjoyments. See the odes x. and xxxvil. 

| Lwas Love! thelittle wand’ring sprite, &e.) 


“Compare with this ode (says the German | See the beautiful description of Cupid, by 


ΘΟ) 0 


imtiful poem in Ramler’s | 


Moschus, in his first idyl. 


83 


As laughing wild he wing’d away ; 

‘“‘ Fare thee well, for now I know 

The rain has not relax’d my bow; 

It still can send a thrilling dart, 

As thou shalt own with all thy heart!” 


ODE XXXIV.* 


On thou, of all creation blest, 

Sweet insect, that delight’st to rest 
Upon the wildwood’s leafy tops, 

To drink the dew that morning drops, 
And chirp thy song with such a glee,t 
That happiest kings may envy thee. 
Whatever decks the velvet field, 
Whate’er the circling seasons yield, 
Whatever buds, whatever blows, 

For thee it buds, for thee it grows. 
Nor yet art thou the peasant’s fear, 
To him thy friendly notes are dear; 
For thou art mild as matin dew; 

And still, when summer’s flowery hue 
Begins to paint the bloomy plain, 

We hear thy sweet prophetic strain; 


Ina Latin ode addressed to the grasshop 
per, Rapin has preserved some of the thoughts 
of our author :— 


O que yirenti graminis in toro, 

Cieada, blande sidis, et herbidos 
Saltus oberras, otiosos 
Ingeniosa ciere eantus. 

Seu forte adultis floribus incubas, 

Ceeli cadueis ebria fletibus, &e. 

Oh thou, that on the grassy bed 

Which Nature’s vernal hand has spread, 

Reclinest soft, and tun’st thy song, © 

The dewy herbs and leaves among! 

Whether thou li’st on springing flowers, 

Drunk with the balmy morning showers, 

Or, &e. 

See what Licetus says about grasshoppers, 
cap. 93, and 185. 

| And chirp thy song with such a glee, dc.) 
**Some authors have affirmed, (says Madame 
Dacier,) that it is only male grasshoppers 
which sing, and that the females are silent; 
and on this circumstance is founded a bon-mot 
of Xenarchus, the comie poet. who says, evr’ 
εἰσιν OL TETTLYES οὐκ ευὐδαιμονες, WY ταις; γυναιξιν 
ουδ᾽ ore ουν φωνῆς evi; ‘are not the grasshop- 
pers happy in having dumb wives?’” This 
note is originally Henry Stephen's; but I chose 
rather to make a lady my authority for it. 

t The Muses love thy shrilly tone, dc.) Phile 
de Animal. Proprietat. calls this insect Movaats 
φιλος, the darling of the Muses; and Μουσων 
ορνιν, the bird of the Mtuses; and we find Plato 
compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, 
in the following punning lines of Timon, pre- 
served by Diogenes Laertius— 


Tov ravtwe δ᾽ ἡγειτὸ πλατυστατος, αλλ’ ayopntys 
᾿Ἡδνεπης τεττιξιν ἰισογραφος, οἱ gy’ Ἑκαδημον 
Δενὄρει εφέζομενοι ora λειριοεσσαν Lever. 


MOORE'S WORKS. Ἢ 
Nie eee ΣΤ ΜΈ ENN  ὙΞΘΘΈΈΝΕ Mee ER EGTA Ὁ 6. 


Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, 
And bless the notes and thee revere! 
The Muses love thy shrilly tone ;t 
Apollo calls thee all his own; 

’Twas he who gave that voice to thee, 
ΙΒ he who tunes thy minstrelsy. 


Unworn by age’s dim decline, 
The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. 
Melodious insect, child of earth,§ 
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; 
Exempt from every weak decay, 
That withers vulgar frames away; 
With not a drop of blood to stain 
The current of thy purer vein; 
So blest an age is pass’d by thee, 
Thou seem’st—a little deity ! 


ODE ΧΧΧΥ. 


CuPID once upon a bed 

Of roses laid his weary head; 
Luckless urchin, not to see 

Within the leaves a slumbering bee; 


This last line is borrowed from Homer’s Iliad, 
y, where there occurs the very same simile. 

§ Melodious insect, child of earth,| Longe- 
pierre has quoted the two first lines of an epi- 
gram of Antipater, from the first book of the An- 
thologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to 
the swan: <2 


Apxet τεττιγας μεθυσαι δροσος, adda τιοντες 
Δειδειν κυκνὼν εἰσι γεγωνοτεροι, 


In dew, that drops from morning’s wings, 
The gay Cicada sipping floats, 

And, drunk with dew, his matin sings ; 
Sweeter than any cygnet’s notes. 

{| Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode 
in his nineteenth idyl; but is very inferior, I | 
think, to his original, in delicacy of point and 
naiveté of expression. Spenser, in one of his 
smaller compositions, has sported more diffusely ‘ 
on the same subject. The poem to which I. 
allude, begins thus :— 

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering 
Allin his mother’s lap ; 

A gentle bee, with his fond trumpet murmuring, 
About him flew by hap, &e., &c. 

In Almeloyeen’s collection of epigrams, there 
is one by Luxorius, correspondent somewhat 
with the turn of Anacreon, where Love com- 
plains to his mother of being wounded by a 
rose. 

The ode before us is the very flower of sim- 
pheity. The infantine complainings of the little 
god, and the natural and impressive reflections 
which they draw from Venus, are beauties of 
inimitable grace. I may be pardoned, per- 
haps, for introducing here another of Menage’s 
Anacreontics, not for its similitude to the subject 
of this ode, but for some faint traces of the 
same natural simplicity, which it appears to me 
to have preserved :— 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


The bee awaked—with anger wild 
The bee awaked, and stung the child. 
Loud and piteous are his cries ; 

To Venus quick he runs, he flies ; 

“Oh, mother !—I am wounded through— 
I die with pain—in sooth I do! 

Stung by some little angry thing, 

Some serpent on a tiny wing— 

A bee it was—for once, I know, 

1 heard a rustic call it so.” 

Thus he spoke, and she the while 
Heard him with a soothing smile ; 
Then said, ‘‘ My infant, if so much 
Thou feel the little wild-bee’s touch, 
How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, 
The hapless heart that’s stung by thee !”’ 


ODE XXXVI.* 
IF hoarded gold possess’d the power 
To lengthen life’s too fleeting hour, 
And purchase from the hand of death 
A little span, a moment’s breath, 
How I would love the precious ore ! 
And every hour should swell my store ; 


Epws ποτ᾽ ev χορειαις 
Ἴων παρθενων awrtor, 
Τὴν μοι φιλην Κορινναν 
‘Os evdev, ὡς προς αὐτὴν 
Ilpocedpape* τραχήλω 
Διδυμας τε χειρας απτων 
Φιλει με, MNTEP, εἰπε. 
Καλουμενὴ Κοριννα, 
Μήτηρ, ερυθριαζει, 

‘Os παρθενὸος μεν ουσα. 
Κ᾽ autos Se δυσχεραινων» 
‘Os ομμασι πλανήηθεις, 
Epws ερυθριαζει. 

Eyw, δὲ οἱ παραστας, 
My δυσχεραινε, φημι. 
Κυπριν τε και Κορινναν 
Διαγνωσαι οὐκ ἐχουσιε 
Και οἱ βλεποντες οξυ. 


As dancing o'er the enamell’d plain, 

The flow’ret of the virgin train, 

My soul's Corinna lightly play’d, 

Young Cupid saw the graceful maid ; 

He saw, and ina moment flew, 

And round her neck his arms he threw; 

Saying, with smiles of infant joy, 

“Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss ile boy!” 

Unconscious of a mother’s name, 

The modest virgin blush’d with shame! 

And angry Cupid, searce believing 

That vision could be so deceiving— 

Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame ! 

It made ey’n Cupid blush with shame. 

“Be not ashamed, my boy,” I cried, 

For I was lingering by his side; 

“Corinna and thy lovely mother, 

Believe me, are so like each other 

That clearest eyes are oft betray’d, 

And take thy Venus for the maid.” 

Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has given 

8 translation of this ode of Anacreen. 


89 


That when Death came, with shadowy 
pinion, 

To waft me to his bleak dominion,t 

I might, by bribes, my doom delay, 

And bid him call some distant day. 

But, since not all earth’s golden store 

Can buy for us one bright hour more, 

Why should we vainly mourn our fate, 

Or sigh at life’s uncertain date ? 

Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume 

The silent midnight of the tomb. 

No~give to others hoarded treasures— 

Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures; 

The goblet rich, the board of friends, 

Whose social souls the goblet blends ;t 

And mine, while yet I’ve life to live, 

Those joys that love alone can give. 


ODE XXXVILI.§ 
*TWAS night, and many a circling bow’ 
Had deeply warm’d my thirsty soul ; 
As lull’d in slumber I was laid, 
Bright visions o’er my fancy play’d. 
With maidens, blooming as the dawn, 


*Fontenelle has translated this ode in his 
dialogue between Anacreon and Aristotle in 
the shades, where, on weighing the merits of 
both these personages, he bestows the prize of 
wisdom upon the poet. 

“The German imitators of this ode are, Les- 
sing, in his poem, ‘Gestern Briider,’ &e. 
Gleim, in the ode ‘ An den Tod ;’ and Sehmidt 
in der Poet. Blumenl., Gotting. 1783, p. 7.’— 
Degen. 


t That when Death cume, with shadowy pinion, 
To waft me to his bleak dominion, &c.| The 
commentators, who are so fond of disputing 
“de lana caprina,” have been very busy on the 
authority of the phrase tw’ av gavew εἐπελθη. 
The reading of iv’ av @avaros ereAOn, Which De 
Medenbach proposes in his Amcenitates Liter- 
ariw, was already hinted by Le Fevre, who sel- | 
dom suggests any thing worth notice. 
t The goblet rich, the board of friends, 

Whose social souls the goblet blends ;] This 
communion of friendship, which sweetened the 
bowl of Anacreon, has not been forgotten by 
the author of the following scholium, where the: 
blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial 
simplicity. Ὑγιαινειν μεν ἀαριστον avipe gvntw. 
Δεύτερον δε, καλον φνὴν γενεσθαι. To τριτον δε, 
πλουτεῖν adoAws. Και τὸ τεταρτον συνεβαν μετα 
των φιλων. 


Of mortal blessings here the first is health, 
And next those charms by which the eye we 
move; 
The third is wealth, unwounding guiltless 
wealth, 
And then, sweet intercourse with those we 
love! 
§ “Compare with this ode the beantiful poam 
‘der Traum ἡ of Uz."—Degen. 
Le Fevre, in a nete upon this ode, enters irto 


90 MOORD’S 


I seem’d to skim the opening lawn; 
Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, 
We flew, and sported as we flew! 


Some ruddy striplings who look’d on— 
With cheeks, that like the wine-god’s 
Saw me chasing, free and wild, [shone, 
These blooming maids, and slyly smiled ; 
Smiled indeed with wanton glee, [me. 
Though none could doubt they envied 
And still I flew—and now had caught 
The panting nymphs, and fondly thought 
To gather from each rosy lip 
A kiss that Jove himself might sip— 
When sudden all my dream of joys, 
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 
All were gone !*—‘‘Alas !” I said, 
Sighing for th’ illusion fled, 

“Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, 
Oh! let me dream it o’er and o’er !"t 


ODE XXXVIII*t 


Let us drain the nectar’d bowl, 
Let us raise the song of soul 


an elaborate and learned justification of drunk- 
enness; and this is probably the cause of the 
severe reprehension which h: appears to have 
suffered for his Anacreon. ‘‘Fuit olim fateor, 
(says he in a note upon Longinus,) cum Sappho- 
nem amabam. Sed ex quo illa me perditissima 
foemina pene miserum perdidit cum sceleratis- 
simo suo congerrone, (Anacreontem dico, si 
nescis, Lector,) noli sperare, &e. &¢.” He 
adduces on this ode the authority of Plato, who 
allowed ebriety, at the Dionysian festivals, to 
men arrived at their fortieth year. He like- 
wise quotes the following line from Alexis, 
which he says no one, whois not totally ignor- 
ant of the world, can hesitate to confess the 
truth of :— 

Ovders rdomotns εστιν ανθρωπς κακος. 

“No lover of drinking was eyer a vicious man.” 
*When sudden all my dream of joys, 
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, 
Allwere gone !| ‘*‘ Nonnus says of Bacchus, al- 

most in the same words that Anaereon uses, — 

Eypomevos de 

Tap@evov οὐκ εκιχήσε, και ἤθελεν αὐφις cavery.” 

Waking, he lost the phantom’s charms, 

The nymph had faded from his arms; 

Again to slumber he essay'd, 

Again to clasp the shadowy maid. 

—LONGEPIERRE. 
t‘Ayain, sweet sleep, that scene restore, 

Oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er! ; 
Doctor Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare, 
animadverting upon the commentators of that 
poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence 
of thought, to detect an imitation of some an- 
cient poet, alludes in the following words to the 
line of Anacreon before us:—‘'I have been 
told that when Caliban, after a pleasing dream, 
says, ‘I eried to sleep again,’ the author imi- 


WORKS. 


To him, the god who loves so well 

The nectar’d bowl, the choral swell ; 
The god who taught the sons of earth 
To thrid the tangled dance of mirth ; 
Him, who was nursed with infant Love, 
And cradled in the Paphian grove ; 
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms 
So oft has fondled in her arms.§ 
Oh ’tis from him the transport flows, 
Which sweet intoxication knows ; 
With him, the brow forgets its gloom, 
And brilliant graces learn to bloom. 


Behold !—my boys a goblet bear, 
Whose sparkling foam lights up the air. 
Where are now the tear, the sigh? 
To the winds they fly, they fly! 
Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking! 
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! 
Say, can the tears we lend to thought 
In life’s account avail us aught ? 

Can we discern, with all our lore, 
The path we’ve yet to journey o’er ? 
Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 

"Tis only wine can strike a spark ἢ} 


tates Anacreon, who had, hke any other man, 
the same wish on the same occasion.” 

t ‘Compare with this beautilul ode to Bacchus 
the verses of Hagedorn, lib. v. ‘das Gesell- 
schaftliche ;’ and of Burger, p. 51, &¢. &¢e.” 
— Degen. 

§ Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms 

So oft has fondledin her arms.] Robertellus, 
upon the epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an 
ingenions derivation of Cytherea, the name of 
Venus, παρα To κευθειν τοὺς epwras, Which seems 
to hint that ‘‘ Love’s fairy favors are lost, when 
not concealed.” 

|| Alas, alas, in ways so dark, 

‘Tis only wine ean strike a spark!) The 
brevity of life allows arguments for the volup- 
tuary as well as the moralst. Among many 
yarallel passages which Longepierre has ad- 
duced, I shall content myself with this epigram 
from the Anthologia: 


Aovoapmevor, Ilpodixkn, πυκασωμεθα, και τον 
ακρατον 
. » 
Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μείζονας ἀραμενοι. 
“Patos ὁ χαιροντων εστι Bros. eta Ta λοιπα 


Τηρὰς κωλύσει, και Τὸ Τελος ϑανατος. 
Of which the following is a paraphrase :— 


Let's fly, my love, from noonday’s beam, 
To plunge us in yon cooling stream ; 

Then, hastening to the festal bower, 

We'll pass in mirth the evening hour; 
Tis thus our ave of bliss shall fly, 

As sweet, though passing as that sigh, 
Which seems to whisper o'er your Tip, 
“Come, while you may, of rapt sip.’? 
For age will steal the graceful form, 

Will chill the pulse while throbbing warm ; 
And death ala that hearts. which thrill 
Like yours and mine, should e’er be still! 


ODES OF ANACREON. 91 


Then let me quaff the foamy tide, 


- And through the dance meandering glide; 


Let me imbibe the spicy breath 

Of odors chafed to fragrant death : 

Or from the lips of love inhale 

A more ambrosial, richer gale ! 

To hearts that court the phantom Care, 
Let him retire and shroud him there ; 
While we exhaust the nectar’d bow], 
And swell the choral song of soul 

To him, the god who loves so well 

The nectar’d bowl, the choral swell! 


ODE XXXIX. 


How I love the festive boy, 
Tripping through the dance of joy! 
How I love the mellow sage, 
Smiling through the vail of age ! 
And whene’er this man of years 

In the dance of joy appears, 

Snows may o’er his head be flung, 
But his heart—his heart is young.* 


ODE XL. 
I Know that Heaven hath sent me here 
To run this mortal life’s career ; 
The scenes which I have joumney’d o’er, 
Return no more—alas ! no more ; 


* Snows may o'er his head be fling, 

But his heart—his heart is young.) Saint 
Payin makes the same distinction in a sonnet 
to a young girl. 

Je sais bien que les destinées 
Ont mal compassé nos années ; 
Ne regardez que mon amour; 
Peut-etre en serez yous émue. 
11 est jeune et n’est que du jour, 
Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue. 
Fair and young thou bloomest now, 
And I full many a year have told ; 
But read the heart and not the brow, 
Thou shalt not find my love is old. 
My love's a child; and thou canst say 
ow much his little age may be, 
For he was born the very day 
When first I set my eyes on thee ! 
t Never can heart that feels with me 

Descend to be a slaveto thee!) Ponpepieyre 
quotes here an epigram from the Anthologia 
on account of the similarity of a particular 
phrase. Though by no means anacreontic, it 
15 marked by an interesting simplicity which 
has saltaeed, me to paraphrase it, and may 
atone for its intrusion. 

EAmts και ov τυχὴ meya χαιρετε. τον λιμεν᾽ εὑρον. 
Ουδεν epor x’ ὑμιν, παιζετε τοὺς μετ᾽ EME, 
At length to Fortune, and to you, 
Delusive Hope! a last adieu. 
The charm that once beguiled is o'er, 
And I haye reach’d my destined shore. 


And all the path I’ve yet to go, 

I neither know nor ask to know. 
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think 
Thy fetters round this soul to link ; 
Never can heart that feels with me 
Descend to be a slave to thee !t 

And oh! before the vital thrill, 
Which trembles at my heart, is still, 
ΤΊ] gather Joy’s luxuriant flowers, 
And gild with bliss my fading hours ; 
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus dance me to the tomb "ἢ 


ODE-XLI. 


WHEN Spring adorns the dewy scene, 
How sweet to walk the velvet green, 
And hear the west wind’s gentle sighs, 
As o’er the scented mead it flies ! 

How sweet to mark the pouting vine, 
Ready to burst in tears of wine; [love, 
And with some maid, who breathes but 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove, ὃ 
Or sit in some cool, green recess— 

Oh, is not this true happiness ? 


ODE XLII.|| 


YES, be the glorious revel mine, 
Where humor sparkles from the wine. 


Away, away, your flattering arts 

May now betray some simpler hearts, 

And you will smile at their believing, 

And they shall weep at your deceiving! 

+ Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, 
And Venus dance me to the tomb!) The 

same commentator has quoted an epitaph, 
written upon our poet by Julian, in which he 
makes him promulgate the precepts of good-fel- 
lowship even from the tomb. 


Πολλακι μεν 780" cerca, και ex τυμβου Se Bojow, 
Πινετε, πριν ταυτὴν αμφιβαλησθε kovive 


This lesson oft in life I sung, 
And from my grave IJ still shall ery, 
“Drink, mortal, drink, while time is young, 
Ere death has made thee cold as I.” 
§ And with some maid, who breathes but love, 
To walk, at noontide, through the grove.) 
Thus Horace : 
Quid habes illius, illius 
Que spirabat amores, 
περ me surpuerat mihi. 
Lib. iv. Carm. 13. 
And does there then remain but this, 
And hast thou lost each rosy ray 
Of her, who breathed the soul of bliss, 
And stole me from myself away ἢ 
|| The character of Anacreon is here very 
strikingly depicted. His love of svucial, har- 
monized pleasures, is expressed with a warmth, 
amiable and endearing. Among the epigrams 
imputed to Anaereon js the following ; it is the 


92 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


Around me, let the youthful choir 
Respond to my enlivening lyre ; 

And while the red cup foams along, 
Mingle in soul as well as song. 

Then, while I sit, with flow’rets crown’d, 
To regulate the goblet’s round, 

Let but the nymph, our banquet’s pride, 
Be seated smiling by my side, 

And earth has nota gift or power 

That I would envy in that hour. 

Envy !—oh never let its blight 

Touch the gay hearts met here to-night. 
Far hence be slander’s sidelong wounds, 
Nor harsh disputes, nor discord’s sounds 
Disturb a scene,. where all should be 
Attuned to peace and harmony. 


Come, let us hear the harp’s gay note 
Upon the breeze inspiring float, 
While round us, kindling into love, 
Young maidens through the light dance 
move. [peace, 
Thus blest with mirth, and love, and 
Sure such a life should never cease ! 


ODE XLII. 


WHILE our rosy fillets shed 
Freshness o’er each fervid head, 


only one worth translation, and it breathes the 
same sentiments with this ode :— 
Ov φιλος, ὃς κρητηρι Tapa πλεω οινοποταζων, 

Νεικεα καὶ πόλεμον δακρυοεντα λέγει. 

AAA’ ὅστις Μουσεων Te, και ayAaa δωρ᾽ Αφροδιτης 

Συμμισγων, Eepatyns μνήσκεται ευὐυφροσυνης. 
When to the lip the brimming cup is press’d, 

And hearts are all afloat upon its stream, 
Then banish from my board th’ unpolish’d guest, 

Who makes the feats of war his barbarous 

theme. 
But bring the man, who o’er his goblet wreathes 

The Muse’s laurel with the Cyprian flower ; 
Oh! give me him, whose soul expansive 

breathes 

And blends refinement with the social hour. 

* And while the harp, impassion'd, flings 

Tuneful raptures from its strings, &c.| Re- 
specting the barbiton a host of authorities may 
be collected, which, after all, leave us ignorant 
of the nature of the instrument. There is 
searcely any point upon which we are so total- 
ly uninformed as the musie of the ancients. The 
authors* extant upon the subject are, I imagine, 
little understood ; and certainly if one of their 
moods was a prderession by quarter-tones, 
which we are told was the nature of the enhar- 
monic seale, simplicity was by no means the 
characteristic of their melody; for this is a 
nicety of progression of which modern music is 
not susceptible. 

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athe- 
nieus, attributed to Anucreon. See his fourth 
book, where it is ealled τὸ εὑρημα του Avaxpeov- 

* Collected by Melbomius, 


With many a cup and many a smile 
The festal moments we beguile. 

And while the harp, impassion’d, flings 
Tuneful raptures from its strings, * 
Some airy nymph, with graceful bound, 
Keeps measure to the music’s sound ; 
Waving, in her snowy hand, 

The leafy Bacchanalian wand, 

Which, as the tripping wanton flies, 
Trembles all over to her sighs. 

A youth the while, with loosen’d hair, 
Floating on the listless air, 

Sings, to the wild harp’s tender tone, 

A tale of woes, alas, his own ; 

And oh, the sadness in his sigh, 

As o’er his lip the accents die !t 

Never sure on earth has been 

Half so bright, so blest a scene. 

It seems as Love himself had come 

To make this spot his chosen home ;{— 
And Venus, too, with all her wiles, 
And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, 
All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Festivity !§ 


ODE XLIV.| 


Bups of roses, virgin flowers, 
Cull’d from Cupid’s balmy bowers, 


tos. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted by Gyraldus, 
asserts the same. Vide Chabot, in Horat. on 
the words ‘‘ Lesboum barbiton,” in the first ode. 

t And oh, the sadness in his sigh, 

As o'er his lip the accents die }} Longepierre 
has quoted here an epigram from the Antholo- 
518,..--- 

Κουρῃ τις μ᾽ εφιλητε ποθεσπερα χειλεσιν Vypots. 

Nextap env τὸ φιλημα. TO yap στομα νεκταρος 
επνει. 

Nuv μεθνω To φιλημα, πολυν Tov EpwTa πεπωκῶως. 

Of which the following paraphrase may give 
some idea :— 

The kiss that she left on my lip, 

Like a dewdrop shall lingering lie; 

’T was nectar she gave me to sip, 

’T was nectar I drank to her sigh. 

From the moment slie printed that kiss, 

Nor reason, nor rest has been mine ; 3 

My whole soul has been drunk with the bliss, 

And feels a delirium divine ! 

+ It seems as Love himself had come 

Tomake this spot his chosen home;—] The 
introduction of these deities to the festival is 
merely allegoricul. Madame Dacier thinks that 
the poet deseribes a masquerade, where these 
deities were personated by the company in 
masks. The translation will conform with either 
ide:. 

§ All, all are here, to hail with me 

The Genius of Festivity!] Kwpos, the deity 
or genius of mirth. Philostratus, in the third 
of his pietures, gives a very lively description 
of this god. 

|| This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose; 


peer 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


- In the bow] of Bacchus steep, 
Till with crimson drops they weep. 
Twine the rose, the garland twine, 
Every leaf distilling wine; 
Drink and smile, and learn to think 
That we were born to smile and drink. 
Rose, thou art the sweetest flower 
That ever drank the amber shower ; 
Rose, thou art the fondest child [wild. 
Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph 
Tiven the Gods, who walk the sky, 
Are amorous of thy scented sigh. 
Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, 
His hair with rosy fillet braids, 
When with the blushing, sister Graces, 
The wanton winding dance he traces.* 
Then bring me, showers of roses bring, 
And shed them o’er me while I sing, 
Or while, great Bacchus, round thy 
shrine, 
Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, 
I lead some bright nymph through the 
dance,t 
Commingling soul with every glance. 


and again, in the fifty-fifth ode, we shall find 
our author rich in the praises of that flower. In 
a fragment of Sappho, inthe romance of A chil- 
les Tatius, to which Barnes refers us, the rose 
is fancifully styled ‘tthe eye of flowers ;” and 
the same poetess, in another fragment, calls the 
fuvors of the Muse ‘* the roses of Pieria.’’ See 
the notes on the fifty-fifth ode. 

“Compare with this ode (says the German 
annotator) the beautiful ode of Uz, ‘die Rose.’”’ 

* When with the blushing, sister Graces, 

The wanton winding dance he traces.) 
“This sweet idea of Love dancing with the 
Graces, is almost peculiar to Anacreon.’’—De- 
gen. 

t [lead some bright nymph through the dance, 
&c.| The epithet βαθυκολπος, which he gives 
to the nymph, is literally ‘ full-bosomed.” 

t Then let us never vainly stray, 

In search of thorns, from pleasure’s way ; 
dc.] 1 have thus ἀπο ἐπ ΡΤ eonvey the 
meaning of re de tov Biov πλανωμαι; according 
to Regnier’s paraphrase of the line:- ~ 

ἘΣ che val, fuor della strada 
Del piacere alma e gradita, 
Vaneggiare in questa vita ? 

§ The fastidious affectation of some commen- 
tators has denounced this ode as spurious. 
Degen pronounces the four last lines to be the 
mitechwork of some miserable versificator, and 

runck condemns the whole ode. It appears 
to me, on the contrary, to be elegantly graphi- 
cal; full of delicate expressions and luxuriant 
imagery. The abruptness of Ide πως eapos 
φανεντος is striking and 8 virited, and has been 
imitated rather languidly by Horace :— 


Vides ut alta stet nive candidum 
Soracte 


ODE XLV. 


Wirutn this goblet, rich and deep, 

I cradle all my woes to sleep. 

Why should we breathe the sigh of fear, 
Or pour the unavailing tear ? 

For death will never heed the sigh, 

Nor soften at the tearful eye; 

And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep, 
Must all alike be seal’d in sleep. 

Then let us never vainly stray, 

In search of thorns, from pleasure’s way ;£ 
But wisely quaff the rosy wave, [gave; 
Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus 
And in the goblet, rich and deep, 
Cradle our crying woes to sleep. 


ODE ΧΙ. 


BEHOLD, the young, the rosy Spring, 
Gives to the breeze her scented wing ; 
While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o’er her dewy way.|| 

The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have languish’d into silent sleep ;4] 


The imperative «de is infinitely more impres- 
sive ;—as In Shakspeare, 


But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 


There is a simple and poetical description of 
Spring in Catullus’s beautiful farewell to Bithy- 
nia. Carm. 44. 

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, 
that this ode was written after he had returned 
from Athens, to settle in his paternal seat at 
Teos; where, in alittle villa at some distance 
from the city, commanding a view of the A3gean 
Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beau- 
ties of nature and enjoyed the felicities of re- 
tirement. Vide Barnes, in Anae. Vita, ὃ xxxy. 
This supposition, however unauthenticated, 
forms 8 Se ceers association, which renders the 
poem more interesting. 

Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus 
has paraphrased somewhere this description of 
Spring; but I cannot meet with it. See Chey- 
reau, (Kuvres Melées. 

“Compare with this ode (says Degen) the 
verses of Hagedorn, book fourth, ‘der Friih- 
ling,’ and book fifth, ‘der Mai.’ ” 


|| While virgin Graces, warm with May, 
Fling roses o'er her dewy way.) De Pauw 
reads, Χαριτας poda βρυουσιν, * the roses dis- 
jlay their graces.” This is not uningenious ; 
mut we lose ba it the beauty of the personifica- 
tion, to the boldness of which Regnier has 
rather frivolously objected. 


4 The murmuring billows of the deep 
Have lanquish'd into silent sleep ; éc.| It 
has been justly remarked, that the liquid flow 
of the line araAvverac γαληνὴ is pertectly ex- 
pressive of the tranquillity which it describes. 


94 


And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave 
Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; 
While cranes from hoary winter fly 
To flutter in a kinder sky. 

Now the genial star of day 

Dissolves the murky clouds away; 
And cultured field,and winding stream,* 
Are freshly glittering in his beam. 


Now the earth prolific swells 
With leafy buds and flowery bells; 
Gemming shoots the olive twine, 
Clusters ripe festoon the vine; 

All along the branches creeping, 
Through the velvet foliage peeping, 
Little fant fruits we see, 

Nursing into luxury. 


ODE XLVILI. 


*T1s true my fading years decline, 

Yet can I quaff the brimming wine, 

As deep as any stripling fair, 

Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; 
And if, amidst the wanton crew, 

I’m eall’d to wind the dance’s clew, 
Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, 
Not faltering on the Bacchant’s wand, 
But brandishing a rosy flask,t 

The only thyrsus e’er I'll ask "ἢ 


Let those, who pant for Glory’s charms, 
Embrace her in the field of arms; 
While my inglorious, placid soul 
Breathes not a wish beyond this bowl. 
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave, 

And bathe me in its brimming wave. 
For though my fading years decay, 


* And cultured field, and winding stream, 
c.| By Bpotwy epya, *‘ the works of men.” (says 
Baxter,) he means cities, temples, and towns, 
which are then illuminatea by the beams of the 
sun 

t But brandishing a rosy flask, 6.1 Ασκος 
was a kind of leathern vessel for wine ver 
much in use,as should seem by the prover 
'ασκος Kat gvAaxos, which was applied to those 
who were intemperate in eating and drinking. 


This proverb is mentioned in some verses 
quoted by Athenzus, from the Hesione of 
Alexis. 


t The only thyrsus e’er Ill ask ἢ] Phornutus 
assizns as a reason for the consecration of the 
thyrsus to Bacehns, that inebriety often renders 
the support of a stick very necessary. 

§ Ivy leaves my brow entwining, &c.| ‘‘ The 
ivy was consecrated to Bacchus, (says Mont- 
faucon,) because he formerly lay hid under that 
tree, or, as others will have it, because its 
Jeaves resemble those of the vine.” Other rea- 
sons for its consecration, and the use of it in 
garlands at banquets, may be found in Longe- 
pierre, Barnes, &c. &o, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


| whough manhood’s prime hath pass’d 


Like old Silenus, sire divine, [away, 
With blushes borrow’d from my wine, 
ΤΊ] wanton ’mid the dancing train, 
And live my follies o’er again ! 


ODE XLVIIL. 


WHEN my thirsty soul I steep, 
Every sorrow’s lull’d to sleep. 
Talk of monarchs! I am then 
Richest, happiest, first of men; 
Careless o’er my cup I sing, 
Fancy makes me more than king; 
Gives me wealthy Crcesus’ store, 
Can I, can I wish for more? 

On my velvet couch reclining, 
Ivy leaves my brow entwining,§ 
While my soul expands with glee, 
What are kings and crowns to me? 
If before my feet they lay, 

I would spurn them all away! 
Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ἢ} 
But let me, my budding vine! 
Spill no other blood than thine, 
Yonder brimming goblet see, 
That alone shall yanquish me— 
Who think it better, wiser far 

To fall in banquet than in war. 


ODE XLIX.{7 


WHEN Bacchus, Jove’s immortal boy, 
The rosy harbinger of joy, 

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, 
Thaws the winter of our soul—** 
When to my inmost core he glides, 


|| Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, 
Hasten to the sanguine fight ;| 1 have adopt- 
ed the interpretation of Regnier and others :— 


Altri segua Marte fero; 
Che sol Bacco ὃ ‘I mio conforto. 


| This, the preceding ode, and a few more of 
the same character, are merely chansons ἃ 
boire ;—the effusions probably of the moment of 
conviviality, and afterwards sung, we may im- 
agine, witli rapture throughout Greece. But 
that interesting association, by which they al- 
ways recalled the convivial emotions that pro- 
duced them, can now be little felt even by the 
most enthusiastic reader; and inuch less by a 
phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothing in 
them but dialects and particles. 

**Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, 

Thaws the winter of our soul—dc.] Avatos is 
the title which he gives to Bacchus in the orig- 
inal. It is a curious circumstance that Plutarch 
mistook the name of Levi among the Jews for 
Λεῦι, (one of the baccbanal cries,) and ac- 
cordingly supposed that they worshipped 1580- 
shus. 


a eS ee ee 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


And bathes it with his ruby tides, 
A flow of joy, a lively heat, 

Fires my brain, and wings my feet, 
Calling up round me visions known 
To lovers of the bowl alone. 


Sing, sing of love, let music’s sound 
In melting cadence float around, 
While, my young Venus, thou and I 
Responsive to its murmurs sigh. 
Then, waking from our blissful trance, 
Again we'll sport, again we'll dance. 


ODE L.* 


WHEN wine I quaff, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ; t 

And freshen’d by the goblet’s dews, 

My soul invokes the heavenly Muse. 

When wine I drink, all sorrow’s o'er; 

I think of doubts and fears no more ; 

But scatter to the railing wind 

Each gloomy phantom of the mind. 

When I drink wine, th’ ethereal boy, 

3acchus himself, partakes my joy ; 

{nd while we dance through vernal 
bowers,t [ flowers, 

Whose ey’ry breath comes fresh from 

In wine he makes my senses swim, 

Till the gale breathes of naught but him ! 


Again I drink,—and, lo, there seems 


* Faber thinks this ode spurious; but, I be- 
lieve, he is singular in his opinion. It has all 
the spiritof our author. Like the wreath which 
he presented in the dream, “it smells of 
Anacreon.” 

The form of the original is remarkable. Itis 
a kind of song of seven quatrain stanzas, each 
beginning with the line 

‘Or’ eyw πίω τον oLvor. 

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consist- 
ing but of three lines. 

“Compare with this poem (says Degen) the 
verses of Hagedorn, lib. v., ‘der Wein,’ where 
that divine poet has wantoned in the praises of 
wine.” 

t When wine I quafy, before my eyes 

Dreams of poetic glory rise ;| ‘‘ Anacreon is 
not the only one (says Longepierre) whom wine 
has inspired with poetry. We find an epigram 
A the first book of the Anthologia, which begins 

us :— 

Ocvos Tot χαριεντι μεγας πελει ἱππος αοιδῳ, 

Ὕδωρ δε πινων, καλον ov Texots Eros. 


If with water you fill up your glasses, 
You'll never write anything wise ; 
For wine's the true horse of Parnassus, 
Which carries a bard to the skies! 
tAnd while we dance through vernal bowers, 
dc.) If some of the translators had observed 
Doctor Trapp’s caution with regard to πολυαν- 


A calmer light to fill my dreams ; 

The lately ruffed wreath I spread 

With steadier hand around my head ; 
Then take the lyre, and sing ‘‘ how blest 
The life of him who lives at rest! ”’ 

But then comes witching wine again, 
With glorious woman in its train; 

And, while rich perfumes round me rise, 
That seem the breath of woman’s sighs, 
Bright shapes, of every hue and form, 
Upon my kindling fancy swarm, 

Till the whole world of beauty seems 
To crowd iuto my dazzled dreams ! 
When thus I drink, my heart refines, 
And rises as the cup declines ; 

Rises in the genial flow 


That none but social spirits know, 


When, with young revellers, round the 
bow], 

The old themselves grow young in soul !§ 

Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine, 

There’s bliss in every drop of wine. 

All other blessings I have known, 

I scarcely dared to call my own; 

But this the Fates can ne’er destroy, 

Till death o’ershadows all my joy. 


ODE LI. || 


Fry not thus my brow of snow, 
Lovely wanton! fly not so. 


they would not have spoiled the simplicity of 
Anacreon’s fancy, by such extravagant concep- 
tions as the following: 
Quand je bois, mon ceil s’imagine 
Que, dans un tourbillon plein de parfums divers, 
Bacchus m’emporte dans les airs, 
Rempli de sa liqueur divine. 
Or this:— 
Indi mi mena 
Mentre lieto ebro, deliro, 
Baecho in giro 
Per la vaga aura serena. 


When, with young revellers, round the bowl, 
e old themselves grow young in soul ") 
Subjoined to Gail's edition of Anacreon, we 
find some curious letters upon the Θιασοι 
of the ancients, which appeared in the French 
Journals. At the opening of the Odéon in 
Paris, the managers of that spectacle requested 
Professor Gail to give them some uncommon 
name for their fétes. He suggested the word 
“ Thiase,” which was adopted; but the literati 
of Paris questioned the propriety of the term, 
and addressed their criticisms to Gail through _ 
the medium of the public prints. 
|| Alberti has imitated this ode; and Capilupus, 
in the following epigram, has given a versior 
of it: — 
Cur, Lalage, mea vita, meos contemnis amores f 
Cur fugis e nostro pulchra puella sinu ἢ 


θεσιν μ᾽ ev avpacs, " Cave ne ccelum intelligas,” | Ne fugias, sint sparsa licet mea tempora canis, 


96 


Though the wane of age is mine, 
‘Though youth’s brilliant flush be thine, 
Still I’m doomed to sigh for thee, 
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me! 

See, in yonder flowery braid, 

Cull’d for thee, my blushing maid, ἢ 
How the rose, of orient glow, 

Mingles with the lily’s snow ; 

Mark, how sweet their tints agree, 
Just, my girl, like thee and me! 


ODE LII.t 


AWAY, away, ye men of rules, 

What have I to do with schools? 

‘They’d make me learn, tkey’d make me 
think, 

But would they make me love and drink ? 

Teach me this, and let me swim 

My soul upon the goblet’s brim ; 

Teach me this, and let me twine 

Some fond, responsive heart to mine, 


Inque tuo roseus fulgeat ore color. 
Aspice ut intextas deceant quoque flore corollas 
andida purpureis lilia mista rosis. 


Oh! why repel my soul’s impassion’d vow, 
And fiy, beloved maid, these longing arms? 
Is it, that wintry time has strew'd my brow, 
While thine are all the summer’s roseate 
charms? 


See the rich garland eull’d in vernal weather, 

Where the young rosebud with the lily glows, 
‘So, in Love’s wreath we both may twine to- 

ether, 

And I the lily be, and thou the rose. 

*See, in yonder flowery braid, 

Oull'd for thee, my blushing maid 11 “Τὴ the 
game manner that Anacreon pleads for the 
whiteness of his locks, from the beauty of the 
eolor in garlands, a shepherd, in Theocritus, 
endeavors to recommend his black hair :— 


Kat To cov μελαν εστι, και a γραπτα ὕακινθος, 
Αλλ᾽ ἐμπας εν τοις στεφανοις τα πρωτα AeyovTat.”’ 
Longepierre, Barnes, &c. 

1 ‘This is doubtless the work of a more 
modern poet than Anacreon ; for at the period 
when he lived rhetoricians were not known.”— 
Degen. 

Though this ode is found in the Vatican 
manuscript, I am much inclined to agree in 
this argument against its authenticity; for 
though the dawnings of the art of rhetoric 
might already have appeared, the first who 
gave it any celebrity was Corax of Syracuse, 
and he flourished in the century after Ana- 
creon. 

Our poet anticipated the ideas of Epicurus, in 
his aversion to the labors of learning, as well as 
his devotion to voluptnousness. Havay παιδειαν 
μακαριοι φευγετε, Suid the philosopher of the 
garden in a letter to Pythocles. 

t Veach me this, and let me twine 

Some fond, responsive heart to mine.) By 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


For, age begins to blanch my brow, 
l’ve time for naught but pleasure now. 


Fly, and cool my goblet’s glow 
At yonder fountain’s gelid flow ; 
ΤΊ] quaff, my boy, and calmly sink 
This soul to slumber as I drink. 
Soon, too soon, my jocund slave, 
Yow ll deck your master’s grassy grave ; 
And there’s an end—for ah, you know 
They drink but little wine below !§ 


ODE 1111. 


WHEN I behold the festive train 

Of dancing youth, I’m young again! 
Memory wakes her magic trance, 

And wings me lightly through the dance. 
Come, Cybeba, smiling maid! 

Cull the flower and twine the braid; 
Bid the blush of summer’s rose 

Burn upon my forehead’s snows ;]| 

And let me, while the wild and young 


xpvons Adpodcrys here, 1 understand some beau- 
tiful girl, in the same manner that Avatos is 
often used for wine. ‘‘ Golden” is frequently an 
epithet of beauty. Thus in Virgil, “ Venus 
aurea ;” and in Propertius, “ Cynthia aurea. "ἢ 
Tibullus, however, calls an old woman‘‘golden.”’ 

The translation d’Autori Anonimi, as usual. 
waiitons on this passage of Anacreon: 

ἘΣ m’ insegni con piu rare 
Forme aceorte d’ involare 
Ad amabile beltade 

Il bel cinto d’ onestade. 

§ And there's an end—for ah, you know 

They drink but little wine below !} 
Mainard :— 

La Mort nous guette ; et quand ses lois 
Nous ont enfermés une fois 

Au sein d'une fosse profonde, 

Adieu bons vins et bon repas; 

Ma science ne trouve pas - 

Des cabarets en l'autre monde. 

From Mainard, Gombauld, and De Cailly, 
old French poets, some of the best epigrams of 
the English language have been borrowed. 

|| Bid the blush of swmmer’s rose 

Burn upon my forehead’s snows; &e.)  Li- 
cetus, in his Hieroglyphica, quoting two of our 
poet’s odes, where he calls to his attendants for 
garlands, remarks, ‘ Constat igitur floreas 
coronas poetis et potantibus in symposio con- 
venire, non autem sapientibus et philosophiam 
affectantibus.’—" It appears that wreaths of 
flowers were adapted for poets and revellers at 
banquets, but by no means became those who 
had pretensions to wisdom and philosophy.” 
On this principle, in his 152d chapter. he dis- 
covers arefinement in Virgil, describing the 
rarland of the poet Silenus, as fallen off; whieh 
ΝΙΝ ΡΤ ΒΕ, he thinks, the divine intoxication 
of Silenus from that of common drunkards, who | 
always wear their erowns while they drink. 
Such is the ‘labor ineptianum” of commen- 
tators! 


Thus 


rae 


“ν. 


- ~ 


Trip the mazy dance along, 

Fling my nee of years away, 

And be as wild, as young, as they. 
Hither haste, some cordial soul! 
Help to my lips the brimming bowl! 
And you shall see this hoary sage 
Forget at once his locks and age. 
He still can chant the festive hymn, 
He still can kiss the goblet’s brim ;* 
As deeply quaff, as largely fill, 
And play the fool right nobly still. 


ODE LIV.t 


METHINKS, the pictured bull we see 
Is amorous Joye—it must be he! 
How fondly blest he seems to bear 
That fairest of Phoenician fair! 

How proud he breasts the foamy tide, 
And spurns the billowy surge aside! 


*He stillcan kiss the goblet’s brim, &c.) Wine 
is prescribed by Galen, as an excellent medicine 
for old men: ‘ Quod frigidos et humoribus ex- 
pletos calefaciat, &c;" but Nature was Ana- 
ereon’s physician. 

There is a proverb in Eriphus, as quoted by 
Athenzeus, which says, ‘that wine makes an 
old man dance whether he will or not.” 


Λογος ear’ apxatos, ov κακως εχων, 
Οινον λεγουσι Tous yepovTas, ὦ πάτερ, 
Πειθειν χορεειν ov βϑέλοντας. 


+ * This ode is written upon a picture which 
represented the rape of Europa.’’-—Madame 
Dacier. 

It may probably have been a description of 
one of those coins, which the Sidonians struck 
off in honor of Europa, representing a woman 
earried across the sea by a bull. Thus Natalis 
Comes, lib. viii. cap. 23. ‘‘Sidonii numismata 
cum fceeminé tauri dorso insidente ac mare 
transfretante cuderunt inejus honorem.” In 
the little treatise upon the goddess of Syria, at- 
tributed very falsely to Lucian, there is men- 
tion of this coin, and of a temple dedicated by 
the Sidonians to Astarté, whom some, it ap- 
pears, confounded with Europa. 

The poet Moschus has left a very beautiful 
idyl on the story of Enropa. 


+t No: he descends from climes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove!] Thus 
Moschus :— 


Kpvuwe jeov και τρεψε δεμας" και yeveto ταυρος. 


The God forgot himself, his heaven, for love, 
And a bull's form belied th’ almighty Jove. 


§This ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose. 
“All antiquity (says Barres) has produced 
nothing more beautiful.” 

From the idea of peculiar excellence, which 
the ancients attached to this flower, arose a 
pretty proverbial expression, used by Aristo- 
planes, according to Suidas, poéda μ᾽ εἰρηκας, 
“ You have spoken roses,”’ a phrase somewhat 
similar to the ‘dire des fleurettes’’ of the 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


a “τ; Σ ΤΠΠΤΠὯΠΤΠἷΠἷΠἷΠἷ“΄“ἷ“΄πΠπΠπἧἃἷϊἵϊὯ-----΄ΤΤ͵ τὺ 5 τ ΤΤΤΤΤ΄ἬἪαἄ α Ἀἀα. 


97 


Could any beast of vulgar vein 
Undaunted thus defy the main ? 

No: he descends from climes above, 
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove "ἢ 


ODE LY.§ 


WHILE we invoke the wreathed spring, 

Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing 1} 

Whose breath perfumes th’ Olympian 
bowers ; 

Whose virgin blush, of chasten’d dye, 

Enchants so much our mortal eye. 

When pleasure’s springtide season glows, 

The Graces love to wreathe the rose ; 

And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, { 

An emblem of herself perceives. 

Oft hath the poet’s magic tongue 

The rose’s fair luxuriance sung ;** 

And long the Muses, heavenly maids, 


French. In the same idea of excellence origi- 
nated, I doubt not, a very curious application 
of the word ῥόδον, for which the inquisitive 
reader may consult Gaulminus upon the epi- 
thalamium of our poet, where it is introduced 
in the romance of Theodorus. Muretus, in one 
of his elegies, calls his mistress his rose :— 
Jam te igitur rursus teneo, formosula, jam te 
(Quid trepidas?) tenco; jam, rosa, te teneo. 
Eleg. 8. 
Now I again may clasp thee, dearest, 
What is there now, on earth, thou fearest ἢ 
Again these longing arms infold thee, 
Again, my rose, again I hold thee. 


This, like most of the terms of endearment 
in the modern Latin poets, is taken from Plau- 
tus; they were yulgar and colloqujal in his 
time, but are among the elegancies of the mod- 
ern Latinists. 

Passeratius alludes to the ode before us, in the 
beginning of his poem on the Rose :— 
Carmine digna rosa est; vellem caneretur ut 

illam 
Teius arguta cecinit testudine vates. 

|| Resplendent rose ! to thee we'll sing; | Ihave 
passed over the line σὺν éraipec αὐξει μελπὴν 
which is corrupt in this original reading, an 
has been very little improved by the annota- 
tors. I should suppose it to be an interpola- 
tion, if it were not for a line which occurs af- 
terwards : φερε δὴ φυσιν Acywperv. 

4 And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, &c.] 
Belleau, in a note upon an old French poet, 
quoting the original here appodiowy τ᾽ αθυρμα, 
translates it, ‘comme les délices et mignardi- 
ses de Venus.” 

** Oft hath the poet's magic tongue 

The rose's fair luxuriance sung; &c.] ‘The 
following is a fragment of the Leshian poetess. 
It is cited in the romance of Achilles Tatius, 
who appears to haye resolved the numbers into 
prose. Ec tots ανθεσιν ἡθελεν ὁ Zeus επιθειναι 
βασιλεα, To ῥοδον αν των ανθεων εβασιλενε. yns 
ἐστι κοσμος, φυτων αγλαῖσμα, οφθαλμος ανθεων, 


98 MOORD’S 


Have rear’d it in their tuneful shades. 
When, at the early glance of morn, 
It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 
*Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, 
To cull the timid flow’ret thence, 
And wipe with tender hand away 
The tear that on its blushes lay! 
’Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, 
Yet dropping with Aurora’s gems, 
And fresh inhale the spicy sighs 
That from the weeping buds arise. 


When revel reigns, when mirthis high, 
And Bacchus beams in every eye, 
Our rosy fillets scent exhale, 
And fill with balm the fainting gale. 
There’s naught in nature bright or gay, 
Where roses do not shed their ray. 
When morning paints the orient skies, 
Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ;* 
Young nymphs betray the rose’s hue, 
O’er whitest armsit kindles through. 
In Cytherea’s form it glows, 
And mingles with the living snows. 


The rose distils a healing balm, 
The beating pulse of pain to calm ; 


λειμωνος epvOnua, καλλος αστραπτον. Epwtos 
πνει, Adpoditny προξενει, ευειδεσι φυλλοις κομᾶ 
εὐκινήτοις TETAAOLS τρυφᾶ. TO πεταλον τῳ Ζεφυρῳ 
γελα. 

If Jove would give the leafy bowers 

A queen for all their world of flowers, 

The rose would be the choice of Jove, 

And blush the queen of every grove. 

Sweetest child of weeping morning, 

Gem, the vest of earth adorning, 

Eye of gardens, light of lawns, 

Nursling of soft summer dawns ; 

Love’s own earliest sigh it breathes, 

Beauty’s brow with lustre wreathes, 

And, to young Zephyr’s warm caresses, 

Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, 

Till, blushing with the wanton’s play, 

Its cheek wears e’en a richer ray ! 

* When morning paints the orient skies, 

Her fingers burn with roseate dyes; &c.) In 
the original here, he enumerates the many epi- 
thets of beauty, borrowed from roses, which 
were used by the poets, παρα των σοφων. We 
see that poets were dignified in Greece with 
the title of sages; even the careless Anacreon, 
who lived but for love and yoluptuousness, was 
ealled by Plato the wise Anacreon—“fuit hee 
sapientia quondam.”’ 

bprcscrnes the cold inurned clay, dc.) He 
here alludes to the use of the rose in embalm- 
ing; and, perhaps, (as Barnes thinks.) to the 
rosy unguent with which Venus anointed the 
corpse of Heetor.—Homer's Iliad w. It may 
likewise regard the ancient practice of putting 
garlands of roses on the dead, as in grating 
Theb. lib. x. 782. 
hi sertis, in veris honore soluto 


WORKS. 


Preserves the cold inurned clay,t 
And mocks the vestige of decay :t 
And when, at length, in pale decline, 
Its florid beauties fade and pine, 
Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath 
Diffuses odor even in death !§ [sprung? 
Ob! whence could such a plant have 
Listen,—for thus the tale is sung. 
When, humid, from the silvery stream, 
Effusing beauty’s warmest beam, 
Venus appear’d, in flushing hues, 
Mellow’d by ocean’s briny dews; 
When, in the starry courts above, 
The pregnant brain of mighty Jove 
Disclosed the nymph of azure glance, 
The nymph who shakes the martial 
lance ;— 
Then, then, in strange eventful hour, 
The earth produced an infant flower, 
Which sprung, in blushing glories dress’d, 
And wanton’d o’er its parent breast. 
The gods beheld this brilliant birth, 
And hail’d the Rose, the boon of earth! 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed,]|| 
And bade them bloom, the flowers divine 


Accumulant artus, patriaque in sede reponunt 
Corpus odoratum. 

Where ‘‘veris honor,” though it mean every kind 
of flowers, may seem more particularly to refer 
to the rose, which our poet in another ode ealls 
éapos μέλημα. We read, in the Hieroglyphics 
of Pierius, lib. lv., that some of the ancients 
used to order in their wills, that roses should be 
annually scattered on their tombs, and Pierius 
has adduced some sepulechral inscriptions to 
this purpose. 

{And mocks the vestige of decay ;] Whenhesays 
that this flower prevails over time itself, he still 
alludes to its efficacy in embalmment, (ποτῷ 
poneret ossa rosa. Propert. lib. 7. eleg. 17,) or 
perhaps to the subsequent idea of its fragranee 
surviving its beauty; for he can scarcely mean 
to praise for duration the ‘‘nimium breves 
flores" of the rose. Philostratus compares this 
flower with love, and says, that they both defy 
the influence of time; ypovoy δὲ ovre ἔρως, ovte 
poda oder. Unfortunately the similitude lies 
not in their duration, but their transience. 

§ Sweet asin youth, its balmy breath 

Diffuses odor even in death !| Thus. Casper 
Barleus, in his Ritus Nuptiarum: 

Ambrosium late rosa tune quoque spargit odo- 

Cum fluit, aut multo languida sole jacet. [rem, 

Nor then the rose its odor loses, 
When all its flushing beauties die ; 

Nor less ambrosial balm diffuses, 
When wither’d by the solar eye. 


\| With nectar drops, a ruby tide, 

The sweetly orient buds they dyed, dc.) The 
author of the “ Pervigilium Veneris ’ (a poem 
attributed to Catullus, the style of whieh ap- 
pears to me to have all the labored Juxuriance 


ΔΑ ΣΡ. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


99 


—— 88 ΄΄“ἤ“Ές------ς--ς--Ὸ----- 


Of him who gave the glorious vine ; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the morn. 


ODE LYVI.* 


He, who instructs the youthful crew 
To bathe them in the brimmer’s dew, 
And taste, uncloy’d by rich excesses, 
All the bliss that wine possesses ; 
He, who inspires the youth to bound 
Blastie through the dance’s round,— 
Bacchus, the god again is here, 
And leads along the blushing year; 
The blushing year with vintage teems, 
Ready to shed those cordial streams, 
Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 
Tlluminate the sons of earth !t 

Then, when the ripe and vermil wine,— 
Blest infant of the pregnant vine, 
Which now in mellow clusters swells,— 
Oh! when it bursts its roseate cells, 
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow, 
To balsam every mortal wo! 


of a much later period) ascribes the tincture of 
e rose to the blood from the wound of 
onis— 


rose 
Fusz aprino de eruore— 


according to the emendation of Lipsius. In the 
following epigram this hue is differently ac- 
counted for :— 


Tila quidem studiosa suum defendere Adonim, 
Gradivus stricto quem petit ense ferox, 
Aflixit duris vestigia ceca rosetis, 
Albaque divino picta cruore rosa est. 
While the enamor’d queen of joy 
Flies to protect her loyely boy, 
On whom the jealous war-god rushes; 
She treads upon a thorned rose, 
And while the wound with crimson flows, 
The snowy flow’ret feels her blood, and 
blushes. 


* « Compare with this elegant ode the verses 
of Uz, lib 1. ‘die Weinlese.’”—Degen. . 

This appears to be one of the hymns which 
were sung at the anniversary festival of the 
vintage ; one of the επιληνιοι ὕμνοι, as Our poet 
himself terms them in the fifty-ninth ode. We 
cannot help feeling a sort of reverence for these 
classic relies of the religion of antiquity. Hor- 
ace may be supposed to have written the nine- 
teenth ode of his second book, and the twenty- 
fifth of the third, for some bacchanalian cele- 
bration of this kind. 

t Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, 

Illuminate the sons of earth!) Inthe orig- 
inal ποτὸν agrovoy κομιζων. Madame Dacier 
thinks that the poet here had the nepenthé of 
Homer in his mind. Odyssey, lib. iv. This 
nepenthé was a something of exquisite charm, 
intused by Helen into the wine of her guests, 
which had the power of dispelling every anx- 


None shall be then cast down or weak, 
For health and joy shall light each cheek; 
No heart will then desponding sigh, 
For wine shall bid despondence 
Thus—till another autumn’s glow 
Shall bid another vintage flow. 


ODE LVII.t 


Whose was the artist hand that spread 

Upon this disk the ocean’s hed ?§ 

And, in a flight of fancy, high 

As aught on earthly wing can fly, 

Depicted tRus, in semblance warm, 

The Queen of Love’s voluptuous form 

Floating along the silv’ry sea 

In beauty’s naked majesty ! 

Oh! he hath given th’ enamor’d sight 

A witching banquet of delight, [clear, 

Where, gleaming through the waters 

Glimpses of undream’d charms appear, 

And all that mystery loves to sereen, 

Faney, like Faith, adores unseen. || 
Light as the leaf, that on the breeze 

Of summer skims the glassy seas, 


" 
. 


iety. A French writer, De Meré, conjectures 
that this spell, which made the bowl so beguil- 
ing, was the charm of Helen’s conversation. 
See Bayle, art. Heléne. 

t This ode is a very animated description of 
a picture of Venus on a discus, which repre- 
sented the goddess in her first emergence from 
the waves. About two centuries after our poet 
wrote, the pencil of the artist Apelles embel- 
lished this subject, in his famous painting of the 
Venus Anadyomené, the model of which, as 
Pliny informs us, was the beautiful Campaspe, 
given to him by Alexander; though, according 
to Natalis Comes, lib. vii. Cap. 10,10 was Phryne 
who sat to Apelles for the face and breast of 
this Venus. 

There are a few blemishes in the reading of the 
ode before us, which have influenced Faber, 
Heyne, Brunck, &e., to denounce the whole 
poem as spurious. But, “ non ego paucis offen- 
dar maculis.” I think it is quite beautiful 
enough to be authentic. 


§ Whose was the artist hand that spread 

Upon this disk the ocean’s bed?| The 
abruptness of apa τις τορευσε ποντον is finely 
expressive of sudden admiration, and is one of 
those beauties which we cannot but admire in 
their souree, though, by frequent imitation, they 
are now become familiar and unimpressive. 

|| And all that mystery lovesato screen, 

Faney, like Faith, adores unseen, &e.) The 
picture here has all the delicate character of the 
semi-redueta Venus, and affords a happy speci- 
men of what the poetry of passion ought to be— 
glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon 
the heart from concealment. Few of the an- 
cients have attained this modesty of descrip- 
tion, which, like the golden cloud that hung 
over Jupiter and Juno. is impervious to every 
beam but that of fancy. 


100 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


I a τ τσ το 


She floats along the ocean’s breast, 
Which undulates in sleepy rest ; 

While stealing on, she gently pillows 
Her bosom on the heaving billows. 
Her bosom, like the dew-wash’d rose,* 
Her neck, like April’s sparkling snows, 
Illume the liquid path she traces, 

And burn within the stream’s embraces. 
Thus on she moves in languid pride, 
Encircled by the azure tide, 

As some fair lily o’er a bed 

Of violets bends its graceful head. 


Beneath their queen’s inspiring glance, 
The dolphins o’er the green sea dance, 
Bearing in triumph young Desire,t 
And infant Love with smiles of fire! 
While, glittering through the silver 
The tenants of the briny caves [waves, 
Around the pomp their gambols play, 
And gleam along the watery way. 


ODE LVIII.t 


WHEN Gold, as fleet as zepbyr’s pinion, 
Escapes like any faithless minion,§ 
And flies me, (as he flies me ever, )]| 
Do I pursue him? never, never! 

No, let the false deserter go, 

For who could court his direst foe ? 
But, when 1 feel my lighten’d mind 


* Her bosom, like the dew-wash’d rose, dc.) 
“*Podewv (SayS an anonymous annotator) is 
a whimsical epithet for the bosom.” Neither 
Catullus nor Gray have been of his opinion. 
The former has the expression, 

En hie in roseis latet papillis ; 
And the latter, 
Lo! where the rosy-bosom’d hours, &e. 

Crottus, a modern Latinist, might indeed be 
censured for too vague a use of the epithet 
“rosy,” when he applies it to the eyes:—‘e 
roseis oculis.” 


young Desire, dc.]_ In the orig- 
inal Ἵμερος, who was the same deity with Jo- 
cus among the Romans. Aurelius Augurellus 
has a poem beginning— 
Invitat olim Bacchus ad ecenam suos 
Comon, Jocum, Cupidinem. 
Which Parnell has closely imitated :— 
Gay Bacchus, liking Esteourt’s wine, 
A uoble meal bespoke us ; 
And for the guests that were to dine, 
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus, &e. 
1 have followed Barnes’s arrangement of 
this ode, which, though deviating somewhat 
from the Vatican MS., appears to me the more 
natural order. 
§ When Gold. as fleet as zephyr’s pinion, 
Escapes like any faithless minion, de.) In 
the original Ὃ δραπέτης ὁ χρυσος. There is 
a kind of pun in these words, as Madame Da- 
cier has already remarked; for Chrysos, which 


No more by grovelling gold confined, 

Then loose 1 all such clinging cares, 

And cast them to the vagrant airs. 

Then feel I, too, the Muse’s spell, 

And wake to life the dulcet shell, 

Which, roused once more, to beauty 
sings, 

While love dissolves along the strings! 


But scarcely has my heart been taught 
How little Gold deserves a thought, 
When lo! the slave returns once more, 
And with him wafts delicious store 
Of racy wine, whose genial art 
In slumber seals the anxious heart. 
Again he tries my soul to sever 
From love and song, perhaps forever ! 


Away, deceiver! why pursuing 
Ceaseless thus my heart’s undoing? 
Sweet is the song of amorous fire, 
Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre ; 
Oh! sweeter far than all the gold 
Thy wings can waft, thy mines ean hold. 
Well do I know thy arts, thy wiles— 
They wither’d Love’s young wreathed 

smiles ; 
And o’er his lyre such darkness shed, 
I thought its soul of song was fled! 
They dash’d the wine-cup, that, by him, 
Was filled with kisses to the brim. ] 


signifies gold, was also a frequent name for s 
slave. In one of Lucian’s dialogues, there is, I 
think, a similar play upon the word, where the 
followers of Chrysippus are called golden fishes. 
The puns of the ancients are, in general, even 
more vapid than our own ; some of the best are 
those recorded of Diogenes. 
l| And flies me, (as he flies me ever.) &e.] Ἀεὶ 

δ᾽, aew pe φευγει. This grace of iteration has 
already been taken notice of. Though some- 
times merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly 
expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we 
may easily believe that it was one of the many 
sources of that energetie sensibility which 
breathed through the style of Sappho. See 
Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. 9. It will not be snid 
that this is a mechanical ornament by any one 
who can feel its charm in those lines of Catul- 
lus, where he complains of the infidelity of his 
inistress, Lesbia:— 

Coeli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia illa, 

Illa Lesbia, quam Catullus nnam, 

Plus quam se atque suos amayit omnes, 

Nune, &e. 


Si sic omnia dixisset!—but the rest does not 
bear citation. 
Ἵ They dash'd the wine-cup, that, by him, 
Was jill'd with kisses to the brim.) Original :— 
Φιληματων de kedvwv, 
Tlodwy κυπελὰκ κιρνης. 


Horace has ‘ Desiderique temperare pocu- 
lum,” not figuratively, however, like Anacreon, 


Soom 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


101 


Go—fly to haunts of sordid men, 

But come not near the bard again. 

Thy glitter in the Muse’s shade, 

Scares from her bower the tuneful maid, 
And not for worlds would I forego 
That moment of poetic glow, 

When my full soul, in Fancy’s stream, 
Pours o’er the lyre its swelling theme. 
Away, away ! to worldlings hence, 
Who feel not this diviner sense ; 

Give gold to those who love that pest,— 
But leave the poet poor and blest. 


ODE LIX.* 


RIPEN’D by the solar beam, 

Now the ruddy clusters teem 

Tn osier baskets borne along 

By all the festal vintage throng 

Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 

Ripe as the melting fruits they bear. 

Now, now they press the pregnant 
grapes, 

And now the captive stream escapes, 

In fervid tide of nectar gushing, 

And for its bondage proudly blushing ! 

While, round the vat’s impurpled brim, 

The choral song, the vintage hymn 

Of rosy youths and virgins fair, 

Steals on the charm’d and echoing air. 

Mark, how they drink, with all their eyes, 

The orient tide that sparkling flies, 

The infant Bacchus, born in mirth, 

While Love stands by, to hail the birth. 


When he, whose verging years decline 

As deep into the vale as mine, 
When he inhales the vintage-cup, 
His feet, new-wing’d, from earth spring 

up, : 
but importing the love-philtres of the witches. 
By “cups of kisses? our poet may allude to a 
favorite gallantry among the ancients, of drink- 
ing when the lips of their mistresses had touch- 
ed the brim :— 

“Or leave a kiss within the cup, 

And Ill not ask for wine.” 
As in Ben Jonson's translation from Philostra- 
tus; and Lucian has aconeceit upon the same 
idea, "Ἵνα καὶ muvns ἅμα και didns,” “that 
you may atonce both drink and kiss.” 

» The title EmAynvios vuvos, which Barnes 
has given to this ode, is by no means appropri- 
ate. We have already had one of those hynins, 
(ode 56,) but this is a deseription of the vintage ; 
and the title εἰς owov, which it bears in the 
Vatican MS., is more correct than any that 
have been suggested. 

Degen, in the true spirit of literary skepti- 
cism, doubts that this ode is genuine, without 
assigning any reason for such a suspicion ;— 


And as he dances, the fresh air 
Plays Spaces through his silvery 
air. 

Meanwhile young groups whom love in- 
vites, 

To joys e’en rivalling wine’s delights, 

Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, 

And there, in words and looks of love, 

Such as fond lovers look and say, 

Pass the sweet moonlight hours away.t 


ODE LX. 


AWAKE to life, my sleeping shell, 
To Phoebus let thy numbers swell; 
And though no glorious prize be thine, 
No Pythian wreath around thee twine, 
Yet every hour is glory’s hour 
To him who gathers wisdom’s flower. 
Then wake thee from thy voiceless slum- 
bers, 
And to the soft and Phrygian numbers, 
Which, tremblingly, my lips repeat, 
Send echoes from thy chord as sweet. 
’Tis thus the swan, with fading notes, 
Down the Cayster’s current floats, 
While amorous breezes linger round, 
And sigh responsive sound for sound. 


Muse of the Lyre! illume my dream, 
Thy Phoebus is my faney’s theme ; 
And hallow’d is the harp I bear, 

And hallow’d is the wreath I wear, 
Hallow’d by him, the god of lays, 
Who modulates the choral maze. 

I sing the love which Daphne twined 
Around the godhead’s yielding mind " 
I sing the blushing Daphne’s flight 
From this ethereal son of Light; 
And how the tender, timid maid 


“nonamo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare.” 
But this is far from being satisfactory criticism. 

] Lhose well acquainted with the original 
need hardly be reminded that. in these few con- 
cluding verses, I have thought right to give 
only the general meaning of my author, leay- 
ing the details untouched. 

} This hymn to A pollo is supposed not to have 
been written by Anacreon; and it is undoubt- 
edly rather a sublimer flight than the Teian 
wing is accustomed to soar. But, in a poet of 
Whose works so small a proportion has reached 
us, diversity of style is by no means a safe eri- 
terion. If we knew Horace but as a satirist, 
should we easily believe there could dwell such 
animationin hislyre? Suidas says that our poet 
wrote hymns, and this perhaps is one of them. 
We ean perecive in what an altered and im- 
perfect state his works are at present, when we 
find a scholiast upon Horace eiting an ode from 
the third book of Anacreon. 


102 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Flew trembling to the kindly shade,* 

Resign’d a form, alas, too fair, 

And grew a verdant laurel there ; 

Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, 

Tn terror seem’d to tremble still! 

The god pursued, with wing’d desire ; 

And when his hopes were all on fire, 

And when to clasp the nymph he 
thought, 

A lifeless tree was all he caught ; 

And,’stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, 

Heard but the west-wind in the leaves! 


But, pause, my soul, no more, no 
more— 

Enthusiast, whither do I soar? 
This sweetly-madd’ning dream of soul 
Hath hwried me beyond the goal. 
Why should I sing the mighty darts 
Which fly to wound celestial hearts, 
When ah, the song, with sweeter tone, 
Can tell the darts that wound my own? 
Still be Anacreon, still inspire 


* And how the tender, timid maid 
Flew trembling to the kindly shade, éc.] 
Original :— 
To μεν exmehevye κεντρον, 
Φυσεως δ᾽ αμειψε μορφην. 

I find the word xevtpov here has a double 
force, as it also signifies that ‘‘omnium pa- 
rentem, quam sanctus Numa, &e. &e” (See 
Martial.) In order to confirm this import of 
the word here, those who are curious in new 
readings, may place the stop after φυσεως, 
thus :— 

To μεν exmehevye KevTpov 
Φυσεως, δ᾽ ἀμειψε μορφην. 

| Still be Anacreon, still inspire 

The descant of the Teian lyre:| The original 
is Tov Avaxpeovta μιμου. | have translated it 
under the supposition that the hymn is by Ana- 
ereon ; though, I fear, from this very line, that 
his claim to it can seareely be supported. 

Tov Avaxpeovta μιμοῦ, * Imitate Anacreon.” 
Such is the lesson given us by the lyrist; and 
if, in poctry, asimple eclezance of sentiment, 
enriched bythe most playful felicities of fancy, 
be a charm which invites or deserves imitation, 
where shall we find such a guide as Anacreon ? 
In morality, too, with some little reserve, we 
need not blush, I think, to follow in his foot- 
steps. For, if his song be the language of his 
heart, though luxurious and relaxed, he was 
artless and benevolent; and who would not for- 
give a few irregularities, when atoned for by 
virtues so rare and so endearing? When we 
think of the sentiment in those lines :— 

Away! I hate the sland’rous dart, 

Which steals to wound th’ unwary heart, 
how many are there in the world, to whom we 
would wish to say, Tov Avaxpeovra μιμου! 

} Here ends the last of the odes in the Vati- 
can MS., whose authority helps to confirm the 
genuine antiquity of them all, thoueh a few 
have stolen among the number, which we may 


The descant of the Teian lyre : t 

Still let the nectar’d numbers float, 
Distilling love in every note! [soul 
And when some youth, whose glowing 
Has felt the Paphian star’s control, 
When he the liquid lays shall hear, 

His heart will flutter to his ear, 

And drinking there of song divine, 
Banquet on intellectual wine ! t 


ODE LXI.§ 


YournH’s endearing charms are fled ; 
Hoary locks deform my head ; 

Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, 

All the flowers of life decay. || 

Withering age begins to trace 

Sad memorials o’er my face ; 

Time has shed .ts sweetest bloom, 

All the future must be gloom. 

This it is that sets me sighing ; 

hesitate in attributing to Anacreon. 1n the 
little essay prefixed to this translation, I obsery- 
ed that Barnes has quoted this manuscript in- 
correctly, relying upon an imperfect copy of it 
which Isaac Vossius had taken. I shall just 
mention two or three instances of this inaceu- 
racy—the first which occur tome. In the ode 


of the Dove, on the words II report συγκαλυψω,, 


he says, “ Vatican MS. συσκιαζων, etiam Pris- 
ciano invito ;’’ but the MS. reads συνκαλυψω, 
with συσκιασω interlined. Degen too, on 
the same line, is somewhat in error. In the 
twenty-second ode of this series, line thirteenth, 
the MS. has tevin with ae interlined, and 
Barnes imputes to it the reading of τενδη. 
In the fifty-seventh, line twelfth, he professes 
to have preserved the reading of fhe MS. 
Αλαλημενὴ "δ᾽ ex’ avty, while the latter has 
αλαλημενος δ᾽ ex’ av7a. Almost all the other an- 
notators have transplanted these errors from 
Barnes. 

§The intrusion of this melancholy ode, among 
the careless levities of our poet, reminds us of 
the skeletons which the Eeyptians used to hang 
up in their banquet-rooms, to inculcate ἃ 
thought of mortality even amidst the dissipa- 
tions of mirth. If it were not for the beauty of 
its numbers, the Teian Muse should disown this 
ode. “Quid habet illius, illius que spirabat 
amores ἢ "ἢ 

ΤῸ Stobeus we are indebted for it. 

\| Bloomy graces, dalliance aay, 

All the flowers of lifedecay.| Horace often, 
with feeling and elegance, deplores the fugaci- 
ty of human enjoyments. See book ii. ode 11; 
and thus in the second epistle, book ii. :— 

Singula de nobis anni preedantur euntes; 
Eripuere jocos, venerem, conyivia, ludum, 
The wing of every passing day 

Withers some blooming joy away; 

And wafts from our enamor'd arms 

The banquet's mirth, the virgin’s charms, 


ODES OF ANACREON. ~ 


Dreary is the thought of dying! * 
Lone and dismal is the road, 
Down to Pluto’s dark abode ; 

And, when once the journey’s o’er, 
Ah! we can return no more !f 


ODE LXII.¢ 


Fit me, boy, as deep a draught, 

As e’er was {ill’d, as e’er was quaff’d; 

But let the water amply flow, 

To cool the grape’s intemperate glow ;§ 

Let not the fiery god be single, 

But with the nymphs in union mingle. 

For though the bowl’s the grave of sad- 

Ne’erletit be the birth of madness. [ness, 

No, banish from our board to-night 

The reyelries of rude delight ; 

To Seythians leave these wild excesses, 

Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses! 

And while the temperate bowl we 
wreathe, 

In concert let our voices breathe, 

Beguiling every hour along 

With harmony of soul and song. 


* Dreary is the thought of dying, (6.}] Reg- 
nier, a libertine French poet, has written some 
sonnets on the approach of death, full of gloomy 
and trembling repentance. Chaulieu, however, 
supports more consistently the spirit of the 
Epicurean philosopher. See his poem, address- 
i to the Marquis de Lafare— 

Plus j’approche du terme et moins je le re- 

doute, &¢e. 

t And, when once the journey’s o'er, 

Ah! we can return nomore!| Scaliger, 
upon Catullus’s well-known lines, ‘ Qui nunc it 
per iter, &c.”” remarks that Acheren, with the 
same idea, is called avefodos by Theocritus, 

and duvcexdpomos by Nicander. 


| This ode consists of two fragments, which 
are to be found in Athenzeus, book x., and 
which Barnes, from the similarity of their ten- 
dency, has combined into one. I think thisa 
very justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in 
some other fragments of our poet. 
Degen refers us here to verses of Uz, lib. 
iv., ‘der Trinker.” 
§ But let the water amply flow, 
To cool the grape’s tntemperate glow; dc.) 
It was Amphictyon who first taught the Greeks 
to mix water with their wine; in commemora- 
tion of which circumstance they erected altars 
to Baechus and the nymphs. On this mytholog- 
ical allegory the following epigram is founded: 


Ardentem ex utero Semeles layére Lyzeum 
Naiades, extincto fulminis igne sacri; 
Cum nymphis igitur tractabilis, at sine 
nymphis 
Candenti rursus fulmine corripitur. 
PIERIUS VALERIANUS. 


Which is, non yerbum verbo,— 


103 


ODE LXIII.|| 


To Love, the soft and blooming child, 

I touch the harp in descant wild; 

To Love, the babe of Cyprian bowers, 

The boy, who breathes and blushes flow- 
ers; 

To Loye, for heaven and earth adore him, 

And gods and mortals bow before him ! 


ODE LXIV.4 


HAstTe thee, nymph, whose well-aim’d 
spear 

Wounds the fleeting mountain-deer ! 

Dian, Jove’s immortal child, 

Huntress of the savage wild ! 

Goddess with the sun-bright hair! 

Listen to a people’s prayer. 

Turn, to Lethe’s river turn, 

There thy vanquish’d people mourn !** 

Come to Lethe’s wavy shore, 

Tell them they shall mourn no more. 

Thine their hearts, their altars thine ; 

Must they Dian—must they pine? 


While heavenly fire consumed his Theban dame, 
A Naiad caught young Bacchus from the flame, 
And dipp’d him burning in her purest lymph; 
Hence, still he loves the Naind's erystal urn, 
And when his native fires too fiercely burn, 

Seeks the cool waters of the fountain-nymph. 

|| “This fragment is preserved in Clemens 
Alexandrinus, Strom. lib. vi., and in Arsenius, 
Collect. Griec.”"—Barnes. 

It appearsto have been the opening of a 
hymn in praise of Love. 

4 This hymnto Diana is extant in Hephes- 
tion. There is an anecdote of our poet, which 
has led some to doubt whether he ever wrote 
any odes of this kind. It is related by the 
Scholiast upon Pindar (Isthmionie. od. ii. vy. 1, 
as cited by Barnes) that Anacreon being asked, 
why he addressed all his hymns to women, 
and none to the deities ? answered, ‘‘ Because 
women are my deities.” 

Τ have assumed, it will be seen, in reporting 
this anecdote, the same liberty which { have 
thought it right to take in translating some of 
the odes; and it were to be wished that these 
little infidelities were always allowable in in- 
terpreting the writings of the ancients ; thus, 
when nature is forgotten in the original, in the 
translation ‘‘tamen usque recurret.” 

τα Turn, to Lethe’s river turn, 

There thy vanguish'd people mourn!) 
Lethe, a river of Ionia, according to Strabo, 
falling into the Meander. In its neighborhood 
was the city called Magnesia, in favor of whose 
inhabitants our poet is supposed to have ad- 
dressed this supplication to Diana. It was 
written (as Mannie Dacier conjectures) on 
the oceasion of some battle, in which the Mag- 
nesians had been defeated. 


104 


ODE LXY.* 
LIke some wanton filly sporting, 
Maid of Thrace, thou fly’st my courting. 
Wanton filly! tell me why 
Thou tripp’st away, with scornful eye, 
And seem’st to think my doating heart 
Is novice in the bridling art ? 
Believe me, girl, it is not so; 
Thow lt find this skilful hand can throw 
The reins around that tender form, 
However wild, however warm. 
Yes—trust me I can tame thy force, 
And turn and wind thee in the course. 
Though, wasting now thy careless hours, 
Thou sport amid the herbs and flowers, 
Soon shalt thou feel the rein’s control, 
And tremble at the wish’d-for goal! 


ODE LXVI.t 


To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, 
Fairest of all that fairest shine ; 

To thee, who rul’st with darts of fire 
This world of mortals, young Desire ! 
And oh! thou nuptial Power, to thee 
Who bear’st of life the guardian key, 
Breathing my soul in fervent praise, 
And weaving wild my votive lays, 
For thee, O Queen! I wake the lyre, 
For thee, thou blushing young Desire, 
And oh! for thee, thou nuptial Power, 
Come, and illume this genial hour. 


* This ode, which is addressed to some 
Thracian girl, exists in Heraclides, and has 
been imitated very frequently by Horace, as 
allthe annotators haye remarked. Madame 
Dacier rejects the allegory, which rnns_ so ob- 
viously through the poem, and supposes it to 
have been addressed to a young mare belong- 
ing to Polycrates. 

Pierius, in the fourth book of his Hieroglyph- 
ics, cites this ode, and informs us that the 
horse was the hieroglyphical embiem of pride. 

1 This ode is introduced in the Romance of 
Theodorus Prodromus, and is that kind of 
epithalamium which was sung like a scholiuin 
at the nuptial banquet. 

Among the many works of the impassioned 
Sappho, of which time and ignorant supersti- 
tion have deprived us, the loss of her epithala- 
miums is not one of the least that we deplore. 
The following lines are cited as a relic of one 
of those poems :— 

Ολβιε yauBpe. σοι μεν δὴ γαμος ὡς apao, 
Ἐκτετελεστ᾽, exers δὲ παρθενον av apao. 

See Sealiger, in his Poetics, on the Epithala- 
mlum. 

| And foster there an infant tree, 


_ To bloom like her, and tower like thee !| Orig- 
inal Κυπαριττος δε πεφυκοι σευ ενι κηπω. Pas- 


MOORE’S WORKS. : 


Look on thy bride, too happy boy, 
And while thy lambent glance of Ὧν 
Plays over all her blushing charms, 
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, 
Before thy lovely, trembling prey, 
Like a young birdling, wing away ! 
Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth, 
Dear to the Queen of amorous truth, 
And dear to her, whose yielding zone 
Will soon resign her all thine own. 
Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye, 
Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh. 
To those bewitching beauties turn ; 
For thee they blush, for thee they burn. 


Not more the rose, the queen of flow- 
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers, [ers, 
Than she unrivyall’d grace discloses, 

The sweetest rose, where all are roses. 
Oh! may the sun, benignant, shed 

His blandest influence o’er thy bed; 
And foster there an infant tree, 

To bloom like her, and tower like thee !t 


ODE LXVII.§ 


Ric in bliss, I proudly scorn 

The wealth of Amalthea’s horn ; 
Nor should I ask to call the throne 
Of the Tartessian prince my own;|| 
To totter through his train of years 
The victim of declining fears. 


seratius, upon the words ‘‘cum castum amisit 
florem,” in the Nuptial Song of Catullus, after 
explaining.“ flos” In somewhat a similar sense 
to that which Gaulminus attributes to ῥόδον, 
says, ‘‘ Hortum quoque yocant in quo flos ille 
earpitur, et Grecis κηπὸν ἐστὶ τὸ εφηβαιον 
γυναικων.᾽ 

I may remark, in passing, that the author of 
the Greek version of this charming ode of Ca. 
tullus, has neglected a most striking and ana- 
creontic beauty in those verses “ Ut flos in 
septis, &c.”’ which is the repetition of the line, 
“Multi illum pueri, multe optavére puellie,”’ 
with the slight alteration of nulli and nulle. 
Catullus himself, however, has been equally in- 
judicious in his version of the famous ode of 
Sappho; having translated yeAwoas ἱμεροεν, 
but omitted all notice of the accompanying 
charm, av dwvovoas. Horace has caught the 
spirit of it more faithfully :— 


Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 

§This fragment is preserved in the third book 
of Strabo. 

|| Of the Tartessian prince my own ;| He here 
alludes to Arganthonius, who lived, according 
to Lucian, a hundred and fifty years; anc 
reiened, according to Herodotus, eighty. See 
Barnes. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


One little hour of joy to me 
Is worth a dull eternity ! 


ODE LXVIII.* 


Now Neptune’s month our sky deforms, 

The angry night-cloud teems with storms; 

And savage winds, infuriate driven, 

Fly howling in the face of heaven! 

Now, now, my friends, the gathering 
gloom 

With roseate rays of wine illume: 

And while our wreaths of parsley spread 

Their fadeless foliage round our head, 

Let’s hymn th’ almighty power of wine, 

And shed libations on his shrine ! 


ODE LXIX.t 


THEY wove the lotus band to deck 

And fan with pensile wreath each neck; 
And every guest, to shade his head, 
Three little fragrant chaplets spread :} 
And one was of th’ Egyptian leaf, 

The rest were roses, fair and brief; 
While from a golden vase profound, 

To all on flowery beds around, 

A Hebe, of celestial shape, 

Pour’d the rich droppings of the grape ! 


ODE LXX.§ 


A BROKEN cake, with honey sweet, 
Is all my spare and simple treat : 


* This is composed of two fragments ; the 
seventieth and eighty-first in Barnes. They 
are both found in Eustathius. 

t Three fragments form this little ode, all of 
which are preserved in Athenzeus. They are 
the eighty-seecond, seventy-fifth, and eighty- 
third, in Barnes. 

tAnd every quest, to shade his head, 

Threelittle fragrant chaplets spread;| Longe- 
pierre, to give an idea of the luxurious estima- 
tion in which garlands were hell by the an- 
cients, relates an anecdote of a courtesan, who. 
in order to gratify three lovers, without leaving 
cause for jealousy with any of them, gave a kiss 
to one, let the other drink after her, and put a 
garland on the brow of the third; so that each 
was satisfied with his favor, and flattered him- 
self with the preference. 

This circumstance resembles very much 
the πυροῦ of one of the tensons of Savari 
de Mauléon, a troubadour. See L'Histoire 
Littéraire des Troubadours. The recital is a 
curious picture of the puerile gallantries of 
chivalry. 

§ Compiled by Barnes, from Athenzus, He- 
pheestion, and Arsenins. See Barnes, 80th. 

||Lhis [have formed from the eighty-fourth 
and eighty-fifth of Barnes's edition. The two 
fragments are found in Athenus. 


105 


And while a generous bow] I crown 
To float my little banquet down, 

I take the soft, the amorous lyre, 
And sing of loye’s delicious fire : 

In mirthful measures warm and free, 
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee ! 


ODE LXXI.|| 
Witu twenty chords my lyre is hung, 
And while I wake them all for thee, 
Thou, Ὁ maiden, wild and young, 
Disport’st in airy levity. 


The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its antler’d mother leaves behind, 
Is not more wantonly afraid, 
More timid of the rustling wind ! 


ODE LXXII.** 


Fare thee well, perfidious maid, 

My soul, too long on earth delay’d, 
Delay’d, perfidious girl, by thee, 

Is on the wing for liberty. 

I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, 

Since thou hast ceased to love me here! 


ODE LXXIII-tt 


AWHILE I bloom d, a happy flower, 
Till love approach’d one fatal hour, 
And made my tender branches feel 
The wounds of his avenging steel. 


| The nursling fawn, that in some shade 
Its antler’d mother leaves behind, de.) In 
the original :— 


‘Os ev ὑλη κεροεσσὴς 
Ἀπολειῴφθεις ὑπο μητρος. 


‘“‘Horned”’ here, undoubtedly, seems a 
strange epithet; Madame Dacier however ob- 
serves, that Sophocles, Callimachus, &c., have 
all applied it in the very samemanner, and she 
seems to agree in the conjecture of the scholi- 
ast upon Pindar, that perhaps horns are not 
always peculiar to the males. Ithink we may 
with more ease conclude it to be alicense of the 
poet, ‘‘jussit habere paellam cornua.” : 

*<This fragment is preserved by the scholi- 
ast upon Aristophanes, and is the eighty- 
seventh in Barnes. 

H This is to be found in Hephestion, and is 
the eighty-ninth of Burnes’s edition. 

Ihave omitted, from among these seraps, 8 
very considerable fragment imputed to our 
poet, Ξανθὴ δ᾽ Ἑυρυπυλὴ μελει, &e., which is 
yreserved in the twelfth book of Athenzeus, and 
1s the ninety-first in Barnes. If it was really 
Anaereon who wrote it, ‘‘nil fuit unquam sic 
impar 5101. It is in a style of gross satire, 
and abounds with expressions that never could 
be gracefully translated. 


MOORE'S 


106 


Then lost I fell, like some poor willow | 
That falls across the wintry billow ! 


ODE LXXTY.* 


Monarcu Love, resistless boy, 

With whom the rosy Queen of Joy, 

And nymphs, whose eyes have Hea- 
ven’s hue, 

Disporting tread the mountain-dew ; 

Propitious, oh! receive my sighs, 

Which, glowing with entreaty, rise, 

That thou wilt whisper to the breast 

Of her I love thy soft behest; 

And counsel her to learn from thee, 

That lesson thou hast taught to me. 

Ah! if my heart no flattery tell, [well! 

Thow’lt own I’ve learn’d that lesson 


ODE LXXV.t 
Spirit of Love, whose locks unroll’d, 


Stream on the breeze like floating gold; | 


Come, within a fragrant cloud 
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud ; 
And, on those wings that sparkling play, 
Waft, oh, waft me hence away! 

Love! my soul is full of thee, 

Alive to all thy luxury. 

But she, the nymph for whom I glow, 
The lovely Lesbian mocks my wo; 
Smiles at the chill and hoary hues, 
That time upon my forehead strews. 
Alas! I fear she keeps her charms, 

In store for younger, happier arms! 


ODE LUXXVI.t 


HITHER, gentle Muse of mine, 
Come and teach thy votary old 


« A fragment preserved by Dion Chrysostom. 


Orat. ii. de Regno. See Barnes, 93. 


}Lhis fragment, which is extant in Athe- | 


nus, |Barnes, 101,) is supposed, on the author- 
ity of Chameleon, to have been addressed to 
Sappho. 
her, which some romancers have supposed to be 
her answerto Anacreon. ‘ Mais par malheur, 
(as Bayle says,) Sappho vint au monde environ 
cent ou six vingt ans avant Anacréon.’’—Nou- 
velles de la Rép. des Lett. tom. ii. de Novembre, 
1634. The following is her fragment, the com- 
pliment of which is finely imagined; she sup- 
poses that the Muse has dictated the verses 
of Anacreon— 
Κεινον, ὦ χρυσοθρονε Μουσ᾽ ενισπες 
Ὕμνον, εκ τῆς καλλιγυναικος ἐεσθλας 
Τηΐος χωρας ὃν αειδε τερπνως 
IIpeaBus ayauos. 
Oh Muse! who sitt’st on golden throne, 
Full many a hymn of 
The Teian save is taught by thee 
But, Goddess, from thy throne of gold, 


witching tone 


We have also a stanza attributed to | 


WORKS. 


Many a golden hymn divine, 

For the nymph with vest of gold. 
Pretty nymph, of tender age, 

Fair thy silky locks unfold ; 
Listen to a hoary sage, 

Sweetest maid with vest of gold! 


ODE LXXVII.§ 

Wout that I were a tuneful lyre, 

Of burnish’d ivory fair, 
Which, in the Dionysian choir, 

Some blooming boy should bear! 
Would that I were a golden vase, 

That some bright nymph might hold 
My spotless frame, with blushing grace, 

Herself as pure as gold! 


ODE LXXVIIL.| 


WHEN Cupid sees how thickly now 
The snows of Time fall o’er my brow, 
Upon his wing of golden light, 

| He passes with an eaglet’s flight, 

And flitting onward seems to say, 

|“ Fare thee well, thou’st had thy day !” 


Cuprip, whose lamp has lent the ray, 
That lights our life’s meandering way, 
That God, within this bosom stealing, 
Hath waken’da strange, mingled feeling, 
Which pleases, though so sadly teasing, 
And teases, though so sweetly pleasing !¥ 
LET me resign this wretched breath, 
Since now remains to me 
No other balm than kindly death, 
To soothe my misery !** 


The sweetest hymn thou’st ever told, 
He lately learn’d and sung for me. 

t Formed of the 124th and 119th fragments in 
Barnes, both of which are to be found in Seal- 
iger’s Poetics. 

De Pauw thinks that these detached lines and 
couplets, which Sealiger has adduced as exam- 
sles in his Poeties, are by no means authentic, 
but of his own fabrication. 

§This is generally inserted among the remains 
of Alezeus. Some, however, have attributed it to 
Anacreon. See our poet’s twenty-second ode, 
and the notes. 

|| See Barnes, 173d. This fragment, to which 
I have taken the liberty of adding a turn not to 
| be found in the original, is cited by Lucian in 

his short essay on the Gallie Hercules. 
| Barnes, 125th. This is in Sealiger’s Poetics. 
Gail has omitted it in his collection of frag- 
ments 
This frawment is extant in Arsenins and 
Hephmestion. See Barnes, (69th,) who has 
yanged the metre of it very skillfully. 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


107 


ae Ia a ee aa RE Se ρον τς 
I Know thou loy’st a brimming measure, | with too much freedom; but designing 


And art a kindly, cordial host ; 
But let me fill and drink at pleasure— 
' Thus I enjoy the goblet most.* 


I FEAR that love disturbs my rest, 
Yet feel not love’s impassion’d care ; 

I think there’s madness in my breast, 
Yet cannot find that madness there !t 


From dread Leucadia’s frowning steep 
ΤΊ] plunge into the whitening deep : 
And there lie cold, to death resign’d, 
Since Love intoxicates my mind !f 


Mix me, child, a cup divine, 
Crystal water, ruby wine: 

Weave the frontlet, richly flushing, 
O’er my wintry temples blushing. 
Mix the brimmer—Love and I 
Shall no more the contest try. 
Here—upon this holy bowl, 

I surrender all my soul !§ 


AmoneG the Epigrams of the Antho- 
logia, are found some panegyrics on Ana- 
ereon, which I had translated, and 
originally intended as a sort of Coronis 
to this work. But I found, upon con- 
sideration, that they wanted variety ; 
and that a frequent recurrence, in them, 
of the same thought, would render a 
collection of such poems uninteresting. I 
shall take the liberty, however, of subjoin- 
ing a few, selected from the number, 
that I may not appear to have totally 
neglected those ancient tributes to the 
fame of Anacreon. The four epigrams 
which I give are imputed to Antipater 
Sidonius. They are rendered, perhaps, 

*Barnes, 72d. This fragment, which is found 
in Athenzeus, contains an excellent lesson forthe 
votaries of Jupiter Hospitalis. 

1 Found in Hepheestion, (see Barnes, 95th,) 
and reminds one somewhat of the following :— 
Odi et amo; quare id faciam fortasse requiris ; 
Nescio: sed fieri sentio, et exerucior. Carm. 53. 
Tlove thee and hate thee, but if I can tell 

The cause of my love and my hate, may 1 die. 
I can feel it, alas; I can feel it too well, [why. 

That I love thee and hate thee, but cannot tell 

1 This is also in Hephestion, and perhaps is 
afragment of some poem in which Anacreon 
had commemorated the fate of Sappho. It is 
the 123d of Barnes. 

§ Collected by Barnes, from Demetrius Pha- 
lareus and Eustathius, and subjoined in his 
edition to the epigrams attributed to our poet. 
And here isthe last of those little scattered 
flowers, which I thought I might venture 
with any grace to transplant;—happy if it 


originally a translation of all that are 
extant on the subject, I endeavored to 
enliven their uniformity by sometimes 
indulging in the liberties of paraphrase. 


ANTINATPOY SIAQNIOY, ΕἸΣ ANAKPE- 
ONTA. 
@AAAOL τετρακορυμβος, Avaxpeov, aude σε 


κισσος 

ἁβρα Te λειμωνων πορφυρεων πεταλα 

myyat δ᾽ ἀαργινοεντὸος αναθλιβοιντο γάλακτος, 
εὐωδες δ᾽ απὸ yns Hou χεοιτο μεθυ, 

οφρα κε τοι σποδιη TE καιοστεα τερψιν apyTat, 
ει de Tis φθιμενοις χριμπτεται ευὐῴροσυνα 

w To φιλον στερξας, φιλε, βαρβιτον, w σὺν αοιδα 
παντα διαπλωσας και συν ερωτι βιον. 


ARounD the tomb, oh, bard divine! 
Where soft thy hallow’d brow reposes, 
Long may the deathless ivy twine, 
And summer spread her waste of roses ! 


And there shall many a fount distil, 
And many a rill refresh the flowers ; 

But wine shall be each purple rill, 
And every fount be milky showers. 


Thus, shade of him, whom Nature taught 
To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure, 
Who gave to love his tenderest thought, 
Who gave to love his fondest mea- 
sure,— 
Thus, after death, if shades can feel, 
Thou may’st, from odors round thee 
streaming, 
A pulse of past enjoyment steal, 
And live again in blissful dreaming ἢ] 


TOY AYTOY, ΕΙΣ TON AYTON. 
TYMBOS Avaxpevovtos. 6 Tyios evOade κυκνος 
Evder, xy παιδων ζωροτατὴ μανιη. 
Ακμὴν λειριοεντι μελιζεται αμφι Βαθυλλω 
Ἵμερα' και κισσου λευκος οδωδε λιθος, 
Ουδ᾽ Αἰδης σοι epwras απεσβεσεν, ev δ᾽ Αχεροντος 
Ὧν, ὅλος ὠδινεις Κυπριδι θερμοτερη. 


could be said of the garland which they form, 
To δ᾽ wg’ AvaxpeovTos. 

|| Antipater Sidonius, the author of this epi- 
gram, lived, according to Vossius, de Poetis 
Grecis, in the second year of the 169th Olym- 
piad. He appears, from what Cicero and Quin 
tilian have said of him, to have been a kind of 
improvvisatore. See Institut. Orat. lib. x. cap. 
7. There is nothing more known respecting 
this poet, except some particulars about his 
illness and death, which are mentioned as 
curious by Pliny and others ;—and there remain 
of his works but a few epigrams in the Antho- 
logia, among which are found these inscriptions 
upon Anaecreon. These remains have been 
sometimes imputed to another poet* of the same 
name, of whom Vossius gives us the following 
account: ‘t Antipater Thessalonicensis vixi\ 
tompore Augusti Czesaris, ut qui saltantem 

*Pleraque tamen Thessalonicensi tribuenda videtie 
tur.—-Brunck, Lectiones et Emeidat. 


108 MOOREH’S WORKS. 


Here sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied 
shade ; [laid.* 

Here mute in death the Teian swan is 
Cold, cold that heart, which while on 
earth it dwelt [felt. 
All the sweet phrensy of love’s passion 
And yet, oh Bard! thou art not mute in 
death, [breath ;t 

Still do we catch thy lyre’s luxurious 
And still thy songs of soft Bathylla 
bloom, [tomb. 
Green as the ivy round thy mould’ring 
Nor yet has death obscured thy fire of 
love, [ian grove, 

For still it lights thee through the Ilys- 
Where dreams are thine, that bless th’ 
elect alone, Lown! 

And Venus calls thee even in death her 


viderit Pyladem, sicut constat ex quodam ejus 

epigrammate Ανθολογιας, lib. iv. tit. εἰς ορχεσ- 

τριδας. At eum ac Bathyllum primos fulsse 
pantomimos ac sub Augusto claruisse, satis 

notum ex Dione, &e. &e.” 

The reader, who thinks it worth observing, 
may find a strange oversight in Hoffman's 
quotation of this article from Vossius, Lexic. 
Univers. By the omission of a sentence, he has 
made Vossius assert that the poet Autipater 
was one of the first pantomime dancers in Rome. 

Barnes, upon the epigram before us, mentions 
& version of it by Brodaus, which is not to be 
found in that commentator; but he more than 
once confounds Brodzus with another annota- 
tor on the Anthologia, Vincentius Obsopceus, 
who has given a translation of the epigram. 

*—_ the Teian swan is laid.) Thus Horace 
of Pindar :— 

Multa Dirczeum levat aura cyenum, 

A. swan was the hieroglyphical emblem of a 
oet. Anacreon has been called the swan of 
‘eos by another of his eulogists. 

Ev τοις μελιχροις Ἵμεροισι συντροφον 
Λναιος ἄνακρεοντα, Τηΐον κυκνον, 
Ἐσῴφηλας ὑγρη vextapos μεληδονὴη. 
Evyevous, Ανθολογ. 
God of the grape! thou has betray’d 
In wine’s bewildering dream, 
The fairest swan that ever play'd 
Along the Muse’s stream !— 
The Teian, nursed with all those honey’d boys. 
The young Desires, light Loves, and rose-lipp’d 
Joys! 

t Still do we catch thy lyre’s luxurious breath; ] 
Thus Simonides, speaking of our poet :— 
MoAmns 5’ ov AnOn μελιτερπεος AAA’ ETL KELVO 

Βαρβιτον οὐδε ϑανων evvagev εἰν αἰδη. 

Σιμονιδου, Ανθολογ. 
Nor yet are all his numbers mute, 
Though dark within the tomb he lies ; 
But living still, his amorous lute 
With sleepless animation sighs ! 

This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled 

“ divine,” though Le Fevre, in his Poétes Grees, 

supposes that the epigrams under his name are 

all falsely imputed. ‘he most considerable of 
his remains 1s a satirical poem upon women, 
preserved by Stobeus, ψόγος γυναικὼν, 


TOY AYTOY, ΕἸΣ TON AYTON. 


BEINE, ταφον παρα λιτον νακρειοντος αμειβον, 
Ec τι τοι εκ βιβλων ηλϑεν ἐμὼν οφελος, 

Σπεισον ἐμὴ σποδιη, σπεισον γανος, οφρα κεν οινω 
Οστεα γηθησε Tama νοτιζομενα, 

‘Os ὃ Διονυσου μεμελημενος ονασι κωμὸος, 
‘Os ὃ φιλακρητου συντροῴφος ἁρμονιης, 

Μηδε καταφθιμενος Baxxov διχα τουτον ὑποίσω 
Tov γενεὴ μεροπων χωρον οφειλομενον.ἱ 


Ou stranger! if Anacreon’s shell 

Has ever taught thy heart to swell§ 
With passion’s throb or pleasure’s sigh, 
In pity turn, as wand’ring nigh, 

And drop thy goblet’s richest tear] 

In tenderest libation here ! 

So shall my sleeping ashes thrill 

With visions of enjoyment still. 

Not even in death can I resign 

The festal joys that once were mine, 


We may judge from the lines I have just 
quoted, and the import of the epigram before 
us, that the works of Anacreon were perfect in 
the times of Simonides and Antipater. Ob- 
sopceus, the commentator here, appears to ex- 
ult in their destructien, and telling us they 
were burned by the bishops and patriarchs, he 
adds, ‘‘nee sane id neequicquam fecerunt,” 
attributing to this outrage an effect which it 
could not possibly have produced. 

{ The spirit of Anacreon is supposed to utter 
these verses from the tomb,—somewhat ‘“ mu- 
tatus ab illo,” at least in simplicity of expression. 
if Anacreon’s shell 

as ever taught thy heart to swell, dc.) We 
may guess from the words ex BiBAwy ἐμων, 
that Anacreon was not merely a writer of bil- 
lets-doux, as some French crities have called 
him. Among these Mr. Le Feyre, with all his 
professed admiration, has given our poet a 
character by no means of an elevated cast :— 
Aussic’est pour cela que la postérité 
L’atoujours justement d’age en age chanté 
Comme un france goguenard, ami de goinfrerie, 
Ami de billets-doux et de badinerie. 
See the verses prefixed to his Poétes Grecs. 
This is unlike the language of Theocritus, to 
whom Anacreon is indebted for the following 
simple eulogium :— 
EIS ANAKPEONTOS ANAPIANTA, 
Θασαι Tov ανδριαντα τουτον, ὦ Eeve, 
σπουδα, και λεγ᾽, ἐπὰν ες οικὸν ἐνθης, 
Ἄνακρεοντος eckov’ εἰδὸν ev Tew, 
των προσθ᾽ ει TL περισσον ὠὡδοποιων- 
προσθεις Se χὡτι τοις νεοισιν adeTo, 
epers ἀτρεκεως ολον Tov ανδρα. 
Upon THE STATUE OF ANACREON, 
Stranger! who near this statue chance to roam, 

Let it awhile your studivus eyes engage; 
That you may say, returning to your home, 

“ T've seen the image of the Teian sage, 

3est of the bards who deck the Muse’s page.” 
Then, if you add, ‘That striplings loved him 

You tellthem all he was, and aptly tell. [well,” 
I have endeavored to do justice to the sinplicity 
of this inseription by rendering it as literally, 
I believe, as a verse translation will allow. 

|| And drop thy goblet’s richest tear, &c.) 


a 


ODES OF ANACREON. 


When Harmony pursued my ways, 
And Bacchus wanton’d to my lays.* 
Oh! if delight could charm no more, 
If all the goblet’s bliss were o’er, 
When fate had once our doom decreed, 
Then dying would be death indeed ; 
Nor could Τὸ think, unbless’d by wine 
Divinity itself divine ! 


TOY AYTOY, EIS TON AYTON. 


EYAEIS εν φθιμενοισιν, Avaxpeor, 
πονησας 
evder δ᾽ ἡ yAuKepy νυκτιλαλος κιθαρα, 
εὑδει και Σμερδις, το Ποθων εαρ, ὦ ov μελισδων, 
βαρβιτ᾽, avexpovov νεκταρ εναρμονιον" 
ηϊθεων yap ἔρωτος εφυς σκοπος' es δε σε μουνον 
τοξα τε και σκολιᾶς ειχεν ἑκηβολιας. 


AT length thy golden hours have wing’d 
their flight, 
And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; 


Thus Simonides, in another of his epitaphs on 
our poet :— 
Και μιν aec τεγγοι νοτερὴ δροσος, ns ὁ γεραιος 

Aapotepoyv μαλακὼν επνεεν ἐκ στοματων. 

Let vines, in elust’ring beauty wreath’d, 

Drop all their treasures on his head, 

Whose lips a dew of sweetness breathed, 

Richer than vine hath ever shed ! 

* And Bacchus wanton'd to my lays, ἐς. The 
original here is corrupted, the line ὡς ὃ Acovu- 
σου, &¢., is unintelligible. + 

Brunck’s emendation improves the sense, but 
TI doubt if it ean be commended for elegance. 
He reads the line thus:— 


ὡς 6 Διωνυσοιο λελασμενος OUTOTE κωμων,. 


εσθλα 


See Brunek, Analecta Veter. Poet. Grac., vol. 
ii. 
| Thy harp, that whisper'd through each lin- 
gering night; dc.) In another of these poems, 
the ‘‘ nightly-speaking lyre ”’ of the bard is rep- 
resented as not yet silent even after his death. 
ὡς 0 φιλακρητος Te Kat ocvoBapys φιλοκωμος 
παννυχίος Kpovor* τὴν φιλοπαιδα χελυν. 
Σιμωνιδον, εἰς ἄνακρεοντα, 


To beauty’s smile and wine's delight, 
To joys he loved on earth so well, 

Still shall his spirit, all the night, 
Attune the wild, aérial shell! 


¥ The purest nectar of its numbers, (6.1 Thus, 
says Brunck, in the prologue to the satires of 
Persius:— 

Centare credas Pegaseium nectar. 
“Melos ’ isthe usual reading in this line, and 
Casaubon has defended it; but “nectar” is, I 
think, much more spirited. 

§ She, the young spring of thy desires, dc.} 
The original, to o@wy eap, is beautiful. We 
regret that such praise should be lavished so 
preposterously, and feel that the poet’s mistress 
Eurypyle would have deserved it better. Her 
name has been told us by Meleager, as already 
quoted, and in another epigram by Antipater. 

* Brunck has Kpovwv; but Kpovol, the common 
reading, better suits a detached quotation. 


105 


Thy harp, that whisper’d through eac 
lingering night, t 
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth ! 


She too, for whom that harp profusely 
shed 
The purest nectar of its numbers, ἢ 
She, the young spring of thy desires, 
hath fled, 
And with her blest Anacreon slumbers!§ 


Farewell thou hadst a pulse for every 
dart | 
That mighty Love could scatter from 
his quiver ; 
And each new beauty found in thee a 
heart, 
Which thou, with all thy heart and soul, 
didst give her !{ 


vypa δε δερκομενοισιν ev ομμασιν ovAov αειδοις, 
αιθυσσων λιπαρὴς ανθος ὑπερθε Kouns, 

ne πρὸς Ευρυπυλὴν τετραμμενος. ..- 

Long may the nymph around thee play, 
Eurypyle, thy soul's desire, 

Basking her beauties in the ray 
That lights thine eye’s dissolving fire! 


Sing of her smile’s bewitching power, 

Her every grace that warms and blesses - 
Sing of her brow’s luxuriant flower, 
The beaming glory of her tresses. 


The expression here av@os Kouns, ‘the flower 
ot the hair,” is borrowed from Anacreon him- 
self, as appears by a fragment of the poet pre- 
served in SESE Amexetpas δ᾽ ἁπαλῆς αμομον 
ανθος. 

\| Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every dart, 
&c.) «pus σκοπος, ‘“scopus eras natura,” not 
‘‘speculator,’’ as Barnes very falsely interprets 
it. 
Vincentius Obsopceus, upon this passage, con- 
trives to indulge us with a little astrological 
wisdom, and talks in a style of learned scandal 
about Venus, ‘male positacum Marte in domo 
Saturni.” 

Ἵ And each new beauty found in thee a heart, 
éc.) This couplet is not otherwise warranted 
by the original, than as it dilates the thought 
which Antipater has figuratively expressed. 

Critias, of Athens, pays atribute to the legit- 
imate gallantry of Anaereon, calling him, with 
elegant conciseness, γυναικὼν ἡπεροπεῦμα. 

Tov δὲ yuvaxewwy μελεων πλεξαντα ποτ᾽ δας, 
Ἥδυν Avaxpevovta,| Tews εἰς EAAad’ ανηγεν. 
Συμποσιων ερεθισμα, γυναικων ἡπεροπευμα. 

Teos gave to Greece her treasure, 

Sage Anacreon, sage in loving; 

Fondly weaving lays of pleasure 

For the maids who blush’d approving. 

When in nightly banquets sporting, 

Where's the guest could ever fly him? 

When with love’s seduction courting, 

Where’s the nymph could e’er deny him ? 

t+ Thus Scaliger, in his dedicatory verses to Ron- 
sard— 

Blandus, suaviloquus, dulcis Anacreon, 


110 MOORL’S 


WORKS. 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


PREFACE, 
BY THE EDITOR.* 


THE Poems which I take the liberty 
of publishing, were never intended by 
the author to pass beyond the circle of 
his friends. tHe thought, with some jus- 
tice, that what are called Occasional 
Poems must be always msipid and unin- 
teresting to the greater part of their read- 
ers. The particular situations in which 
they were written; the character of the 
author and of his associates; all these 
peculiarities must be known and felt be- 
fore we can enter into the spirit of such 
compositions. This consideration would 
have always, I believe, prevented the 
author himself from submitting these 
trifles to the eye of dispassionate criti- 
cism: andif their posthumous introduc- 
tion tothe world be injustice to his 
memory, or intrusion on the public, the 
error must be imputed to the injudicious 
partiality of frieudship. 

Mr. Lire died in his one and twenti- 
eth year, and most of these Poems were 
written at so early a period that their 
errors may lay claim to some indulgence 
from the critic. Their author, as unam- 
bitious as indolent, scarce ever looked 
beyond the moment of composition; | 
but, in general, wrote as he pleased, | 
careless whether he pleased as he wrote. 
It may likewise be remembered, that | 
they were all the productions of an age 
When the passions very often give a 
coloring too warm to the imagination ; 
and this may palliate, if it cannot ex- 
cuse, that air of levity which pervades | 
so many of them. The ‘aurea legge, | 


*A portion of these Poems were published 
originally as the works of ‘the late ‘homas 
Little,” with the Freface here given prefixed 
to them. 


s’ei piace οἱ lice,” he too much pursued, 
and too much inculcates. Few can re- 
gret this more sincerely than myself; 
and if my friend had lived, the judg- 
ment of riper years would have chas- 
tened his mind, and tempered the luxuri- 
ance of his fancy. 

Mr. LITTLE gave much of his time to 
the study of the amatory writers. If 
ever he expected to find in the ancients 
that delicacy of sentiment, and variety 
of fancy, which are so necessary to re- 
fine and animate the poetry of love, he 
was much disappointed. I know not 
any one of them who can be regarded as 
amodel in that style; Ovid made love 
like a rake, and Propertius like a school- 
master. The mythological allusions of 
the latter are called erudition by his 
commentators; but such ostentatious 
display, upon a subject so simple as 
love, would be now esteemed vague 
and puerile, and was even in his own 
times pedantic. It is astonishing that 
so many critics should have preferred 
him to the gentle and touching Tibullus; 
but those defects, I believe, which a 
common reader condemns, haye been 
regarded rather as beauties by those 
erudite men, the commentators; who 
find a field for their ingenuity and re- 
search, in his Grecian learning and 
quaint obscurities. 

Tibullus abounds with touches of fine 
and natural feeling. The idea of his un- 
expected return to Delia, ‘‘ Tune veniam 
subito,”’t &c., is imagined with all the 
delicate ardor of a lover; and the senti- 
ment of “nee te posse carere velim,”’ 
however colloquial the expression may 


|have been, is natural, and from the 


heart. But the poet of Verona, in my 


Lib. i. Eleg. 3. 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


111 


opinion, possessed more genuine feeling 
than any of them. His life was, I be- 
lieve, unfortunate; his associates were 
wild and abandoned; and the warmth 
of his nature took too much advantage 
of the latitude which the, morals of 
those times so criminally allowed to the 
passions. All this.depraved his imagi- 
nation, and made it the slave of his 
senses. But still a native sensibility is 
often very warmly perceptible; and 
when he touches the chord of pathos, 
he reaches immediately the heart. They 
who have felt the sweets of return to a 
home from which they have long been 
absent, will confess the beauty of those 
simple, unaffected lines :— 

O quid solutis est heatius cnris! 

Cum mens onus reponit, ae peregrino 

Labore fessi venimus Larem ad nostrum 

Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 

Carm. xxix. 

His sorrows on the death of his bro- 
ther are the very tears of poesy; and 
when he complains of the ingratitude of 
mankind, even the inexperienced can- 
not but sympathize with him. I wish 
I were a poet; I should then endeavor 
to catch, by translation, the spirit of 
those beauties which I have always so 
warmly admired. * 

It seems to have been peculiarly the 
fate of Catullus, that the better and more 
valuable part of his poetry has not 
reached us; for there is confessedly 
nothing in his extant works to authorize 
the epithet ‘‘doctus,” so universally be- 
stowed upon him by the ancients. If 
time had suffered his other writings to 
escape, we perhaps should have found 
among them some more purely amatory ; 
but of those we possess, can there be a 
sweeter specimen of warm, yet chastened 
description, than his loves of Acme and 
Septimius? and the few little songs of 
dalliance to Lesbia are distinguished by 
such an exquisite playfulness, that they 
have always been assumed as models by 
the most elegant modern Latinists. Still, 
it must he confessed, in the midst of all 
these beauties, 


| 
*In the following Poems, will be found a | 


translation of one of his finest Carmina; but I 


fancy it is only a mere schoolboy’s essay, and 
deserves to be praised for little more than the 
attempt. 

1 Lucretius 


Σ It is a curious illustration of the labor which 


—Medio de fonte leporum 

| Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus 
] angat.t 

It has often been remarked, that the 
| ancients knew nothing of gallantry; and 
we are sometimes told there was too 
much sincerity in their love to allow 
them to trifle thus with the semblance 
of passion. But I cannot perceive that 
they were anything more constant than 
the moderns : they felt all the same dis- 
sipation of the heart, though they knew 
not those seductive graces by which 
gallantry almost teaches it to be amiable. 
Wotton, the learned advocate for the 
moderns, deserts them in considering 
this point of comparison, and praises the 
ancients for their ignorance of such refine- 
‘ments. But he seems to have collected 
his notions of gallantry from the insipid 
Jadeurs of the French romances, which 
| have nothing congenial with the graceful 
|levity, the ‘grata protervitas,” of a 
Rochester or a Sedley. 

As far as I can judge, the early poets 
οἵ our own language were the mod- 
'els which Mr. Litre selected for 
imitation. ΤῸ attain their simplicity 

(‘‘eevo rarissima nostro simplicitas’’) 
| was his fondest ambition. He could not 
/have aimed at a grace more difficult of 
attainment ;{ and his life was of too 
short a date to allow him to perfect such 
a taste; but how far he was likely to 
have succeeded the critic may judge 
from his productions. 

I have found among his papers a 
novel, in rather an imperfect state, 
which, as soon as I have arranged and 
collected it, shall be submitted to the 
| public eye. 

Where Mr. LirrnE was born, or what 
is the genealogy of his parents, are 
| points in which very few readers can be 
|interested. His life was one of those 
| humble streams which have scarcely a 
| name inthe map of life, and the traveller 

may pass it by without inquiring its 
source or direction. His character was 

well known to all who were acquainted 
| with him; for he had too much vanity to 


simplicity requires, that the Ramblers of John- 
son, elaborate as they appear, were written 
with fluency, and seldom required revision : 


while the simple lan ge of Rousseau, which 
seems to come flowing from the heart, was the 
sl prod 1 of painful labor, pausing on 
every word, and balancing every sentence. 


112 


hide its virtues and not enough of art to 
conceal its defects. The lighter traits of 
his mind may be traced perhaps in his 
writings; but the few for which he was 
valued live only in the remembrance of 
his friends. T. M. 


TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 


My DEAR Srr:—I feel a very sincere 
pleasure in dedicating to you the Second 
dition of our friend LirTLe’s Poems. I 
am not unconscious that there are many 
in the collection which perhaps it would 
be prudent to have altered or omitted; 
and, to say the truth, I more than once 
revised them for that purpose; but, I 
know not why, I distrusted either my 
heart or my judgment; and the conse- 
quence is, you have them in their 
original form : 

Non possunt nostros mult, Faustine, lituree 

Emendare jocos ; una litura potest. 

Τ am convinced, however, that, though 
not quite a casuiste reliché, you have 
charity enough to forgive such inoffen- 
sive follies; you know that the pious 
Beza was not the less revered for those 
sportive Juvenilia which he published 
under a fictitious name; nor did the 
levity of Bembo’s poems prevent him 
from making a very good cardinal. 

Believe me, my dear Friend, 
With the truest esteem, 
Yours, 5 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


FRAGMENTS OF COLLEGE EXER- 
CISES. 
Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus. Juv. 

Mark those proud boasters of a splen- 

did line, [they shine, 
Like gilded ruins, mould’ring while 
How heavy sits that weight of alien show, 
Like martial helm upon an infant’s brow ; 
Those borrow’'d paescares whose con- 

trasting light [er night. 
Throws back the native shades in deep- 


Ask the proud train who glory’sshade 
pursue, [grew ? 
Where are the arts by which that glory 
The genuine virtues that with eagle-gaze 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Sought young Renown in all her orient 

blaze ! [fined, 
Where is the heart by chymic truth re- 
Th’ exploring soul, whose eye had read 

mankind ? [heavenly art, 
Where are the links that twined, with 
His country’s interest round the patriot’s 


heart ? 
* zs 4 * * 


Justum bellum quibus necessarium, et pia 
arma quibus nulla nisiin armis relinquitur spes. 
—Livy. 

* * * * * 


Is there no call, no consecrating cause, 

Approved by Heav’n, ordain’d by na- 
ture’s laws, 

Where justice flies the herald of our way, 

And truth’s pure beams upon the ban- 


ners play ἢ 
Yes, there’s a call sweet as an angel’s 
breath [death ; 


To slumb’ring babes, or innocence in 
And urgent as the tongue of Heay’n 

within, {sin. 
When the mind’s balance trembles upon 


Oh! ’tis our country’s voice, whose claim 
should meet 

An echo in the soul’s most deep retreat ; 

Along the heart’s responding chords 
should run, [one ! 

Nor let a tone there vibrate—but the 


VARIETY. 


ASK what prevailing, pleasing power 
Allures the sportive, wandering bee 
To roam, untired, from flower to flower, 

He'll tell you, ’tis variety. 


Look Nature round, her features trace, 
Her seasons, all her changes see; 
And own, upon Creation’s face, 
The greatest charm’s variety. 


For me, ye gracious powers above ! 
Still let me roam, unfix’d and free ; 

In all things,—but the nymph I love, 
I'll change, and taste varicty. 


But, Patty, not a world of charms 
Could e’er estrange my heart from 
thee ;— 
No, let me ever seek those arms, 
There still 1711 find variety. 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


113 


Dee eee ——— eee 


TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH. 
WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 


Ts it not sweet, beloved youth, 
To rove through Hrudition’s bowers, 
And cull the golden fruits of truth, 
And gather Fancy’s brilliant flowers? 


And is it not more sweet than this, 
To feel thy parents’ hearts approving, 
And pay them back in sums of bliss 
The dear, the endless debt of loving? 


It must be so to thee, my youth; 
With this idea toil is lighter ; 

This sweetens all the fruits of truth, 
And makes the flower of fancy brighter. 


The little gift we send thee, boy, 
May sometimes teach thy soul to pon- 
If indolence or siren joy [der, 
Should ever tempt that soul to wander. 


Twill tell thee that the winged day [or, 
Can ne’er be chain’d by man’s endeay- 

That life and time shall fade away, 
While heay’n and virtue bloom forever. 


SONG. 


Ir I swear by that eye, you'll allow, 
Its look is so shifting and new, 

That the oath I might take on it now 
The very next glance would undo. 


Those babies that nestle so sly 
Such thousands of arrows have got, 
That an oath, on the glance of an eye 
Such as yours, may be off in a shot. 


Should I swear by the dew on your lip, 
Though each moment the treasure 
renews, 
If my constancy wishes to trip, 
I may kiss off the oath when I choose. 


Or a sigh may disperse from that flow’r 
Both the dew and the oath that are 
there; 
And Τ᾽ ἃ make a new vow every hour, 
To lose them so sweetly in air. 


But clear up the heay’n of your brow, 
Nor fancy my faith is a feather; 
On my heart I will pledge you my vow, 
And they both must be broken to- 
gether! 


TO 


REMEMBER him thou leay’st behind, 
Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, 
Close as the tend’rest links can bind 
A heart as warm as heart can be. 


Oh! I had long in freedom roved, 
Though many seem’d my soul to share; 
’Twas passion when I thought I loved, 
’Twas fancy when I thought them 
fair. 


Ev’n she, my muse’s early theme, 
Beguiled me only while she warm’d ; 

Twas young desire that fed the dream, 
And reason broke what passion form’d. 


But thou—ah ! better had it been 
If I had still in freedom roved, 
if I had ne’er thy beauties seen, 
For then I never should have loved. 


Then all the pain which lovers feel 
Had never to this heart been known; 

But then, the joys that lovers steal, 
Should they have ever been my own # 


Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this, 
Dearest ! the pain of loving thee, 
The very pain is sweeter bliss 
Than passion’s wildest ecstasy. 


That little cage I would not part, 
In which ΤΥ soul is prison’d now, 
For the most light and winged heart 
That wantons on the passing vow. 


Still, my beloved ! still keep in mind, 
However far removed from me, 

That there is one thou leay’st behind, 
Whose heart respires for only thee! 


And though ungenial ties have bound 
Thy fate unto another’s care, 

That arm, which clasps thy bosom round, 
Cannot confine the heart that’s there. 


No, no! that heart is only mine 
By ties all other ties above, 
For [ have wed it at a shrine 
Where we have had no priest but Love. 


SONG. 


WHEN Time, who steals our years away, 
Shall steal our pleasures too, 

The mem’ry of the past will stay, 
And half our joys renew. 

Then, Julia, when thy beauty’s flow’r 
Shall feel the wintry air, 


114 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Remembrance will recall the hour 
When thou alone wert fair. 

Then talk no more of future gloom ; 
Our joys shall always last ; 

For Hope shall brighten days to come, 
And Mem’ry gild the past. 


Come, Chloe, fill the genial bow], 
I drink to Love and thee: 

Thou never canst decay in soul, 
Thouw’lt still be young for me. 

And as thy lips the tear-drop chase, 
Which on my cheek they find, 

So hope shall steal away the trace 
That sorrow leaves behind. 

Then fill the bowl—away with gloom ! 
Our joys shall always last ; 

For Hope shall brighten days to come, 
And Mem’ry gild the past. 


But mark, at thought of future years 
When love shall lose its soul, 

My Chloe drops her timid tears, 
They mingle with my bowl. 

How like this bowl] of wine, my fair, 
Our loving life shall fleet; [there, 

Though tears may sometimes mingle 
The draught will still be sweet. 

Then fill the cup—away with gloom! 
Our joys shall always last; 

For Hope will brighten days to come, 
And Mem’ry gild the past. 


SONG. 


HAVE you not seen the timid tear, 
Steal trembling from mine eye? 

Have you not mark’d the flush of fear, 
Or caught the murmur’d sigh ? 

And can you think my love is chill, 
Nor fix’d on you alone ? 

And can you rend, by doubting still, 
A heart so much your own? 


To you my soul’s affections move 
Devoutly, warmly true ; 
My life has been a task of love, 
One long, long thought of you. 
Tf all your tender faith be o’er, 
Tf still my truth you'll try ; 
Alas, I know but one proof more— 
Tl bless your name, and die! 


REUBEN AND ROSE. 
A TALE OF ROMANCE, 
Tuer darkness that hung upon Willum- 
berg’s walls, [and dismay ; 


Had long been remember’d with awe | 


For years not a sunbeam had play’d in 
its halls, [gions of day. 
And it seem’d as shut out from the re- 


Though the valleys were brighten’d by 
many a beam, illume ; 

Yet none could the woods of that castle 

And the lightning, which flash’d on the 

neighboring stream, [gloom ! 

Flew back, as if fearing to enter the 


“ΟΠ! when shall this horrible darkness 
disperse !” [the Cave ;— 

Said Willumberg’s lord to the Seer of 

“Tt can never dispel,” said the wizard 

of verse, in the wave!” 

«Till the bright star of chivalry sinks 


And who was the bright star of chivalry 
then ? [of the age? 

Who could be but Reuben, the flower 

For Hegben was first in the combat of 
[name on her page. 

Though Youth had scarce written his 


For Willumberg’s daughter his young 
heart had beat, — [of dawn, 
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit’ 
When with wand dropping diamonds, 
and silvery feet, 
It walks o’er the flow’rs of the moun- 
tain and lawn. 


Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally 
sever ? [the Cave, 

Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of 
That darkness should cover that castle 
forever, [wave! 

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless 


To the wizard she flew, saying, ‘‘ Tell 
me, oh, tell! [to my eyes?” 
Shall my Reuben no more be restored 
“‘Yes, yes—when a spirit shall toll the 
great bell 
Of the mouldering abbey, your Reu- 
ben shall rise !” 


Twice, thrice he repeated “ Your Reu- 
ben shall rise "Ὁ [her pain ; 

And Rose felt a moment’s release from 
And wiped, while she listen’d, the tears 
from her eyes, [again. 

And hoped she “might yet see her hero 


That hero could smile at the terrors of 
death, [of his Rose , 
When he felt that he died for the sire 
To the Oder he flew, and there, plung- 
ith, [found his repose.— 
depth of the billows soon 


i] ng bene; 


In the 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


115 


How strangely the order of coy 

falls !— [lay, 

Not long in the waters the warrior 

When a sunbeam was seen to glance 
over the walls, 

And the castle of Willumberg bask’d 


in the ray ! 
All, all but the soul of the maid was in 
light, 


ans blank ; 
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy 
Two days did she wander, and all the 
long night, [Ler’s bank. 

In quest of her love, on the wide riy- 


Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the 
bell, [in the air; 

And heard but the breathings of night 
Long, ἐπ did she gaze on the watery 


And saw but the foam of the white 
billow there. 


And pen 5a midnight its veil would un- 
[in the stream, 
As ne rae dat the light of the moon 
She thought ’twas his helmet of silver 
she saw, 
Asthe curl of the surge glitter’d high in 
the beam. 


And now the third night was begemming 
the sky; [reclined, 

Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent 
There wept till the tear almost froze in 
her eye, [deep in the wind! 
When, hark !—’twas the bell that came 


She startled, and saw, through the glim- 
mering shade, 

A form o’er the waters in majesty glide; 

She knew ’twas her love, though his 

cheek was decay’d, Ἂν the tide. 

And his helmet of silver was wash’d 


Was this what the Seer of the Cave 
foretold ?— 


had 


Dim, dim through the phantom the | 


moon shot a gleam; [and cold, 
*Twas Reuben, but, ah! he was deathly 
And fleeted away like the spell of a 
dream ! 
Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often 
she thought 
From the bank to embrace him, but 
vain her endeavor! 
Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she 
And sunk to repose on its bosom for- | 
ever ! 


[caught, | 


DID NOT. 


*T WAS a new feeling—something more 

Than we had ieee αὶ to own before, 
Which then we hid not; 

We saw it in each other’s eye, 

And wish’d, in every half-breathed sigh, 
To speak, but did not. 


She felt my lips’ impassion’d touch— 

Twas the first time I dared go much, 
And yet she chid not; 

But whisper’d o’er my burning brow, 

“Oh! do you doubt I love you now a” 
Sweet soul! I did not. 


Warmly I felt her bosom thrill, 
I press’d it closer, closer still, 
Though gently bid not; 
Till—oh! the world hath seldom heard 
Of lovers, who so nearly err’d, 
And yet, who did not. 


TOE (elon cag aera 


THAT wrinkle, when first I espied it 
At once put my heart out of pain; 
Till the eye, that was glowing beside it: 

Disturh’d my ideas again. 


Thou art just in the twilight at present, 
When woman’s declension begins ; 

When, fading from all that is pleasant, 
She bids a good night to her sins. 


Yet thou still art so lovely to me, 

I would sooner, my exquisite mother ! 
Repose in the sunset of thee, 

Than bask in the noon of another. 


TO MRS. 


SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER 
CHARACTER, 


ON 


Ts not thy mind a gentle mind ? 

Ts not that heart a heart refined? 
Hast thou not every gentle grace, 
We love in woman’s mind and face? 
And, oh! art thow a shrine for Sin 
To hold her hateful worship in? 


No, no, be happy—dry that tear— 

Though some thy heart hath harbor’d 
near, 

May now repay its love with blame; 

Though man, who ought to shield thy 
fame, 

Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee; 


| Though all the world look cold upon thee, 


110 


Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still 
Unharm’d by that surrounding chill; 
Like the famed drop, in crystal found, * 
Floating, while all was froz’n around,— 
Uncehill’d, unchanging shalt thou be, 
Safe in thy own sweet purity. 


ANACREONTIC. 


— in lachrymas verterat omne merum. 
Tis. lib. i. eleg. 5. 
Press the grape, and let it pour 
Around the board its purple shower ; - 
And, while the drops my goblet steep, 
ΤΊ] think in wo the clusters weep. 


Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine! 
Heay’n grant no tears, but tears of wine. 
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow, 

ΤΊ] taste the luxury of wo. 


πος a OH OPO. 6 


WHEN I loved you, I can’t but allow 
I had many an exquisite minute ; 
But the scorn that I feel for you now 

Hath even more luxury in it. 


Thus, whether we’re on or we’re off, 
Some witchery seems to await you; 

To love you was pleasant enough, 
And, oh! ’tis delicious to hate you! 


TO JULIA. 


IN ALLUSION TO SOME ILLIBERAL CRITI- 
CISMS. 


Wuy, let the stingless critic chide 
With all that fume of vacant pride 
Which mantles o’er the pedant fool, 
Like vapor on a stagnant pool. 

Oh! if the song, to feeling true, 

Can please th’ elect, the sacred few, 
Whose souls, by Taste and Nature 


taught, [thought— 
Thrill with the genuine pulse of 


If some fond feeling maid like thee, 
The warm-eyed child of Sympathy, 
Shall say, while o’er my simple theme 
She languishes in Passion’s dream, 
“(Ἢρ was, indeed, a tender soul— 
“*No critic law, no chill control, 


* This alludes to a curious gem, upon whieh 
Claudian has left us some very elaborate epi- 
grams. It was a drop of pure water enclosed 
Within a piece of crystal. See Claudian. Epi- 
gram. ‘de Crystallo cui aqua inerat.” Ad- 
dison mentions a curiosity of this kind at Mi- 
lan; and adds, “It is such a rarity as this 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


‘Should ever freeze, by timid art, 
“The flowings of so fond a heart !” 
Yes, soul of Nature! soul of Love! 
That, hoy’ring like a snow-wing’d doye, 
Breathed o’er my cradle warblings wild, 
And hail’d me Passion’s warmest child,— 
Grant me the tear from Beauty’s eye, 
From Feeling’s breast the votive sigh ; 
Oh! let my song, my mem’ry, find 

A shrine within the tender mind; 

And I will smile when critics chide, 
And I will scorn the fume of pride 
Which mantles o’er the pedant fool, 
Like vapor round some stagnant pool ! 


TO JULIA. 


Mock me no more with Love’s beguil- - 
ing dream, 
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet ; 
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold es- Ὁ 
teem, [deceit ! 
Far dearer were than passion’s bland 


I’ve heard you oft eternal truth declare ; 

Your heart was only mine, I once be- 
lieved. 

Ah! shall I say that all your vows were 

air? [deceived ? 

And must I say, my hopes were all 


Vow, then, no longer that our souls are 

twined, [zeal ; 

That all our joys are felt with mutual 

Julia !—’tis pity, pity makes you kind ; 

You know I love, and you would seem 
to feel. 


But shallT still go seek within those arms 
A joy in which affection takes no part ? 
No, no, farewell! you give me but your 
charms, [your heart. 
When I had fondly thought you gave 


THE SHRINE. 
LOS elie! ane 


My fates had destined me to rove 

A long, long pilgrimage of love ; 

And many an altar on my way 

Has lured ny pious steps to stay ; 

For, if the saint was young and fair, 

I turn’d and sung my vespers there. 
that I saw at Venddme in France, which 
they there pretend is a tear that our Saviour 
shed over Lazarus, and was gathered up by 
an angel, who put it into a little erystal vial, 
and made a present of it to Mary Magda- 
len.” —Addison's Remarks on several Parts of 
Italy. 


> 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


117 


_ ‘This, from a youthful pilgrim’s fire, 
Is what your pretty saints 28 bene 
To pass, nor tell a single bead, 
With them would be profane indeed! 
But. trust me, all this young devotion 
: Was but to keep my zeal in motion ; 
And, ev’ry humbler altar past, 
I now have reach’d THE SHRINE at last ! 


TOPAS LADY, 
WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ON 
LEAVING THE COUNTRY. 
WHEN, casting many a look behind, 
I leave the friends I cherish here— 
Perchance some other friends to find, 
But surely finding none so dear— 


0 yar 


Haply the little simple page, 

Which votive thus I've traced for thee, 
May now and then a look engage, 

And steal one moment’s thought for me. 


But, oh! in pity let not those 
Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, 
Let not the eye that seldom flows 
With feeling’s tear, my song behold. 


For, trust me, they who never melt 
With pity, never melt with love; 

And such will frown at all I’ve felt, 
And all my loving lays reprove. 


But if, perhaps, some gentler mind, 
Wkich rather loves to praise than 
blame, 
Should in my page an interest find, 
And linger kindly on my name ; 


Tell him—or, oh! if, gentler still, 

By female lips my name be blest: 
For, where do all affections thrill 

So sweetly as in woman's breast ?— 


Tell her, that he whose loving themes 
Her eye indulgent wanders o’er, 

Could sometimes wake from idle dreams, 
And bolder flights of fancy soar ; 


That Glory oft would claim the lay, 
And Friendship oft his numbers move ; 
But whisper then, that, “sooth to say, 
“His sweetest song was giy’n to 
Love !” 


TO JULIA. 


_ TxHovan Fate, my girl, may bid us part, 
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever ; 

The heart will seek its kindred heart, 
And cling to it as close as ever. 


Se ee eS es a ees ee 
re 7 - 


"ἡ 


But must we, must we part indeed ? 
Ts all our dreain of rapture over? 

And does not Julia’s bosom bleed 
To leave so dear, so fond a lover? 


Does she too mourn ?—Perhaps she may; 
Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleet- 

But why is Julia’s eye so gay, [ing. 
If Julia’s heart like mine is beating ? 


I oft have loved that sunny glow 
Of gladness in her blue eye gleaming— 
But can the bosom bleed with wo, 
While joy isin the glances beaming? 


No, no !—Yet, love, I will not chide ; 
Although your heart were fond of roy- 


ing, 
Nor that, nor all the world beside 
Could keep your faithful boy from 
loving. 


You'll soon be distant from his eye, 
And, with you, all that’s worth pos- 
sessing. 
Oh! then it will be sweet to die, 
When life has lost its only blessing! 


TO 


Sweet lady, look not thus again : 
Those bright deluding smiles recall— 
A maid remember’d now with pain, 
Who was my love, my life, my all! 


Oh! while this heart bewilder’d took 
Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, 
Thus would she smile, and lisp, and look, 

And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh! 


Yes, I did love her—wildly love— 
She was her sex’s best deceiver! 
And oft she swore she’d never rove— 

And I was destined to believe her! 


Then, lady, do not wear the smile 

Of one whose smile could thus betray; 
Alas! I think the lovely wile 

Again could steal my heart away. 


For, when those spells that charm’d my 
On lips so pure as thine I see, [mind, 
I fear the heart which she resign’d 
Will err again, and fly to thee! 


NATURE’S LABELS. 
A FRAGMENT. 
In vain we fondly strive to trace 


|The soul’s reflection in the face ; 


In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, 
Crooked mouth, or short proboscis ; 


118 


Boobies have look’d as wise and bright 

As Plato or the Stagirite : 

And many a sage and learned skull 

Has peep ¢ through windows dark and 
du 


Since then, though art do all it can, 

We ne’er can reach the inward man, 

Nor (howsoe’er “learn’d Thebans” 
doubt) 

The inward woman, from without, 

Methinks ’twere well if Nature could 

(And Nature could, if Nature would) 

Some pithy, short description write, 

On tablets large, in black and white, 

Which she might hang about our throt- 

Like labels upon physic-bottles ; _ [tles, 

And where all men might read—but 


As dialectic sages say, [stay— 
The argument most apt and ample | 
For common use is the example. | 
For instance, then, if Nature’s care 
Had not portray’d, in lines so fair, 
The inward soul of Lucy L-nd-n, 
This is the label she’d have pinn’d on: 


LABEL FIRST. 


Within this form there lies enshrined 

The purest, brightest gem of mind. 

Though Feeling’s hand may sometimes 
throw 

Upon its charms the shade of wo, 

The lustre of the gem, when veil’d, 

Shall be but mellow’d, not conceal’d. 


Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, 

That Nature wrote a second label ; 

They’re her own words,—at least sup- 
pose so— 

And boldly pin it on Pomposo. 


LABEL SECOND. 


When I composed the fustian brain 
Of this redoubted Captain Vain, 
I had at hand but few ingredients, 
And so was forced to use expedients. 
I put therein some small discerning, 
A grain of sense, a grain of learning ; 
And when I saw the void behind, 
I fill’d it up with—froth and wind! 

4 * 


ot * 


TO JULIA. 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. | 

When Time was entwining the garland 
of years, [given, | 


Which to crown my beloved was | 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Though some of the leaves might be 
sullied with tears, [heay’n. 
Yet the flow’rs were all gather’d in 


And long may this garland be sweet to 
the eye, 
May its verdure forever be new ; 
Young Love shall enrich it with many a 
sigh 
And Sympathy nurse it with dew. 


A REFLECTION AT SEA. 


SEE how, beneath the moonbeam’s smile, 
Yon little billow heaves its breast, 

And foams and sparkles for awhile,— 
Then murmuring subsides to rest. 


Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
Rises on Time’s eventful sea ; 

And, having swell’d a moment there, 
Thus melts into eternity ! 


CLORIS AND FANNY. 


CLoris! if I were Persia’s king, 
Τ᾿ ἃ make my graceful queen of thee; 
While Fanny, wild and artless thing, 
Should but thy humble handmaid be. 


There is but one objection in it— 
That, verily, I’m much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minute, 
Forsake the mistress for the maid. 


THE SHIELD. 


Say, did you not hear a voice of death ! 

And did you not mark the paly form 

Which rode on the silvery mist of the 
heath, 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm? 


Was it the wailing bird of the gloom, 
That shrieks on the house of wo all 
night ? 
Or a shiv’ring fiend that flew to a tomb, 
To howl and to feed till the glance of 


light ? 
’Twas not the death-bird’s ery from the 
wood, [blast ; 


Nor shiv’ring fiend that hung on the 
"Twas the shade of Helderic—man of 
blood— [are past. 
It screams for the guilt of days that 
See, how the red, red lightning strays, 
And scares the gliding ghosts of the 
heath ! 


7 
2 


ἣν 
J 
: 
( 
4 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


Now on the leafless yew it plays, 
Where hangs the shield of this son of 


death. 
That shield is blushing with murd’rous 
stains ; [spray ; 


Long has it hung from the cold yew’s 


It is blown by storms and wash’d by 


rains, 
But neither can take the blood away! 
Oft by that yew, on the blasted field, 
Demons dance to the red moon’s light; 
While the damp boughs creak, and the 
swinging shield 
Sings to the raving spirit of night! 


TO JULIA, 
WEEPING. 


On! if your tears are giv’n to care, 
If real wo disturbs your peace, 

Come to my bosom, weeping fair ! 
And I will bid your weeping cease. 


But if with Fancy’s vision’d fears, 

With dreams of wo your bosom thrill; 
You look so lovely in your tears, 

That I must bid you drop them still. 


DREAMS. 
TO τι ὁ το sees 


In slumber, I prithee how is it 
That souls are oft taking the air, 
And paying each other a visit, 
While bodies are heaven knows where? 


Last night, ’tis in vain to deny it, 
Your Soul took a fancy to roam, 

For 1 heard her, on tiptoe so quiet, 
Come ask, whether mine was at home. 


And mine let her in with delight, 
And they talked and they laugh’d the 
time through ; 
For, when souls come together at night, 
i saying what they mayn’t 
o! 


And your little Soul, heaven bless her! 
Had much to complain and to say, 
Of how sadly you wrong and oppress 

her 
By keeping her prison’d all day. 
“Tf I happen,” said she, ‘‘ but to steal 
*« For a peep now and then to her eye, 
“Or, to quiet the fever I feel, 
“Just venture abroad on a sigh; 


119 


“Tn an instant she frightens me in 
“ With some phantom of prudence or 
terror, 
“For fear I should stray into sin, 
“Or, what is still worse, into error! 


“So, instead of displaying my graces, 
‘‘By daylight, in language and mien, 
“1 am shut up in corners and places, 
“‘ Where truly I blush to be seen!” 


Upon hearing this piteous confession, 
My Soul, looking tenderly at her, 

Declared, as for grace and discretion, 
He did not know much of the matter; 


“ But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit,” he said, 
“ Be at home after midnight, and then 
“T will come when your lady’s in bed, 
“And we'll talk o’er the subject again.” 


So she whisper’d a word in his ear, 
I suppose to her door to direct him, 
And, just after midnight, my dear, 
mous polite little Soul may expect 
im. 


TO ROSA. 
WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. 


THE wisest soul, by anguish torn, 
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew ; 

And when the shining casket’s worn, 
The gem within will tarnish too. 


But love’s an essence of the soul, [clay; 
Which sinks not with this chain of 

Which throbs beyond the chill control 
Of with’ring pain or pale decay. 


And surely, when the touch of Death 
Dissolves the spirit’s earthly ties, 
Love still attends th’ immortal breath, 
And makes it purer for the skies! 


Oh Rosa, when, to seek its sphere, 
My soul shall leave this orb of men, 
That love which form’d its treasure here, 
Shall be its best of treasures then ! 


And as, in fabled dreams of -old, 
Some air-born genius, child of time, 
Presided o’er each star that roll’d, 
And track’d it through its path sub- 
lime ; 


So thou, fair planet, not unled, 
Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; 
Thy lover’s shade, to thee still wed, 
Shall linger round thy earthly way, 


120 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Let other spirits range the sky, 

And play around each starry gem ; 
Τ᾽] bask beneath that lucid eye, 

Nor envy worlds of suns to them. 


And when that heart shall cease to beat, 
And when that breath at length is free, 

Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet, 
And mingle to eternity ! 


SONG. 


THE wreath you wove, the wreath you 
Is fair—but oh, how fair, [wove 
If Pity’s hand had stol’n from Love 
One leaf to mingle there ! 


If every rose with gold were tied, 
Did gems for dewdrops fall, 

One faded leaf where Love had sigh’d 
Were sweetly worth them all. 


The wreath you wove, the wreath you 
Our emblem well may be ; [wove 

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love 
Must keep its tears for me. 


THE SALE OF LOVES. 


I preAmrT that, in the Paphian groves, 
My nest by moonlight laying, 
T caught a flight of wanton Loves, 
Among the rose-beds playing. 
Some just had left their silv’ry shell, 
While some were full in feather ; 
So pretty a lot of Loves to sell, 
Were never yet strung together. 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and rose-lipp’d misses !— 
They’re new and bright, 
The cost is light, 
For the coin of this isle is kisses. 


First Cloris came, with looks sedate, 
Their coin on her lips was ready ; 
“T buy,” quoth she, ‘my Love by weight, 
“Full grown, if you please, and 
steady.” [‘‘ pray— 
‘Tet mine be light,’ said Fanny, 
‘‘Such lasting toys undo one; 
“A light little Love that will last to-day— 
“To-morrow I’ll sport a new one.” 
Come buy my Loves, 
Come buy my Loves, 
Ye dames and rose-lipp’d misses !— 
There’s some will keep, 
Some light and cheap, 
At from ten to twenty kisses, 


The learned Prue took a pert young 
ΠῸ divert her virgin Muse with, [thing, 

And pluck sometimes a quill from his. 
To indite her billet-doux with. [ wing, 

Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledged 
Her only eye, if you'd ask it; — [pair 

And Tabitha begg’d, old toothless fair, 
For the youngest Love. in the basket. 

Come buy my Loves, &e. &e. 


But one was left, when Susan came, 
One worth them all together ; 
At sight of her dear looks of shame, 
He smiled, and pruned his feather. 
She wish’d the boy—twas more than 
whim— 
Her looks, her sighs betray’d it ; 
But kisses were not enough for him, 
I ask’d a heart, and she paid it! 
Good-by, my Loyes, 
Good-by, my Loves, 
’Twould make you smile to’ve seen us 
First trade for this 
Sweet child of bliss, 
And then nurse the boy between us. 


Won a5 osc 


THE world had just begun to steal 
Each hope that led me lightly on ; 

I felt not, as I used to feel, 
And life grew dark and love was gone. 


No eye to mingle sorrow’s tear, 
No lip to mingle pleasure’s breath, 
No circling arms to draw me near— 
Twas gloomy, and I wish’d for death. 


But when I saw that gentle eye, 

Oh! something seem’d to tell me then, 
That I was yet too young to die, 

And hope and bliss might bloom again. 


With every gentle smile that cross’d 
Yourkindling cheek, you lighted home 
Some feeling, which my heart had lost, 
And peace, which far had learn’d to 
roam. 


Twas then indeed so sweet to live, 
Hope look’d so new and Love so kind, 

That, though I mourn, I yet forgive 
The ruin they have left behind. 


I could have loved you—oh, so well !— 
The dream, that wishing boyhood 
knows, 
Is but a bright, beguiling spell, 
That only lives while passion glows : 


ἃς 
-- 
3 
ξ 

= 

ξ 


ΡΨ. ἐπ ΝΣ 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


121 


But, when this early flush declines, 
When the heart’s sunny morning fleets, 

You know not then how close it twines 
Round the first kindred soul it meets. 


Yes, yes, I could have loved, as one 
0, while his youth’s enchantments 
fall, 
Finds something dear to rest upon, 
Which pays him for the loss of all. 


Oy: 


NEVER mind how the pedagogue proses, 
You want not antiquity’s stamp ; 

A lip, that such fragrance discloses, 
Oh! never should smell of the lamp. 


Old Cloe, whose withering kiss 
Hath long set the Loves at defiance, 
Now, done with the science of bliss, 
May take to the blisses of science. 


But for you to be buried in books— 
Ah, Fanny, they’re pitiful sages, 

Who could not in one of your looks 
Read more than in millions of pages. 


Astronomy finds in those eyes 


Better light than the studies above ; 
And Musie would borrow your sighs 
As the melody fittest for Love. 


Your Arithmetic only can trip 
If to count your own charms you en- 
deavor ; 
And Eloquence glows on your lip 
When you swear, that you'll love me 
forever. 


Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance 
Of arts is assembled in you;— 

A course of more exquisite science 
Man never need wish to pursue. 


And, oh !—if a fellow like me 
May confer a diploma of hearts, 
With my lip thus I seal your degree, 
My divine little Mistress of Arts ! 


ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. 


SWEET spirit! if thy airy sleep 
Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, 
Then will I weep, in anguish weep, 
Till the last heart’s drop fills mine eyes. 


But if thy sainted soul can feel, 
And mingles in our misery ; 

Then, then my breaking heart I’ll seal— 
Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me. 


The beam of morn was on the stream, 
But sullen clouds the day deform ; 
Like thee was that young, orient beam, 
Like death, alas, that sullen storm ! 


Thou wert not form’d for living here, 
So link’d thy soul was with the sky; 
Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear, 
We thought thou wert not form’d todie. 


INCONSTANCY. 


Anp do I then wonder: that Julia de- 
ceives me, {more common ? 
When surely there’s nothing in nature 
She vows to be true, and while vowing 
she leaves me— [woman ? 

And could I expect any more from a 


Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful 
treasure ; [severe, 

And Mahomet’s doctrine was not too 
When he held that you were but mate- 
rials of pleasure, | [your sphere. 

And reason and thinking were out of 


By your heart, when the fond sighing 
lover can win it, 

He thinks that an age of anxiety’s paid; 

But, oh, while he’s blest, let him die at 

the minute— [betray’d. 

If he live but a day, he’ll be surely 


THE NATAL GENIUS. 
Ole Seas 
THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY. 


A DREAM. 


In witching slumbers of the night, 
I dreamt I was the airy sprite 
That on thy natal moment smiled ; 
And thought I wafted on my wing 
Those flowers which in Elysium spring, 
To crown my lovely mortal child. 


With olive-branch I bound thy head, 
Heart’s ease along thy path I shed, 
Which was to bloom through all thy 
Nor yet did I forget to bind [years ; 
Love’s roses, with his myrtle twined, 
And dew’d by sympathetic tears. 


Such was the wild but precious boon 
Which Fancy, at her magic noon, 
Bade me to Nona’s image pay; 
And were it thus my fate to Ὁ 
Thy little guardian deity, 
How blest around thy steps I’d play ! 


122 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Thy life should glide in peace along, 
Calm as some lonely shepherd’s song 
That’s heard at distance in the grove; 
No cloud should ever dim thy sky, 
No thorns along thy pathway lie, 
But all be beauty, peace, and love. 


Indulgent Time should never bring 
To thee one blight upon his wing, 

So gently o’er thy brow he’d fly; 
And death itself should but be felt 
Like that of daybeams, when they melt, 

Bright to the last, in evening’s sky ! 


ELEGIAC STANZAS, 


SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA, ON 
THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER. 


THOUGH sorrow long has worn my heart; 
Though every day I’ve counted o’er 
Hath brought a new and quick’ning 

smart 
To wounds that rankled fresh before ; 


Though in my earliest life bereft 
Of tender links by nature tied ; 
Though hope deceived, and pleasure left; 
Though friends betray’d and foes be- 
lied ; 
I still had hopes—for hope will stay 
After the sunset of delight ; 
So like the star which ushers day, 
We scarce can think it heralds night !— 


1 hoped that, after all its strife, 
My weary heart at length should rest, 
And, fainting from the waves of life, 
Find harbor in a brother’s breast. 


That brother’s breast was warm with 
truth, 
Was bright with honor’s purest ray ; 
He was the dearest, gentlest’ youth— 
Ah, why then was he torn away ? 


He should have stay’d, have linger’d 

To soothe his Julia’s every wo; [here 

He should have chased each bitter tear, 

And τα have caused those tears to 
flow. 


We saw within his soul expand 
The fruits of genius, nursed by taste ; 
While Science, with a fost’ring hand, 
Upon his brow her chaplet placed. 


We saw, by bright degrees, his mind 
Grow rich in all that makes men 

Enlighten’d, social, and refined, [dear;— 
In friendship firm, in love sincere. 


Such was the youth we loved so well, 
And such the hopes that fate denied;— 

We loved, but ah! could scarcely tell 
How deep, how dearly, till he died ! 


Close as the fondest links could strain, . 
Twined with my very heart he grew ; 

And by that fate which breaks the chain, 
The heart is almost broken too. 


TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL 


So ods oo 6 ; 
IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOT- 
TERY SHARE. 
IMPROMPTU. 
—Ego pars—— 
In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 
Where in blanks and in prizes we deal; 
But how comes it that you, such a capi- 
tal prize, 
Should so long have remain’d in the 
wheel ? 


VIRG. 


If ever, by Fortune’s indulgent decree, 
To me such a ticket should roll, 
A sixteenth, Heay’n knows! were suffi- 
cient for me; 2 
For what could J do with the whole? 


A DREAM. 


I rHovent this heart enkindled lay 
On Cupid’s burning shrine: 

I thought he stole thy heart away, 
And placed it near to mine. 


I saw thy heart begin to melt, 
Like ice before the sun; 

Till both a glow congenial felt, 
And mingled into one! 


TOM σις Ὁ 


ὙΥΊΤΗ all my soul, then, let us part, 
Since both are anxious to be free ; 
And 1 will send you home your heart, 

And you will send back mine to me. | 


We’ve had some happy hours together, 
But joy must often change its wing; 
And spring would be but gloomy weath- 

If we had nothing else but spring. [er, 


’Tis not that I expect to find 
A more devoted, fond, and true one, 
With rosier cheek or sweeter mind— 
Enough for me that she’s 4 new one. 


Ἵ te ee a 


= = 
7 


ST er ee eee ρα χὰ 


4 
q 
Ἵ 


~ 


ors 


Thus let us leave the bower of love, 
Where we have loiter’d long in bliss ; 
And you may down that pathway rove, 
‘ae I shall take my way through 
this. : 


ANACREONTIC. 


Ε “SHE never look’d so kind before— 
Yet why the wanton’s smile recall ? | 


“T’ve seen this witchery o’er and o’er, 
‘Tis hollow, vain, and heartless all!” 


Thus I said, and, sighing, drain’d 
The cup which she so late had tasted ; 
Upon whose rim still fresh remain’d 
The breath, so oft in falsehood wasted, 


I took the harp, and would have sung 
As if ’twere not of her I sang; 

But still the notes on Lamia hung— 
On whom but Lamia could they hang? 


Those eyes of hers, that floating shine, 
Like diamonds in some Hastern river; 

That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, 
A world for every kiss Τ᾿ ἃ give her. 


That frame so delicate, yet warm’d 
With flushes of love’s genial hue ;— 


ΠΑ mould transparent, as if form’d 


To let the spirit’s light shine through. 


Of these I sung, and notes and words 
Were sweet, as if the very air 
From Lamia’s lip hung o’er the chords, 


And Lamia’s voice still warbledthere! | 


But when, alas, I turn’d the theme, 
And when of vows and oaths I spoke, 

Of truth and hope’s seducing dream— 
The chord beneath my finger broke. 


False harp! false woman !—such, oh 

such [Ling ; 

Are lutes too frail and hearts too will- 
Any hand, whate’er its touch, 

Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. 


And when that thrill is most awake, 
And when you think Heay’n’s joys 
await you, {will break—— 
The nymph will change, the chord 


Oh Love, oh Music, how I hate you! | 


*The laurel, for the common uses of the 
temple, for adorning the altars and sweep- 
ing the pavement, was supplied by a tree 
near the fountain of Castalia; but upon all 
important oceasions, they sent to  Tempé 
for their laurel. We find, in Pausanias, that 
this yalley supplied the branches, of which 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


TO JULIA. 


I saw the peasant’s hand unkind 
From yonder oak the ivy sever ; 
They seem’d in very being twined ; 

Yet now the oak is fresh as ever! 


Not so the widow'd ivy shines : 
Torn from its dear and only stay, 

In drooping widowhood it pines, 
And scatters all its bloom away. 


Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine, 
Till Fate disturb'd their tender ties : 

Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, 
While mine, deserted, droops and dies, 


HYMN OF A VIRGIN OF DELPHI, 
AT THE TOMB OF HER MOTHER. 


On, lost, forever lost—no more 
Shall Vesper light our dewy way 
Along the rocks of Crissa’s shore, 
To hymn the fading fires of day; 
No more to Tempé’s distant vale 
In holy musings shall we roam, 
Through summers glow and winter’s 
ale, 
To heer the mystic chaplets home.* 
‘Twas then my soul’s expanding zeal, 
By nature warm’d and led by thee, 
In every breeze was taught to feel 
The breathings of a Deity. 
Guide of my heart! still hovering round, 
Thy looks, thy words are still my own— 
I see thee raising from the ground 
Some laurel, by the winds o’erthrown, 
And hear thee say, ‘‘ This humble bough 
“Was planted for a doom divine ; 
“And, though it droop in languor now, 
“Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine ! 
“Thus, in the vale of earthly sense, 
‘Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, 
“ A viewless hand shall cull it thence, 
“To bleom immortal in the skies !” 


All that the young should feel and know, 
By thee was taught so sweetly well, 


| Thy words fell soft as vernal snow, 


And all was brightness where they 
Fond soother of my infant tear,  [fell! 
Fond sharer of my infant joy, 
the temple was originally constructed; and 


Plutarch says, in his Dialogue on Musie, 
“The youth who brings the Tempic laurel 


| to Delphi is always attended by a player on 
ithe flute.” 


Αλλα μὴν Kat Tw κατακομιζοντι 
παιδὶ τὴν Τεμπικὴν δαφνὴην εἰς Δελῴφους παρο- 
μαρτει αὐλητὴς. 


194 MOORD’S 


Is not thy shade still ling’yring here? 
Am I not still thy soul’s employ ? 
Oh yes—and, as in former days, 
When, meeting on the sacred mount, 
Our nymphs awaked their choral lays, 
And danced around Cassotis’ fount ; 
As then, ’twas all thy wish and care, 
That mine should be the simplest 
mien, 
My lyre and voice the sweetest there, 
My foot the lightest o’er the green : 
So still, each look and step to mould, 
Thy guardian care is round me spread, 
Arranging every snowy fold, 
And guiding every mazy tread. 
And, when I lead the hymning choir, 
Thy spirit still, unseen and free, 
Hoyers between my lip and lyre, 
And weds them into harmony. 
Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave 
Shall never drop it’s silv’ry tear 
Upon so pure, so blest a grave, 
To memory so entirely dear ! 


SYMPATHY. 
TO JULIA. 


— sine me sit nulla Venus. SULPICIA. 
Our hearts, my love, were form’d to be 
The genuine twins of Sympathy, 
They live with one sensation : 
In joy or grief, but most in love, 
Like chords in unison they move, 
And thrill with like vibration. 


How oft I’ve heard thee fondly say, 

Thy vital pulse shall cease to play 
When mine no more is moving ; 

Since, now, to feel a joy alone 

Were worse to thee than feeling none: 
So twinn’d are we in loving! 


THE TEAR. 


On beds of snow the moonbeam slept, 
And chilly was the midnight gloom, 
When by the damp grave Ellen wept— 

Fond maid ! it was her Lindor’s tomb! 


A warm tear gush’d, the wintry air 
Congeal’d it as it flow’d away : 

All night it lay an ice-drop there, 
At morn it glitter’d in the ray. 


An angel, wand’ring from her sphere, 
Who saw this bright, this frozen gem, 

To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear, 
And hung it on her diadem ! 


WORKS. 
THE SNAKE. 


My love and I, the other day, 
Within a myrtle arbor lay, 
When near us, from a rosy bed, 
A little Snake put forth its head. 


‘See,’ said the maid, with thoughtful 
eyes— 

‘Yonder the fatal emblem lies ! 

‘“Who could expect such hidden harm 

“ Beneath the rose’s smiling charm ?”’ 


Never did grave remark occur 
Less d-propos than this from her. 


I rose to kill the snake, but she, 
Half-smiling, pray’d it might not be. 
“No,” said the maiden—and, alas, 
Her eyes spoke volumes, while she 
said it— 
“Long as the snake is in the grass, 
“One may, perhaps, have cause to 
dread it : 
‘‘But, when its wicked eyes appear, 
“And when we know for what they 
wink so, 
‘*One must be very simple, dear, 
‘““To let it wound one—don’t you 
think so ?’’ 


TO ROSA. 


Is the song of Rosa mute? 

Once such lays inspired her Jute ! 
Never doth a sweeter song 

Steal the breezy lyre along, 
When the wind, in odors dying, 
Woos it with enamor’d sighing. 


Is my Rosa’s lute unstrung ? 
Once a tale of peace it sung 
To her lover’s throbbing breast— 
Then was he divinely blest ! 
Ah! but Rosa loves no more, 
Therefore Rosa’s song is 0’er ; 
And her lute neglected lies ; 
And her boy forgotten sighs. 
Silent lute—forgotten lover— 
Rosa’s love and song are over! 


ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
Sie juvat perire. 


WHEN wearied wretches sink to ee 
How heavenly soft their slumbers lie! 

How sweet is death to those who weep, 
To those who weep and long to die! 


4 
4 
"4 
= 
δ 

ν᾿ 

‘ 
τι 


᾿ JUVENILE POEMS. 


125 


Saw you the soft and grassy bed, 
Where flow’ rets deck the green earth’s 
breast ? 
'Tis there I wish to lay my head, 
’Tis there I wish to sleep at rest. 


Oh, let not tears embalm my tomb,— 
None but the dews at twilight given! 
Oh, let not sighs disturb the gloom,— 
None but the whisp’ring winds of 
heaven ! 


LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 
Eque brevi verbo ferre persis malum. _ 
ECUNDUS, eleg. vii. 
Strut the question I must parry, 
Still a wayward truant prove: 
Where I love, I must not marry ; 
Where I marry, cannot love. 


Were she fairest of creation, 

With the least presuming mind ; 
Learned without affection ; 

Not deceitful, yet refined ; 


Wise enough, but never rigid ; 
Gay, but not too lightly free ; 

Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid ; 
Fond, yet satisfied with me: 


Were she all this ten times over, 
All that heay’n to earth allows, 

I should be too much her lover 
ver to become her spouse. 


Love will never bear enslaving; 
Summer garments suit him best; 
Bliss itself is not worth having, 
If we’re by compulsion blest. 


ANACREONTIC. 
I Finu’p to thee, to thee I drank, 
I nothing did but drink and fill; 
The bowl by turns was bright and blank, 
’Twas drinking, filling, drinking still. 


At length I bid an artist paint 
Thy image in this ample cup, 
That I might see the dimpled saint, 
To whom I quaff’d my nectar up. 


Behold, how bright that purple lip 
Now blushes through the wave at me; 
livery roseate drop I sip 
Is just like kissing wine from thee 
And still I drink the more for this ; 
For, ever when the draught I drain, 
Thy lip invites another kiss, 
And—in the nectar flows again. 


So, here’s to thee, my gentle dear, 
And may that eyelid never shine 
Beneath a darker, bitterer tear 
Than bathes it in this bow] of mine! 


THE SURPRISE. 


Cutoris, I swear, by all I ever swore, 

That from this hour I shall not love thee 
more.— 

‘““What! love no more ? Oh! why this 
alter’d νὸν ?” 

Because I cannot love thee more than 
now ! 


PO ΜΙΘΘΙ cures 


ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE 
HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. 
Τ 1, ask the sylph who round thee flies, 
And in thy breath his pinion dips, 
Who suns him in thy radiant eyes, 
And faints upon thy sighing lips: 


Τ᾽] ask him where’s the veil of sleep 
That used to shade thy looks of light ; 

And why those eyes their vigil keep, 
When other suns are sunk in night ? 


And I will say—her angel breast 

Has never throbb’d with guilty sting ; 
Her bosom is the sweetest nest 

Where Slumber could repose his wing ! 


And I will say—her cheeks that flush, 
Like vernal roses in the sun, 
Have ne’er by shame been taught to 
blush, 
Except for what her eyes have done! 


Then tell me, why, thou child of air! 
Does slumber from her eyelids rove ? 

What is her heart’s impassion’d care ?— 
Perhaps, oh sylph! perhaps, ’tis love. 


THE WONDER. 


Comk, tell me where the maid is found, 
Whose heart can love without deceit, 
And I will range the world around, 
To sigh one moment at her feet. 


Oh! tell me where’s her sainted home, 
What air receives her blessed sigh, 

A pilgrimage of years ll roam 
To catch one sparkle of her eye ! 


And if her cheek be smooth and bright, 
While truth within her bosom lies, 

Τ᾽] gaze upon her mom and night, [eyes. 
Till my heart leave me through my 


126 


Show me on earth a thing so rare, 
Vl own all miracles are true ; 

To make one maid sincere and fair, 
Oh, ’tis the utmost Heay’n can do! 


LYING. 


Che con le lor bugie pajon divini. 
Mauro w Arcano. 
I po confess, in many a sigh, 
My lips have breathed you many a lie; 
-And who, with such delights in view, 
Would lose them, for a lie or two? 


ε 
Nay,—look not thus, with brow re- 
proving ; 

Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. 
If half we tell the girls were true, 
If half we swear to think and do, 
Were aught but lying’s bright illusion, 
This world would be in strange confu- 
If ladies’ eyes were, every one,  [sion. 
As lovers swear, a radiant sun, 
Astronomy must leave the skies, 
To learn her lore in ladies’ eyes. 
Oh, no, believe me, lovely girl, 
When nature turns your teeth to pearl, 
Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, 
Your amber locks to golden wire, 
Then, only then can Heaven decree, 
That you should live for only me, 
Or IJ for you, as night and morn, [sworn. 
We’ve swearing kiss’d, and kissing 


And now, my gentle hints to clear, 
For once I’ll tell you truth, my dear. 
Whenever you may chance to meet 
Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, 
Long as you’re false and he believes 

you, 
Long as you trust and he deceives you, 
So long the blissful bond endures, 
And while he lies, his heart is yours: 
But, oh! you’ve wholly lost the youth 
The instant that he tells you truth. 


*Tt does not appear to have been very diffi- 
cult to become a philosopher among the an- 
cients. A moderate store of learning, with a 
considerable portion of cofidence, and just wit 
enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, 
seem to have been all the qualifications neces- 
sary forthe purpose. The principles of moral sei- 
ence were so very imperfectly understood, that 
the founder of a new sect, in forming his ethical | 
code, might consult either fancy ortemperament, 
and adapt it to his own passions and propensi- 
ties; so that Mahomet, with a little more learn- 
ing, might have flourished as a philosopher in 
those days, aud would haye required but the 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


polish of the schools to become the rival of Avis- | 


ANACREONTIC. 


FRIEND of my soul, this goblet sip, 
’T will chase that pensive tear; 
Tis not so sweet as woman’s lip, 
But, oh! ’tis more sincere. ™ 
Like her delusive beam, ; 
’T will steal away thy mind: 
But, truer than love’s dream, 
It leaves no sting behind. 


Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to 
shade ; 
These flow’rs were cull’d at noon ;— 
Like woman’s love the rose will fade, 
But, ah! not half so soon, 
For though the flower’s decay’d, 
Its fragrance is not o’er; 
But once when love’s betray’d, 
Its sweet life blooms no more. 


THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIP- 
ΡΊΖΕΣ 
TO A LAMP 
WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS. 


Duleis conscia Jectuli Ineerna. 
ManrtTIAL., lib. xiv. epig. 39. 


“On! love the Lamp,” (my Mistress 
said, ) 
“The faithful Lamp, that, many a 
“ Beside thy Lais’ lonely bed {night, 
‘Has kept its little watch of light. 


“Pull often has it seen her weep, 
“‘ And fix her eye upon its flame, 
“Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, 
“ Repeating her beloved’s name. 


“Then love the Lamp—’twill often lead 
““Thy step through learning’s sacred 
way ; 
“And when those studious eyes shall 
read, 
“At midnight, by its lonely ray, 


tippus in morality. In the science of nature, 
too, though some valuable truths were discoy- 
ered by them, they seemed hardly to know they 
were truths, or at least were as well satisfied 
with errors; and Xenophanes, who asserted 
that the stars were igneous clouds, lighted up 
every night and extinguished again in the morn- 
ing, was thought and styled a ge as 
generally as he who anticipated Newton in de- 
veloping the arrangement of the universe. 

For this opinion of Xenophanes, see Plutarch. 
de Placit. Philosoph., lib. 11. cap. 13. It is im- 
possible to read this treatise of Plutarch, with- 
out alternately admiring the genius, and smiling 
at the absurdities of the philosophers. 


ὝΞ ΧΟ 


- 
t 


Oke ay eee οὐ. 


* 


- JUVENILE POEMS. 


127 


“Of things sublime, of nature’s birth, 

“Of all that’s bright in heaven or 

earth, [given, 

“Oh, think that she, by whom ’twas 

“ Adores thee more than earth or hea- 
ven !” 


Yes—dearest Lamp, by every charm 
On which thy midnight beam has 
hung ;* 
The head reclined, the graceful arm 
Across the brow of ivory flung ; 


The heaving bosom, partly hid, 
The sever’d lip’s unconscious sighs, 
The fringe that from the half-shut lid 
Adown the cheek of roses lies: 


By these, by all that bloom untold, 
And long as all shall charm mny heart, 
Τ᾽] love my little Lamp of gold— 
My Lamp and I shall never part. 


And often, as she smiling said, 
In fancy’s hour, thy gentle rays 
Shall guide my visionary tread 
Through poesy’s enchanting maze. 
Thy flame shall light the page refined, 
Where still we catch the Chian’s breath, 
Where still the bard, though cold in 
death, 
Has left his soul unquench’d behind. 
Or, o’er thy humbler legend shine, 
Oh man of Ascra’s dreary glades !+ 
To whom the nightly warbling Nine t 
A wand of inspiration gave,§ [shades 
Pluck’d from the greenest tree, that 
The crystal of Castalia’s wave. 


Then, turning to a purer lore, 

We'll cull the sages’ deep-hid store ; 
From Science steal her golden clew, 
And every mystic path pursue, 
Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes, 
Through labyrinths of wonder flies. 


* The ancients had their lucerne cubicularie 
or bed-chamber lamps, which, as the emperor 
Galienus said, ‘‘ nil eras meminere ;” and, with 
the same commendation of secrecy, Praxagora 
addresses her lamp in Aristophanes, ExxAys. 
We may judge how fanciful they were, in the 
use and embellishment of their lamps, from the 
famous symbolie Lucerna which we find in the 
Romanum Museum Mich. Ang. Cansei, p. 127. 

_} Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of 
his father's flight to the wretched Village of 
Asera. Epy. και ‘Huep. v. 251. 

t Ἐννυχίαι στειχον, περικαλλεα οσσαν ιεισαι. 

Theog. vy. 10. 


§ Και μοι σκηπτρον edov, δαφνὴης εριθηλεα οζον. 
Id. ν. 30. ' 


’Tis thus my heart shall learn to know 
How fleeting is this world below, 
Where all that meets the morning light, 
Is changed before the fall of night !| 


ΤΊ] tell thee, as I trim thy fire, 
“Swift, swift the tide of being runs, 
“And Time, who bids thy flame expire, 
“Will also quench yon heaven of 
suns.” 


Oh, then if earth’s united power 

Can never chain one feathery hour; 

If every print we leave to-day 
To-morrow’s wave will sweep away; 
Who pauses to inquire of heaven 

Why were the fleeting treasures given, 
The sunny days, the shady nights, 

And all their brief but dear delights, 
Which heaven has made for man to use, 
And man should think it crime to lose ? 
Who that has cull’d a fresh-blown rose 
Will ask it why it breathes and glows, 
Unmindful of the blushing ray, 

In which it shines its soul away ; 
Unmindful of the scented sigh, 

With which it dies and loves to die? 


Pleasure, thou only good on earth "τ 
One precious moment given to thee~ 
Oh! by my Lais’ lip, ’tis worth 
The sage’s immortality. 


Then far be all the wisdom hence, 
That would our joys one hour delay! 
Alas, the feast of soul and sense 
Love calls us to in youth’s bright day, 
If not soon tasted, fleets away. 


Ne’er wert thou form’d, my Lamp, to 
shed 
Thy splendor on a lifeless page ;— 
Whate’er my blushing Lais said 
Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 


| Ῥειν τα dda rorauov δικην, as expressed 
among the dogmas of Heraclitus the Ephesian, 
and with the same image by Seneca, in whom 
we find a beautiful diffusion of the thought. 
“Nemo est mane, qui fuit pridie. Corpora 
nostra rapiuntur fluminum more; quidquid 
vides currit cum tempore. Nihil ex his quae 
videmus manet. Ego ipse, dum loquor mutari 
ipsa, mutatus sum,” &e. 


q Aristippus considered motion as the princi- 
ple of happiness, in which idea he differed from 
the Epicureans, who looked to a state of repose 
as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided 
even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a 
violent and ungraceful derangement of the 


senses. 


128 


MOORLW’S WORKS. 


’T was mockery all—her glance of joy 
Told me thy dearest, best employ.* 


And, soon as night shall close the eye 
Of heaven’s young wanderer in the 
west ; 
When seers are gazing on the sky, 
To find their future orbs of rest; 
Then shall I take my trembling way, 
Unseen but to those worlds above, 
And, led by thy mysterious ray, 
Steal to the night-bower of my love. 


TO MRS. 5 
HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSLATION 
VOITURE’S KISS. 


Mon Ame sur mon lévre étoit lors toute entiére, 
Pour savourer le miel qui sur la votre étoit ; 
Mais en me retirant, elle resta derriére, 
Tant de ce donx plaisir l’amorce 1a restoit. 


VOITURE. 
How heavy’nly was the poet’s doom, 
To breathe his spirit through a kiss 
And lose within so sweet a tomb 
The trembling messenger of bliss! 


‘ON OF 


And, sure his soul return’d to feel 
That it again could ravish’d be; 
For in the kiss that thou didst steal, 

His life and soul have fled to thee. 


RONDEAU. 


“Goon night! good night !”—And is it 
And must I from my Rosa go? [so? 
Oh Rosa, say ‘‘ Good night!” once 
And I'll repeat it o’er and o’er, [more, 
‘Till the first glance of dawning light 

Shall find us saying, still, ‘‘ Good night.” 


And still “ Good night,” my Rosa, say— 
But whisper still, ‘‘ A minute stay ;” 
And I will stay, and every minute 
Shall have an age of transport in it ; 
Till Time himself shall stay his flight, 
To listen to our sweet “ Good night.” 


“Good night!” yowll murmur with a 
And tell me it is time to fly ; [sigh, 


* Maupertuis has been still more explicit 
than this philosopher, in ranking the pleasures 
of sense above the sublimest pursuits of wis- 
dom. Speaking of the infant man in his pro- 
duction, he calls him, ‘‘ une nouvelle eréature, 
gui pourra comprendre les choses les plus 
sublimes, et ce qui est bien au-dessns, qui 

ourra goiter les mémes_ plaisirs.” See 
his Vénus Physique. This appears to be one 
of the efforts at Ilontenelle’s gallantry of man- 
ner, tor which the learned President is so well 


And I will vow, will swear to go, [“‘No!” 

While still that sweet voice murmurs 

Till slumber seal our weary sight— 

And then, my love, my soul, ‘‘ Good 
night !’’ 


SONG. 


Wuy does azure deck the sky ἢ 
Tis to be like thine eyes of blue; 
Why is red the rose’s dye ? 
Because it is thy blushes’ hue. 
All that’s fair, by Love’s decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 


Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 
Why are solar beams so bright ? 
That they may seem thy golden hair ! 
All that’s bright, by Love’s decree, 
Has been made resembling thee ! 


Why are nature's beauties felt? 
Ob! ’tis thine in her we see! 
Why has music power to melt? 
Oh! because it speaks like thee! 
All that’s sweet, by Love’s decree, 
Has been made resembling thee. 


TO ROSA. 


LIKE one who trusts to summer skies, 
And puts his little bark to sea, 

Is he who, lured by smiling eyes, 
Consigns his simple heart to thee. 


For fickle is the summer wind, 
And sadly may the bark be toss’d; 
For thou art sure to change thy mind, 
And then the wretched heart is lost! 


WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE 
BOOK, CALLED “THE BOOK OF 
FOLLIES !” 


IN WHICH EVERY ONE THAT OPENED IT WAS TO 
CONTRIBUTE SOMETHING, 


TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. 


Tris tribute’s from a wretched elf, 
Who hails thee, emblem of himself. 


and justly ridiculed in the Akakia of Voltaire. 

Maupertuis may be thought to have borrow- 
ed from the ancient A ristippus that indiserimi- 
nate theory of pleasures which he has set forth 
in his Essai de Philosophie Morale, and for 
which he was so very justly condemned. Aris- 
tippus, according to Laertins, held μη διαφερειν 
τε ἡδονὴν ἡδονῆς, Which irrational sentiment 
has been adopted by Maupertuis: ‘ Tant 
qu’on ne considére que ]'état présent, tous les 
plaisirs sont du méme genre,” &c. &e, 


ths 


πο ΒΒ. ἂν σου νοι 


care 
UL ay 
bar I RP 


Yj 


Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 
But no one knows for whom it beameth, 
Right and left its arrows fly, 
But what they aim at no one dreameth. 
[Moore's Me lodies. 


a 


cy.” 
ae 


ee τῳ ee 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


The book of life, which I have traced, 
Has been, like thee, a motley waste 
Of follies scribbled o’er and o’er, 
One folly bringing hundreds more. 
Rue have indeed been writ so neat, 

n characters so fair, so sweet, 
That those who judge not too severely, 
Have said they loved such follies dearly ; 
Yet still, O book! the allusion stands ; 
For these were penn’d by female hands ; 
The rest—alas ! I own the truth— 
Have all been scribbled so uncouth 
That Prudence, with a with’ring look, 
Disdainful, flings away the book. 
Like thine, it’s pages here and there 
Have oft been stain’d with blots of care ; 
And sometimes hours of peace, I own, 
Upon some fairer leaves have shone, 
White as the snowings of that heav’n 
By which those hours of peace were 

given. 

But now no longer—such, oh, such 
The blast of Disappointment’s touch !— 
No longer now those hours appear ; 
Hach leaf is sullied by a tear: 

Blank, blank is ev’ry page with care, 
Not ev’n a folly brightens there. 
Will they yet brighten ?—never, never! 
Then shut the book, O God, forever ! 


TO ROSA. 


Say, why should the girl of my soul be 
in tears 
At a meeting of rapture like this, 
When the glooms of the past and the 
sorrow of years 
Have been paid by one moment of 
bliss ? 
Are they shed for that moment of bliss- 
ful delight, 
Which dwells on her memory yet? 
Do they flow, like the dews of the love- 
breathing night, [set ? 
From the warmth of the sun that has 


Oh! sweet is the tear on that languish- 
ing smile, 
_ That smile, which is loveliest then ; 


_Andif such are the drops that delight 


can beguile, 
Thou shalt weep them again and again. 


 * Eyxet, και παλιν εἰπε, παλιν, παλιν, ἩἩλιοδωρας 


Eure, συν ἀκρήητῳ To γλυκὺν poy’ ονομα. 
Και μοι tov βρεχθενταμυροις και χθιζον εοντα, 
Μναμοσυνον κεινας, αμφιτιθει στεφανον" 


129 


LIGHT SOUNDS THE HARP. 


LicuT sounds the harp when the com- 
bat is over, { bloom ; 
When heroes are resting, and joy isin 
When laurels hang loose from the brow 
of the lover, [rior’s plume. 
And Cupid makes wings of the war- 
But, when the foe returns, 
Again the hero burns; 
High flames the sword in his hand once 
more ; 
The clang of mingling arms 
Is then the sound that charms, 
And brazen notes of war, that stirring 
trumpets pour ;— 
| Then, again comes the Harp, when the 
combat is over— 
When heroes are resting, and Joy 
is in bloomn— [of the lover, 
When laurels hang loose from the brow 
And Cupid makes wings of the war- 
rior’s plume. 


Light went the harp when the War-God, 
reclining, [to rest, 
Lay lull’d on the white arm of Beauty 
When round his rich armor the myrtle 
hung twining, 
And flights of young doves made his 
helmet their nest. 
But, when the battle came, 
The hero’s eye breathed flame: 
Soon from his neck the white arm was 
flung ; 
While, to his wak’ning ear, 
No other sounds were dear 
But brazen notes of war, by thousand 
trumpets sung. 
But then came the light harp, when 
danger was ended, 
And Beauty once more lull’d the War- 
God to rest ; [lay blended, 
When tresses of gold with his laurels 
And flights of young doves made his 
helmet their nest. 


FROM THE GREEK OF MELEA- 
GER.* 
Fix high the cup with liquid flame, 
And speak my Heliodora’s name. 
Repeat its magic o’er and o’er, 
And let the sound my lips adore, 


Aaxpver φιλεραστον Sov podov, ovvexa κειναν 
Αλλοθι κ᾽ ov KOATOLS NMETEPOLS εσορα. 
BRUNCK. Analect. tom. 1. p. 28. 


190 MOORE’S 


Live in the breeze, till every tone, 
And word, and breath, speaks her alone. 


Give me the wreath that withers there, 

It was but last delicious night, 

It circled her luxuriant hair, 

And caught her eyes’ reflected light. 
Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow: 
’Tis all of her that’s left me now. 

And see—each rosebud drops a tear, 
To find the nymph no longer here— 

No longer, where such heavenly charms 
As hers should be—within these arms. 


SONG. 


Fry from the world, O Bessy! to me, 
Thou wilt never find any sincerer ; 
ΤΊ] give up the world, O Bessy ! for thee, 
I can never meet any that’s dearer. 
Then tell me no more, with a tear and 

a sigh, [many ; 
That our loves will be censured by 
All, all have their follies, and who will 


deny 
That ours is the sweetest of any? 


When your lip has met mine, in com- 
munion so sweet, 
Have we felt as if virtue forbid it ?— 
Have we felt as if heav’n denied them 
to meet ? — 
No, rather ’twas heav’n that did it. . 
So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, 
So little of wrong is there in it, 
That I wish all my errors were lodged 
on your lip, 
And Τ᾽] kiss them away in a minute. 


Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his 
shed, [spisest ; 
From a world which I know thou de- 
And slumber will hover as light o’er our 
bed 
As e’er on the couch of the wisest. 
And when o’er our pillow the tempest is 
driven, 
And thou, pretty innocent, fearest, 
V’ll tell thee, it is not the chiding of 
heaven, 
’Tis only our lullaby, dearest. 


And, oh! while we lie on our deathbed, 
my love, 
Looking back on the scene of our errors, 
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then 
above, 
And Death be disarm’d of his terrors. 


WORKS. 


And each to the other embracing will say, 
‘Farewell! let us hope we’re for- 
iven.” [way, 

Thy last fading glance will illumine the 
And a kiss be our passport to heaven! 


THE RESEMBLANCE. 


vo cereand’ io, 

Donna, quant’e possibile, in altrui 

La desiata vostra forma vera. 
PETRARC. Sonnett. 14. 


YEs, if ’twere any common love, 
That led my plant heart astray, 

I grant, there’s not a power above, 
Could wipe the faithless crime away. 


But, ’twas my doom to err with one 
In every look so like to thee 

That, underneath yon blessed sun, 
So fair there are but thou and she. 


Both born of beauty, at a birth, 
She held with thine a kindred sway, 
| And wore the only shape on earth 
That could have lured my soul to stray. 


Then blame me not, if false I be, 
’T was love that waked the fond excess, 
My heart had been more true to thee, 
Had mine eye prized thy beauty less. 


FANNY, DEAREST. 


YEs ! had 1 leisure to sigh and mourn, 
Fanny, dearest, for thee I’d sigh ; 

And every smile on my cheek should 
To tears when thou art nigh. [turn 

But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 
So busy a life I live, weep 

That even the time it would take to 
Is more than my heart can give. 

Then bid me not to despair and pine, 
Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 

The Love that’s order’d to bathe in wine, 
Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 


But, ah, the mirror would cease to shine, 
If dimm’d too often with sighs. 

They lose the half of beauty’s light, 
Who view it through sorrow’s tear ; 

And ’tis but to see thee truly bright 
That I keep my eye-beam clear. 

Then wait no longer till tears shall flow, 
Fanny, dearest—the hope is vain ; 


If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, 
I shall never attempt it with rain. 


κα... 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


THE RING. 


No—Lady! Lady ! keep the ring: 
Oh! think, how many a future year, 
Of placid smile and downy wing, 
May sleep within its holy sphere. 


Do not disturb their tranquil dream, 
Though love hath ne’er the myst’ry 
warm’d; 
Yet heaven will shed a soothing beam, 
To bless the bond itself hath form’d. 


But, then, that eye, that burning eye,— 
Oh! it doth ask, with witching power, 
If heaven can ever bless the tie [er? 
Where love inwreathes no genial flow- 


Away, away, bewildering look, 

Or all the boast of virtue’s o’er ; 
Go—hie thee to the sage’s book, 

And learn from him to feel no more. 


I cannot warn thee: every touch, 
That brings my pulses close to thine, 
Tells me I want thy aid as much — 
Ἐν ἢ more, alas, than thou dost mine. 


Yet, stay, —one hope, one effort yet— 
A moment turn those eyes away, 
And let me, if I can, forget 
The light that leads my soul astray. 


Thou say’st, that we were born to meet, 
That our hearts bear one common 
seal ;— 
Think, Lady, think, how man’s deceit 
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel. 


‘When, o’er thy face some gleam of 
thought, Lair, 
Like daybeams through the morning 
Hath gradual stole, and I have caught 
The feeling ere it kindled there ; 


The sympathy I then betray’d, 
Perhaps was but the child of art, 

The guile of one, who long hath play’d 
With all these wily nets of heart. 


Ὁ thine is not my earliest vow ; 
Though few the years I yet have told, 

Canst thou believe I’ve lived till now, 
With loveless heart or senses cold ? 


No—other nymphs to joy and pain 
This wild and wandering heart hath 
moved ; 


* . , . . 
_ With some it sported, wild and vain, 


With some it dearly, truly loved. 


131 


The cheek to thine I fondly lay, 

To theirs hath been as fondly laid; 
The words to thee I warmly say, 

To them have been as warmly said. 


Then, scorn at once a worthless heart, 
Worthless alike, or fix’d or free ; 

Think of the pure, bright soul thou art, 
And—love not me, oh love not me! 


Enough—now, turn thine eyes again ; 
What, still that look and still that sigh! 

Dost thou not feel my counsel then ? 
Oh! no, beloved,—nor do I. 


TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL. 


THEY try to persuade me, my dear little 
sprite, Land light, . 
That you’re not a true daughter of ether 
Nor have any concern with those fanciful 
forms [storms ; 
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon 
That, in short, yow’re a woman; your lip 
and your eye 
As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. 
But I will not believe them—no, Science, 
to you L adieu: 
I have long bid a last and a careless 
Still flying from Nature to study her 
laws, [ cause, 
And dulling delight by exploring its 
You forget how superior, for mortals be- 
low, [that they know. 
Is the fiction they dream to the truth 
Oh! who, that has e’er enjoy’d rapture 
complete, [sweet ; 
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is 
How rays are confused, or how particles 
y [or a sigh ; 
Through the medium refined of a glance 
Is there one, who but once would not 
rather have known it, 
Than written, with Harvey, whole vol- 
umes upon it ? 


As for you, my sweet-voiced and in- 
visible love, [that rove 
You must surely be one of those spirits, 
By the bank where, at twilight, the poet 
reclines, [shines, 
When the star of the west on his solitude 
And the magical figures of fancy have 
hung [with a tongue. 
Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf 
Oh! hint to him then, ’tis retirement 
alone 
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone ; 


192 MOORE'S 
Like you, with a veil of seclusion be- 

tween, [unseen, 
His song to the world let him utter 
And like you, a legitimate child of the 

spheres, [ears. 
Escape from the eye to enrapture the 


Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should 
love, [rove, 
In the wearisome ways I am fated to 
To have you thus ever invisibly nigh, 
Inhaling forever your song and your sigh! 
’Mid the crowds of the world and the 
murmurs of care, 
I might sometimes converse with my 
nymph of the air, 
And turn with distaste from the clamor- 
ous crew, [you. 
To steal in the pauses one whisper from 


Then, come and be near me, forever be 

mine, [divine, 

We shall hold in the air a communion 

As sweet as, of old, was imagined to 
dwell 

In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates’ cell. 


And oft, at those lingering moments of | 


night, [put slumber to flight, 
When the heart’s busy thoughts have 
You shall come to my pillow and tell me 
of love, [above. 
Such as angel to angel might whisper 
Sweet spirit ! !—and then, could you bor- 
row the tone 
Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy- 
song known, 


The voice of the one upon earth, who | 


has twined [ mind, 
With her being forever my heart and my 


Though lonely and far from the light of | 


her smile, [ while, 
An exile, and weary and hopeless the 
Could you shed for a moment her voice 
on my ear, 


I will think, for that moment, that Cara | 
That she comes with consoling enchant- | 


ment to speak, [my cheek, 
And kisses my eyelid and breathes on 
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly 
by, [is nigh. 
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven 


* Tshould he sorry to think that my friend had 
any serious intentions of frightening the nursery | 
by this story: I rather hope—though the manner 
of it leads me to doubt—that his design was to 
ridiewe that distempered taste which prefers 
those monsters of the fancy to the “speciosa 
miracula”’ of true poetic imagination. 


[is near; | 


WORKS. 


Fair spirit! if such be your magical 
ower, [hour ; 

It will lighten the lapse of full many an 
And, let fortune’s realities frown as they 


will, [still. 
Hope, fancy, and Cara may smile for me 
THE RING.* 
A TALE. 


Annulus ille viri—Ovip. Amor. lib. ii. eleg. 15. 


THE happy day at length arrived 
When Rupert was to wed 

The fairest maid in Saxony, 
And take her to his bed. 


As soon as,morn was in the sky, 
The feast and sports began ; 

The men admired the happy maid, 
The maids the happy man. 


In many a sweet device of mirth 
The day was pass’d along ; 

And some the featly dance amused, 
And some the dulcet song. 


The younger maids with Isabel 
Disported through the bowers, [head 

And deck’d her robe, and crown’d her 
With motley bridal flowers. 


The matrons all in rich attire, 
Within the castle walls, 

| Sat listening to the choral strains 

That echo’d through the halls. 


Young Rupert and his friends repair’d 
Unto a spacious court, 

To strike the bounding tennis-ball 
In feat and manly sport. 


The bridegroom on his finger wore 
The wedding-ring so bright, 

| Which was to grace the lily hand 

Of Isabel that night. 


And fearing he might break the gem, 
| Or lose it in the » play, 

He look’d around the court, to see 

| Where he the ring might lay. 


| Now in the court a statue stood, 
Which there full long had been; 

It might a Heathen goddess be, 
Or else, a Heathen queen. 


I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he 
met with this story in a German author, From- 
|man upon Fascination, book iii. part vi. ch. 

18. On consulting the work I pereeive that 
| Fromman quotes “it from Belnacensis, among 
| many other stories equally diabolical and inter- 
| esting. E. 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


133 


Upon its marble finger then 
e tried the ring to fit; 
And, thinking it was safest there, 
Thereon he fasten’d it. 


And now the tennis sports went on, 
Till they were wearied all, 

And messengers announced to them 
Their dinner in the hall. 


Young Rupert for his wedding-ring 
Unto the statue went ; 

But, oh, how shock’d was he to find 
The marble finger bent ! 


The hand was closed upon the ring 
With firm and mighty clasp ; 

In vain he tried, and tried, and tried, 
He could not loose the grasp! 


Then sore surprised was Rupert’s mind— 
And well his mind might be; 

“T’ll come,” quoth he, “ αὖ night again, 
“When none are here to see.” 


He went unto the feast, and much 
He thought upon his ring ; 

And maryell’d sorely what could mean 
So very strange a thing! 


The feast was o’er, and to the court 
He hied without delay, 

Resolved to break the marble hand 
And force the ring away. 


But, mark a stranger wonder still— 
The ring was there no more, 

And yet the marble hand ungrasp’d, 
And open as before ! 


He search’d the base, and all the court, 
But nothing could he find ; 

Then to the castle hied he back 
With sore bewilder’d mind. 


Within he found them all in mirth, 
The night in dancing flew ; 

The youth another ring procured, 
And none the adventure knew. 


And now the priest has join’d their 
The hours of love advance:  [hands, 
Rupert almost forgets to think 
Upon the morn’s mischance. 


Within the bed fair Isabe? 
In blushing sweetness iay, 

Like flowers, half-open’d by the dawn, 
And waiting for the day. 


And Rupert, by her lovely side, 
Tn youthful beauty glows, 


Like Pheebus, when he bends to cast 
His beams upon a rose. 


And here my song would leave them 
Nor let the rest be told, [both, 
If ’twere not for the horrid tale 
It yet has to unfold. 


Soon Rupert, ’twixt his bride and him, 
A death-cold carcass found ; 

He saw it not, but thought he felt 
Its arms embrace him round. 


He started up, and then return’d, 
But found the phantom still; 

In vain he shrunk, it clipp’d him round, 
With damp and deadly chill! 


And when he bent, the earthy lips 
A kiss of horror gave ; 

’T was like the smell from charnel vaults, 
Or from the mould’ring grave ! 


Ill-fated Rupert !—wild and loud 
Then cried he to his wife, 

‘Oh! save me from this horrid fiend, 
““My Isabel! my life!” 


But Isabel had nothing seen, 
She look’d around in vain; 

And much she mourn’d the mad conceit 
That rack’d her Rupert’s brain. 


At length from this invisible 
These words to Rupert came : 

(Oh God! while he did hear the words 
What terror shook his frame !) 


“Husband, husband, I’ve the ring 
“Thou gay’st to-day to me; 

“ And thou’rt to me forever wed, 
““As I am wed to thee!” 


And all the night the demon lay 
Cold-chilling by his side, (grasp, 

And strain’d him with such deadly 
He thought he should have died. 


But when the dawn of day was near, 
The horrid phantom fled, 

And left th’ affrighted youth to weep 
By Isabel in bed. 


And all that day a gloomy cloud 
Was seen on Rupert’s brows; 
Fair Isabel was likewise sad, 
But strove to cheer her spouse. 


And, as the day advanced, he thought 
Of coming night with fear: 

Alas, that he should dread to view 
The bed that should be dear! 


134 


At length the second night arrived, 
Again their couch they press’d ; 
Poor Rupert hoped that all was o’er, 

And look’d for love and rest. 


But oh! when midnight came, again 
The fiend was at his side, 

And, as it strain’d him in its grasp, 
With howl exulting cried :— 


“Husband, husband, I’ve the ring, 
“The ring thou gay’st to me ; 

“ And thowrt to me forever wed, 
“As I am wed to thee!” 


In agony of wild despair, « 
He started from the bed ; 
And thus to his bewilder’d wife 
The trembling Rupert said : 


“Oh Isabel! dost thou rot see 
“Α shape of horrors here, 

“That strains me to its deadly kiss, 
“And keeps me from my dear?” 


“No, no, my love! my Rupert, I 
‘“ No shape of horrors see ; 

“And much I mourn the phantasy 
“That keeps my dear from me.” 


This night, just like the night before, 
Tn terrors pass’d away, 

Nor did the demon vanish thence 
Before the dawn of day. 


Said Rupert then, ‘‘ My Isabel, 
“Dear partner of my wo, 

“To Father Austin’s holy cave 
‘‘ This instant will I go.” 


Now Austin was a reverend man, 
Who acted wonders maint— 

Whom all the country round believed 
A devil or a saint! 


To Father Austin’s holy cave 
Then Rupert straightway went ; 
And told him all, and ask’d him how 
These horrors to prevent. 


The Father heard the youth, and then 
Retired awhile to pray ; 

And, having pray’d for half an hour, 
Thus to the youth did say : 


“There is a place where four roads meet, 
‘Which I will tell to thee ; 

“Be there this eve, at fall of night, 
** And list what thou shalt see: 


“Thow lt see a group of figures pass 
“In strange disorder’d crowd, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Travelling by torchlight through the 
roads, 
“With noises strange and loud. 


“¢ And one that’s high above the rest, 
“Terrific towering 0’er, 

‘Will make thee know him at a glance, 
“So I need say no more. 


‘¢To him from me these tablets give, 
“They'll quick be understood ; 
“Thou need’st not fear, but give them 
straight, 
“Y’ve scrawl’d them with my blood !” 


The nightfall came, and Rupert all 
In pale amazement went 

To where the crossroads met, as he 
Was by the Father sent. 


And lo! a group of figures came 
In strange disorder’d crowd, 
Travelling by torchlight through the 
With noises strange and loud. [roads, 


And, as the gloomy train advanced, 
Rupert beheld from far 

A female form of wanton mien 
High seated on a car, 


And Rupert, as he gazed upon 
The loosely vested dame, 
Thought of the marble statue’s look, 
For hers was just the same. 


Behind her walk’d a hideous form, 
With eyeballs flashing death ; 

Whene’er he breathed, ἃ sulphur’d smoke 
Came burning in his breath. 


He seem’d the first of all the crowd, 
Terrific towering o’er ; 

““Yes, yes,” said Rupert, “‘ this is he, 
“ And I need ask no more.” 


Then slow he went, and to this fiend 
The tablets trembling gave, 

Who look’d and read them with a yell 
That would disturb the grave. 


And when he saw the blood-scrawl’d 
His eyes with fury shine ; [name, 
“41 thought,” cries he, ‘his time was 
‘But be must soon be mine!” [οαΐ, 


Then darting at the youth a look 
Which rent his soul with fear, 

He went unto the female fiend, 
And whisper’d in her ear. 


The female fiend no sooner heard 
Than, with reluctant look, 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


The very ring that Rupert lost. 
She from her finger took. 


And, giving it unto the youth, 
With eyes that breathed of hell, 

She said, in that tremendous voice, 
Which he remember'd well: 


ΠΤ Austin’s name take back the ring, 
“The ring thou gav’st to me ; 

“ And thowrt to me no longer wed, 
“‘ Nor longer I to thee.” 


He took the ring, the rabble pass’d, 
He home return’d again ; 

His wife was then the happiest fair, 
The happiest he of men. 


ΠΡΟΣ ae Ames Bare 


ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL | 
AND A RICH GIRDLE, 


Pur off the vestal veil, nor, oh! 
Let weeping angels view it ; 

Your cheeks belie its virgin snow, 
And blush repenting through it. 


Put off the fatal zone you wear ; | 
The shining pearls around it 

Are tears that fell from Virtue there, 
The hour when Loye unbound it. 


WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF | 
OF A LADY’S COMMONPLACE BOOK. 
Here is one leaf reserved for me, 
From all thy sweet memorials free ; 
And here my simple song might tell 
The feelings thou must guess so well. 
But could 1 thus, within thy mind, 
One little vacant corner find, 
Where no impression yet is seen, 
Where no memorial yet hath been, 
Oh ! it should be my sweetest care 
To write my name forever there ! 


TO MRS. BL . 
WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM. 


THEY say that Love had once a book 
(The urchin likes to copy you, ) 


Where, all who came, the pencil took | 
And wrote, like us, a line or two. | 
'Twas Innocence, the maid divine, | 
Who kept this volume bright and fair 
And saw that no unhallow’d line ἢ 
Or thought profane should enter there; | 


) 


135 


And daily did the pages fill 
With fond device and loving lore, 


_And every leaf she turn’d was still 


More bright than that she turn’d before, 


Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, 
How light the magic pencil ran ! 

Till Fear would come, alas, as oft, 
And trembling close what Hope began. 


A tear or two had dropp’d from Grief, 
And Jealousy would, now and then, 


| Ruffle in haste some snow-white leaf, 


Which Love had still to smooth again. 


| But, ah! there came a blooming boy, 


Who often turn’d the pages o’er, 
And wrote therein such words of joy, 
That all who read them sigh’d for 
more. 


And Pleasure was this spirit’s name, 
And though so soft his voice and look, 

Yet Innocence, whene’er he came, 
Would tremble for her spotless book. 


For, oft a Bacchant cup he bore, 
With earth’s sweet nectar sparkling 
bright, 


| And much she fear’d lest, mantling o’er, 


Some drops should on the pages light. 


' And so it chanced, one luckless night, 


The urchin let that goblet fall 
O’er the fair book, so pure, so white, 
And sullied lines and marge and all! 


'In vain now, touch’d with shame, he 


tried 
To wash those fatal stains away ; 


| Deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide, 


The leaves grew darker every day. 


And Fanecy’s sketches lost their hue, 
And Hope’s sweet lines were all 
effaced, 
And Love himself now searcely knew 
What Love himself so lately traced. 


At length the urchin Pleasure fled, 
(For how, alas! could Pleasure stay ?) 

And Love, while many a tear he shed, 
Reluctant flang the book away. 


The index now alone remains, 
Of all the pages spoil’d by Pleasure, 
And though it bears some earthy stains, 
Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure. 


And oft, they say, she scans it o’er, 
And oft, by this memorial aided, 


190 MOORH’S 


WORKS. 


Brings back the pages now no more, 
And thinks of lines that long have 
faded. 


I know not if this tale be true, 

But thus the simple facts are stated ; 
And I refer their truth to you, 

Since Love and you are near related. 


TO CARA, 
AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. 


ConcEAL’D within the shady wood 
A mother left her sleeping child, 

And flew, to cull her rustic food, 
The fruitage of the forest wild. 


But storms upon her pathway rise, 
The mother roams, astray and weep- 
ing ; 
Far from the weak appealing cries 
Of him she left so sweetly sleeping. 


She hopes, she fears ; a light is seen, 
And gentler blows the night wind’s 
breath ; 
Yet no—'tis gone—the storms are keen, 
The infant may be chill’d to death! 


Perhaps, ev’n now, in darkness shrouded, 
His little eyes lie cold and still ;— 
And εὐ perhaps, they are not clouded, 
Life and love may light them still. 


Thus, Cara, at our last farewell, 

When, fearful evy’n thy hand to touch, 
I mutely ask’d those eyes to tell 

If parting pain’d thee half so much : 


Ithought,—and, oh, forgive the thought, 
For none was e’er by love inspired 
Whom fancy had not also taught 
To hope the bliss his soul desired, — 


Yes, I did think, in Cara’s mind, 
Though yet to that sweet mind un- 

I left one infant wish behind, [known, 
One feeling which I call’d my own. 


Oh blest! though but in fancy blest, 
How did I ask of Pity’s care, 

To shield and strengthen, in thy breast, 
The nursling I had cradled there. 


And, many an hour, beguiled by pleas- 
ure, [b’ring, 
And many an hour of sorrow num- 
I ne’er forgot the new-born treasure, 
I left within thy bosom slumb’ring. 


Perhaps, indifference has not chill’d it, 
Haply, it yet a throb may give— 

Yet, no—perhaps, a doubt has kill’d it ; 
Say, dearest—does the feeling live ? 


TO CARA, 
ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR’S DAY. 


WHEN midnight came to close the year, 
We sigh’d to think it thus should take 
The hours it gave us—hours as dear 
As sympathy and love could make 
Their blessed moments,—every sun 
Saw us, my love, more closely one. 


But, Cara, when the dawn was nigh 
Which came anew year’s light to shed, 
That smile we caught from eye to eye 
Told us, those moments were not fled: 
Oh, no,—we felt, some future sun 
Should see us still more closely one. 


Thus may we ever, side by side, 
From happy years to happier glide ; 
And still thus may the passing sigh 
We give to hours, that vanish o’er us, 
Be follow’d by the smiling eye, 
That Hope shall shed on scenes be- 
fore us ! 


UNO GG too 5 Ὁ ὁ ; 1801. 


To be the theme of every hour 

The heart devotes to Fancy’s power, 

When her prompt magic fills the mind 

With friends and joys we’ve left behind, 

| And joys return and friends are near, 

And all are welcomed with a tear :— 

In the mind’s purest seat to dwell, 

To be remember’d oft and well 

By one whose heart, though vain and wild, 

By passion led, by youth beguiled, 

Can proudly still aspire to be 

All that may yet win smiles from thee :— 

If thus to live in every part 

Of a lone, weary wanderer’s heart ; 

If thus to be its sole employ 

Can give thee one faint gleam of joy, 
Believe it, Mary,—oh! believe 

A tongue that never can deceive, 

Though, erring, it too oft betray [say,— 

ν᾽ ἢ more than Love should dare to 

Τὴ Pleasure’s dream or Sorrow’s hour, 

| In crowded ball or lonely bower, 

|The business of my life shall be, 
Forever to remember thee. 

| And though that heart be dead to mine, 


aes Cee 
-- ᾽ 


; JUVENILE POEMS. 


Since Love is life and wakes not thine, 


ΤΙ take thy image, as the form 


Of one whom Love had fail’d to warm, 

Which, though it yield no answering 
thrill, 

Ts not less dear, is worshipp’d still— 

I'll take it, wheresoe’er I stray, 

The bright, cold burden of my way. 

To keep this semblance fresh in bloom, 

My heart shall be its lasting tomb, 

And Memory, with embalming care, 

Shall keep it fresh and fadeless there. 


THE GENIUS OF HARMONY, 
AN IRREGULAR ODE. 


Ad harmoniam canere mundum. 
Cicero de Nat. Deor., lib. iii. 


THERE lies a shell beneath the waves, 
In many a hollow winding wreath’d, 
Such as of old 
Echoed the breath that warbling sea- 
maids breathed ; 
This magic shell, 
From the white bosom of a syren fell, 
As once she wander’d by the tide that 
laves 
Sicilia’s sands of gold. 


*In the ‘‘ Histoire Naturelle des Antilles,” 
there is an account of some curious shells, 
found at Curagoa, on the back of which were 
lines, filled with musical characters so distinct 
and perfect, that the writer assures us a very 
charming trio was sung from one of them. 
“On le nomme musical, parcequ’il porte sur le 
dos des lignes noiritres pleines de notes, qui 
ont une espéce de clé pour les mettre en chant, 
de sorte que l'on diroit qu'il ne manque que la 
lettre & cette tablature naturelle. Ce ecurienx 
gentilhomme (M. du Montel) rapporte qu'il en 
av quia voient cing lignes, une clé,et des notes, 
qui fermoient un accord parfait. Quelqn'un 
y avoit ajouté la lettre, que la nature avoit 
oubliée et la faisoit chanter en forme de trio, 
dont lair étoit fort agréable.””—Chap. xix. art. 
11, The author adds, a poet might imagine 
that these shells were used by the syrens at 
their concerts. 

t According to Cicero, and his commentator, 
Macrobius, the lunar tone is the gravest and 
faintest on the planetary heptachord. ‘ Quam 
ob causam summus ille ecceli stellifer cursus, 
cujus conversio est concitatior, acuto et exci- 
tato movetur sono; gravissimo autem hic In- 
naris atque infimus.”"—Somn. Scip. Because, 
says Macrobius, “ spiritu ut in extremitatelan- 
guescente jam yolvitur, et propter angustias 
quibus penultimus orbis arctatur impetu leniore 
convertitur.”—In Somn. Scip., lib. ii. cap. 4. 
In their musical arrangement of the heavenly 
hodies, the ancient writers are not very intelli- 
gible. See Ptolem., lib. iii. 


137 


It bears 
Upon its sbinmg side the mystic notes, 
Of those entrancing airs,* [swell, 
The genii of the deep were wont to 
When heaven’s eternal orbs their mid- 
night musie roll’d! 
Oh! seek it, wheresoe’er it floats; 
And, if the power [dear, 
Of thrilling numbers to thy soul be 
Go, bring the bright shell to my 
bower, (dreams 
And I will fold thee in such downy 
As lap the Spirit of the Seventh 
Sphere, [on his ear! f 
When Luna’s distant tone falls faintly 
And thou shalt own, 
That, through the circle of creation’s 
zone, [spirit beams ; 
Where matter slumbers or where 
From the pellucid tides,t that whirl 
The planets through their maze of 
song, 
To the small rill, that weeps along 
Murmuring o’er beds of pear! : 
From the rich sig [sky,§ 
Of the sun’s arrow through an evening 
To the faint breath the tuneful osier 
yields 
On Afrie’s burning fields;|| 


Leone Hebreo, in pursuing the idea of Aris- 
totle, that the heavens are animal, attributes 
their harmony to perfect and reciprocal iove. 
““Non pero mancea fra loro il perfetto et recip- 
roco amore: la causa principale, che ne mostra 
il loro amore, ὃ la lor amicitia armonica et la 
concordanza, che perpetuamente si trova in 
loro.’’—Dialog. ii. di Amore, p. 58. This **re- 
ciprico amore’ of Leone is the φιλότης of the 
ancient Empedocles, who seems, in his Loye 
and Hate of the Elements, to have given a 
glimpse of the principles of attraction and re- 

ulsion. See the fragment to which I allude in 
saertius, AAAote μὲν φιλοτητι, συνερχομεν᾽, K. 
7.A., lib, viii. cap. 2, n. 12. 

t Leucippus, the atomist, imagined a kind of 
vortices in the heavens, which he borrowed 
from Anaxagoras, and possibly suggested to 
Descartes. 

§ Heraclides, upon the allegories of Homer, 
conjectures that the idea of the harmony of the 
spheres originated with this poet, who, in repre- 
senting the solar beams as arrows, supposes 
them to emit a peculiar sound in the air. 


|| In the account of Africa which D’Ablan- 
court has translated, there is mention of a treo 
in that country, whose branches when shaken 
by the hand produce very sweet sounds. “Le 
méme anteur (Abenzégar) dit. qu'il y a un cer- 
tain arbre, qui produit des ganles comme d’osier, 
et qu en les prenant ἃ la main et les branlant 
elles font une espéce d’harmonie fort agréable,”’ 
&eo. &c.—L' Afrique de Marmoi. 


198 


MOGRE’S WORKS. 


Thow lt wondering own this universe 
divine 
Is mine! 
That I respire in all and all in me, 
One mighty mingled soul of boundless 
harmony. 


Welcome, welcome, mystic shell ! 
Many a star has ceased to burn, * 
Many a tear has Saturn’s urn 
O’er the cold bosom of the ocean 
Since thy aérial spell [wept,t 
Hath in the waters slept. 
Now blest I’ll fly 
With me bright treasure to my choral 
SKY, 
Where she, who waked its early 
swell, 
The Syren of the heavenly choir, 
Walks o’er the great string of my Orphic 
Lyte ;+ 
Or guides around the burning pole 
The winged chariot of some blissful 


While thou— [soul .§ 
Oh son of earth, what dreams shall rise 
for thee! 


Beueath Hispania’s sun, 
Thow’lt see a streamlet run, 


* Alluding to the extinction, or at least the 
disappearance, of some of those fixed stars, 
which we are taught to consider as suns, at- 
tended each by its system. Descartes thought 
that our earth might formerly have been a sun, 
which became obscured by a thick incrusta- 
tion overi:ssurface. This probably suggested 
the idea of a central fire. 

+ Porphyry says, that Pythagoras held the 
seato beatear, Τὴν ϑάλατταν μεν εκαλει εἰναι 
δακρυον, (De Vita;) and some one else, if 
I mistake not, has added the planet Saturn as 
the source of it. Empedocles, with similar af- 
fectation, called the sea “the sweat of the 
earth:’’ iSpwra τῆς γης. See Rittershusius 
upon Porphyry, Num. 41. 

1 The system of the harmonized orbs was 
styled by the ancients the Great Lyre of Or- 
pheus, for which Lucian thus accounts :—7 δὲ 
Avpy ἑπταμιτος εουσα THY των κινουμενων ac- 
τρων ἁρμονιαν συνεβαλλετο, κ. τ. A. in Astrolog. 

§ Διειλε ψυχας ἐσαριθμους τοις αστροις, Everpe 
y ἑκαστὴν πρὸς ἕκαστον, Kat εμβιβασας ‘QS 
ΕἸΣ OXHMA.—‘ Distributing the souls sev- 
erally among the stars, and mounting each soul 
upon ἃ star as on its chariot.” —Plato, Timeeus. 

|| This musical river is mentioned in the ro- 
mance of Achilles Tatius. Ee: ποταμὸν... ἣν 
δὲ axovaat geAns Tov ὕδατος λαλουντος. ‘The 
Latin version, in supplying the hiatus which 
is in the original, has placed the river in His- 
pania. “Τὴ Hispaniaé quoque fluvius est, quem 
primo aspectu,” &c. &e. 

{| These two lines are translated from the 
words of Achilles Tatius. Eav yap oAvyos ave- 


Which I’ve imbued with breathing 
melody ;|| [current die, 
And there, when night-winds down the 
Thou’lt hear how like a harp its waters 
sigh: 
A liquid chord is every wave that flows, 
An airy plectrum every breeze that 
blows. J 


There, by that wondrous stream, 
Go, lay thy languid brow, 
And I will send thee such a godlike 
dream, [him,** 
As never bless’d the slumbers even of 
Who, many a night, with his primordial 
lyre, tt [mount, tf 
Sate on the chill Pangean 
And, looking to the orient dim, 
Watch’d the first flowing of that sa- 
cred fount, [fire. 
From which his soul had drunk its 
Oh! think what visiens, in that lonely 
hour, 
Stole o’er his musing breast ; 
What pious ecstasy §§ 
Wafted his prayer to that eternal Power, 
Whose seal upon this new-born world 
impress’ d]||| 
Kpovetat, To Se πνευμα τοῦ ὕδατος πληκτρον 
γινεται. To ῥευμα be ὡς κιθαρα AaAer.—Lib. il. 
** Orpheus. 
jt They called his lyre apyxatotpomov ἑἕπτα- 
xopSov Opdews. See a curious work by a pro- 
fessor of Greek at Venice, entitled ‘* Hebdoma- 
des, sive septem de septenario Jibri.’’—Lib. iy. 
cap. 3, p. 177. 
ft Eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme 
veneration of Orpheus for Apollo, says that 
he was accustomed to go to the Pangzan 
mountain at daybreak, and there wait the ris- 
ing of the sun, that he might be the first to hail 
its beams.—Emeyetpomevos τε τῆς VUKTOS, κατα 
τὴν ἑωθινὴν ETL TO apos TO καλουμενον Παγγαιον, 
προσεμενε Tas ανατολαᾶς, iva wy Tov Ἥλιον πρω- 


| Tov.— Kataotepiop. 24, 


δὲ There are some verses of Orpheus pre- 
served to us whieh contain sublime ideas of the 
unity and magnificence of the Deity. For in- 
stance, those which Justin Martyr has pro- 
dueed :— 


Οὗτος μεν χαλκειον ες ουρανον ἐστηρικται 
Χρυσειὼ eve βρονω, κ. τ. Δ. 
Ad. Gree. Cohortat. 


It is thought by some that these are to be 
reckoned among the fabrications, which were 
frequent in the early times of Christianity. 
Still, it appears doubtful to whom they are to 
be attributed, being too pious for the Pagans, 
and too poetical for the Fathers. 

||| In one of the Hymns of Orpheus, he at- 
tributes a figured_sealto Apollo, with whieh 
he imagines that deity to have stamped a vari- 


μος εἰς Tas divas ἐμπεση, TO μὲν ὕδωρ ὡς xopdy | ety of forms upon the universe. 


".-» 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


The various forms of bright divinity ! 
Or, dost thou know what dreams I 
wove, er,* 
"ΜΊΑ the deep horror of that silent bow- 
Where the rapt Samian slept his holy 
When, free {slumber ? 
From earthly chain, 
From wreaths of pleasure and from 
bonds of pain, 
His spirit flew through fields above, 
Drank at the source of nature’s fontal 
number,t [move 
And saw, in mystic choir, around him 
The stars of song, Heaven’s burning min- 
strelsy ! 
Such dreams, so heavenly bright, 
I swear hair, 
By the great diadem that twines my 
And by the seven gems that sparkle 
Mingling their beams _ [there,t 
In a soft iris of harmonious light, 
Oh, mortal! such shall be thy radi- 
ant dreams. 


I ΒΟΥΝῸ her not—the chamber seem’d 
Like some divinely haunted place, 

Where fairy forms had lately beam’d, 
And left behind their odorous trace ! 


It felt, as if her lips had shed 
A sigh around her, ere she fled, 
Which hung, as on a melting lute, 


* Alluding to the cave near Samos, where 
Pythagoras devoted the greater part of his 
days and nights to meditation and the mys- 
teries of his philosophy. Jamblich. de Vit. 
This, as Holstenius remarks, was in imitation 
of the Magi. 

{The tetractys, or sacred number of the 
Pythagoreans, on which they solemnly swore, 
and which they called mayav aevaov φυσεως, 
“the fountain of perennial nature.” Lucian 
has ridiculed this religious arithmetic very 
cleverly in his Sale of Philosophers. 

+ This diadem is intended to represent the 
analogy between the notes of music and the 
prismatic colors. We find in Plutarch avague 
imitation of this kindred harmony in colors and 


sounds.—OWs τε καὶ akon, μετα φωνὴης τε Kat 


φωτος τὴν ἁρμονιαν επιφαινουσι.---1)6 Musica. 
Cassiodorus, whose idea 1 may be supposed 
to have borrowed, says, ina letter upon music 
to Boetius, ‘‘ Ut diadema oculis, varia luce 
gemmarum, sic cythara diversitate soni, blan- 
ditur auditui.” This is indeed the only tolera- 
ble thought in the letter.—Lib. ii. Variar. 
See the Story in Apuleius. With respeet to 
this beautiful allegory of Love and Psyche, 
there is an ingenious idea suggested by the 


- senator Buonarotti, in his ‘‘ Osservazioni sopra | 


139 


When all the silver chords are mute, . 
There lingers still a trembling breath 
After the note’s luxurious death, 

A shade of song, a spirit air, 

Of melodies Which had been there. 


I saw the veil, which, all the day, 
Had floated o’er her cheek of rose ; 
I saw the couch, where late she lay 
In languor of divine repose ; 
And I could trace the hallow’d print 
Her limbs had left, as pure and warm 
As if ’twere done in rapture’s mint, 
em ane himself had stamp’d the 
orm. 


Oh, my sweet mistress, where wert thou? 
In pity fly not thus from me; 

Thou art my life, my essence now, 
And my soul dies οἱ wanting thee. 


TO MRS. HENRY TIGHE, 
ON READING HER ‘‘ PSYCHE.’’§ 


TELL me the witching tale again, 
For never has my heart or ear 
Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain, 

So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 


Say, Love, in all thy prime of fame, 
When the high heaven itself was thine ; 
When piety confess’d the flame, 
And even thy errors were divine; 


aleuni frammenti di vasi antichi.” He thinks 
the fable is taken from some very occult mys- 
teries, which had long been celebrated in honor 
of Love; and accounts, upon this supposition, 
for the silence of the more ancient authors upon 
the subject, as it was not till towards the 
decline of pagan superstition, that writers could 
venture to reveal or discuss such ceremonies. 
Accordingly, observes this author, we find Lu- 
cian and Plutarch treating, without reserve, of 
the Dea Syria, as well as of Isis and Osiris ; and 
Apuleius, to whom we are indebted for the beau- 
tiful story of Cupid and Psyche, has also de- 
tailed some of the mysteries of Isis. See the 
Gionale di Litterati d'Italia, tom. xxvii. arficol. 
1. See also the observations upon the ancient 
gems in the Musewn Florentinum, vol. i. p. 
156. 

T cannot avoid remarking here an error into 
which the French Eneyclopédistes have been 
led by M. Spon, in their article Psyche. They 
say ‘‘ Pétrone fait un récit de la poate nuptiale 
de ces deux amans, (Amour et Psyche.) Déja, 
dit-il,” &e. &e. The Pyseche of Petronius, 
however, is a servant-maid, and the marriage 
which he describes is that of the young Panny- 
chis. See Spon’s Recherches curieuses, &c. 
Dissertat. 5. 


140 


Did ever Muse’s hand so fair 
* A glory round thy temples spread ?. 
Did ever lip’s ambrosial air 

Such fragrance o’er thy altars shed? 


‘One maid there was, who round her lyre 
The mystic myrtle wildly wreathed ;— 
But all her sighs were sighs of fire, 
The myrtle wither’d as she breathed. 


Oh! you, that love’s celestial dream, 
Tn all its purity, would know, 

Let not the senses’ ardent beam 
Too strongly through the vision glow. 


Love safest lies, conceal’d in night, [lie ; 
The night where heaven has bid him 

Oh! shed not there unhallow’d light, 
Or, Psyche knows, the boy will fly. 


Sweet Psyche, many a charmed hour, 
Through many a wild and magic waste, 
To the fair fount and blissful bower * 
Have I, in dreams, thy light foot 
traced ! 


Where’er thy joys are number’d now, 
Beneath whatever shades of rest, 

The Genius of the starry browt 
Hath bound thee to thy Cupid’s breast ; 


Whether above the horizon dim, 
Along whose verge our spirits stray,— 
Half sunk beneath the shadowy rim, 
Half brighten’d by the upper ray, —t 


Thou dwellest in a world all light, 
Or, lingering here, dost love to be, 
To other souls the guardian bright 
That Love was, through this gloom, 
to thee,— 


Still be the song to Psyche dear, 
Thesong, whose gentle voice was given 
To be, on earth, to mortal ear, 
An echo of her own, in heaven. 


* Allusions to Mrs. Tighe’s Poem. 

t Constancy. 

| By this image the Platonists expressed the 
middle state of the soul between sensible and 
intellectual existence. 

§ This poem, as well as a few others that oe- 
eur afterwards, formed part of a work which 1 
had early projected, and even announced to the 
publie, but which, luckily perhaps for myself, 
had been interrupted by my visit to America in 
the year 1803. 

Among those impostures in which the priests 
of the pagan temples are known to have in- 
dulged, one of the most favorite was that of an- 
nounecing to some fair votary of the shrine, that 
the God himself had become enamored of her 


beanty, and would descend in all his glory, to | 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


FROM THE HIGH PRIEST OF 
APOLLO 


TO A VIRGIN OF DELPHI.§ 


Cum digno digna..... 
SULPICIA. 
“Wo is the maid, with golden hair, 
‘With eyes of fire, and foot of air, 
‘Whose harp around my altar swells, 
“The sweetest of a thousand shells ?” 
’T was thus the deity, who treads 


The arch of heaven, and proudly sheds 


Day from his eyelids—thus he spoke, 
As through my cell his glories broke. 


Aphelia is the Delphic fair, || 
With eyes of fire and golden hair, 
Aphelia’s are the airy fect, 

And hers the harp divinely sweet; 
For foot so light has never trod 
The laurell’d caverns Ἵ of the god, 
Nor harp so soft hath ever given 

A sigh to earth or hymn to heaven. 


“‘Then tell the virgin to unfold, 
“Tn looser pomp, her locks of gold, 
“ And bid those eyes more fondly shine 
“To welcome down a Spouse Divine; 
‘« Since He, who lights the path of years— 
“¢BHven from the fount of morning’s tears 
“ΠῸ where his setting splendors burn 
“Upon the western sea-maid’s wn— 
“‘Doth not, in all his course, behold 
“Such eyes of fire, such hair of gold. 
“Tell her, he comes, in blissful pride, 
“¢ His lip yet sparkling with the tide 
‘‘That mantles in Olympian bowls,— 
“The nectar of eternal souls ! 
‘Wor her, for her he quits the skies, 
“ And to her kiss from nectar flies. 
“Oh, he would quit his star-throned 

height, 

“ And leave the world to pine for light, 
‘Might he but pass the hours of shade, 


pay her a visit within the recesses of the fane. 
An adventure of this description formed an 
episode in the elassie romance which 1 had 
sketched out; and the short fragment, given 
above, belongs to an epistle by which the story 
was to have been introduced. 
|| In the 9th Pythic of Pindar, where Apollo 
in the same manner, requires of Chiron some 
information respecting the fair Cyrene, the 
Centaur, in obeying, very gravely apologizes 
for telling the God what his omniscience must 
know so perfectly already. 
Ex δὲ ye χρὴ kat παρ σοφον αντιφεριξαι, 
pew. 
JAAN εἰς δαφνωδὴ yvara βησομαι ταδε. 
Eunripip. Ton, y. 76. 


“ 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


«Beside his peerless Delphic maid, 

“8586, more than earthly woman blest, 

“Ἢρ, more than god on woman’s 
breast !” 


There is a cave beneath the steep,* 
Where living rills of crystal weep 
O’er herbage of the loveliest hue 
That ever spring begemm’d with dew ; 
There oft the greensward’s glossy tint 
Is brighten’d by the recent print 
Of many a faun and naiad’s feet, — 
Searce touching earth, their step so 
fleet,— 
That there, by moonlight’s ray, had trod, 
In light dance, o’er the verdant sod. 
“There, there,” the god, impassion’d, 
said, 
“Soon as the twilight tinge is fled, 
** And the dim orb of lunar soulst 
“ Along its shadowy pathway rolls— 
“There shall we meet, —and not ev’n He, 
“The God who reigns immortally, 
‘‘ Where Babel’s turrets paint their pride 
“Upon th’ Euphrates’ shining tide,t— 
“ Not ey’n when to his midnight loves 
“Tn mystic majesty he moves, 
“ Lighted by many an odorous fire, 
“€ And hymn’d by all Chaldéa’s choir,— 
“ Wer yet, o’er mortal brow, let shine 
«« Such effluence of Love Divine, 
“ΑΒ shall to-night, blest maid, o’er 
thine.” 


Happy the maid, whom heaven allows 
To break for heaven her virgin vows ! 
Happy the maid !—her robe of shame 
Is whiten’d by a heavenly flame, 
Whose glory, with a ling’ring trace, 
Shines through and deifies her race !§ 


FRAGMENT. 


Pity me, love! Ill pity thee, 
If thou indeed hast felt like me. 


* The Coryeian Cave, which Pausanias men- 
tions. The inhabitants of Parnassus held it 
sacred to the Corycian nymphs, who were chil- 
dren of the river Plistus. 


t See a preceding note, p.86,t. It should 
seem that lunar spirits were of a purer order 
than spirits in general, as Pythagoras was said 
by his followers to have descended from the re- 
gious of the moon. The heresiarch Manes, in 
the same manner, imagined that the sun and 
moon are the residence of Christ, and that the 
ascension was nothing more than his flight to 
those orbs. 


_ 1 The temple of Jupiter Belus, at Babylon; 
in one of whose towers there was a large chapel 


141 


All, all my bosom’s peace is o’er ! 

At night, which was my hour of calm, 
When, from the classic page of lore 
From the pure fount of ancient lay 

My soul has drawn the placid balm, 
Which charm’d its every grief away, 
Ah! there 1 find that balm no more. 
Those spells, which make us oft forget 
The fleeting troubles of the day, 

In deeper sorrows only whet 

The stings they cannot tear away. 
When to my pillow rack’d I fly, 

With wearied sense and wakeful eye : 
While my brain maddens, where, oh, 
Is that serene consoling prayer, [where 
Which once has harbinger’d my rest, 
When the still soothing voice of Heayen 
Hath seem’d to whisper in my breast, 
““Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven "ἢ 
No, though I still in semblance pray, 
My thoughts are wand’ring far away, 
And ey’n the name of Deity 

Is murmur’d out in sighs for thee. 


A NIGHT THOUGHT. 


How oft a cloud, with envious veil, 
Obscures yon bashful light, 

Which seems so modestly to steal 
Along the waste of night ! 


’Tis thus the world’s obtrusive wrongs 
Obscure with malice keen 

Some timid heart, which only longs 
To live and die unseen. 


THE KISS. 
Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss, 
On which my soul’s beloved swore 
That there should come a time of bliss, 
When she would mock my hopes no more, 
And fancy shall thy glow renew, 
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night, 


set apart for these celestial assignations. ‘‘ No 
man is ullowed to sleep here,”’ says Herodotus, 
‘but the apartment is appropriated to a female, 
whom, if we believe the Chaldaan priests, the 
deity selects from the women of the country, as 
his favorite.” Lib. i. cap. 181. 

§ Fontenelle, in his playful rifacimento of the 
learned materials of Van-Dale, has related in his 
own inimitable manner an adventure of this 
kind which was detected and exposed at Alex- 


andria. See L’Histoire des Oracles, dissert. 2. 
chap. vii. Crebillon, too, in one of his most 
amusing little stories, has made the Génie 


Mange-Taupes of the Isle Jonquille, assert this 
privilege of spiritual beings in a manner rather 
formidable to the husbands of the island. 


142 MOORE'S 


And none shall steal thy holy dew 

Till thou’rt absolved by rapture’s rite. 
Sweet hours that are to make me blest, 
Fly, swift as breezes, to the goal, 

And let my love, my more than soul 
Come blushing to this ardent breast. 
Then, while iu every glance I drink 
The rich o’erflowings of her mind, 

Ob! let her all enamor’d sink 

In sweet abandonment resign’d, 
Blushing for all our struggles past, 
And murmuring, ‘‘I am thine at last!” 


SONG. 
THINK on that look whose melting ray 
For one sweet moment mix’d with 
mine, 
And for that moment seem’d to say, 
“T dare not, or I would be thine !”’ 


Think on thy ey’ry smile and glance, 
On all thou hast to charm and move; 

And then forgive my bosom’s trance, 
Nor tell me it is sin to love. 


Oh, not to love thee were the sin; 
For sure, if Fate’s decrees be done, 

Thou, thou art destined still to win, 
As I am destined to be won! 


THE CATALOGUE. 


““ComeE, tell me,” says Rosa, as kissing 
and kiss’d, 
One day she reclined on my breast ; 
“‘Come, tell me the number, repeat me 
the list [caress’d.”— 
“Of the nymphs you have loved and 
Oh Rosa! ’twas only my fancy that 
roved, 
My heart at the moment was free ; 
But ll tell thee, my girl, how many 
I’ve loved, 
And the number shall finish with thee. 


My tutor was Kitty; in infancy wild 
She taught me the way to be blest ; 
She taught me to love her, I loved like 

a child, 
But Kitty could faney the rest. 
This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore 
I have never forgot, I allow: 
T have had it by rote very often before, 
But never by heart until now. 
Pretty Martha was next, and my soul 
was all flame, 
But my head was so full of romance 


WORKS. 


That I fancied her into somé ¢hivalry 
dame, 
And I was her knight of the lance: 
But Martha was not of this fanciful 
school, [knight; 
And she laugh’d at her poor little 
While I thought her a goddess, she 
thought mea fool, [right. 
And ’ll swear she was most in the 


My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris’s 

Again I was tempted to rove; [looks, 

But Cloris, I found, was so learned in 
books 

That she gave me more logic than love. 

So Lleft this young Sappho, and hasten’d 
to fly 


To those sweeter logiciansin bliss, [eye, 
Who argue the point with a soul-telling 
And convince us at once with a kiss. 


Oh ! Susan was then all the world unto 
But Susan was piously given; [me, 
And the worst of it was, we could never 
agree [en. 
On the road that was shortest to Heay- 
“Oh, Susan !” I’ve said, in the moments 
of mirth, 
‘“‘“What’s devotion to thee or to me? 
“1 devoutly believe there’s a heaven on 
earth, [thee /” 
“And believe that that heaven’s in 


IMITATION OF CATULLUS. 
TO HIMSELF. 
Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, &c. 


CEASE the sighing fool to play; 

Cease to trifle life away ; 

Nor vainly think those joys thine own, 
Which all, alas, have falsely flown. 
What hours, Catullus, once were thine; 
How fairly seem’d thy day to shine, 
When lightly thou didst fly to meet 
The girl whose smile was then so sweet— 
The girl thou lovedst with fonder pain 
Than e’er thy heart can feel again. 


Ye met—your souls seem’d all in one, 
Like tapers that commingling shone; 
Thy heart was warm enough for both, 
And hers, in truth, was nothing loath. 


Such were the hours that once were 
thine : 
But, ah! those hours no longer shine. 
For now the nymph delights no more 
In what she loved so much before ; 


᾿λχείνιε,.,. κα, 


more ! 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


And all Catullus now can do, 

Is to be proud and frigid too ; 

Now follow where the wanton flies, 
Nor sue the bliss that she denies, 
False maid! he bids farewell to thee, 
To love, and all love’s misery ; 

The heyday of his heart is o’er, 

Nor will he court one favor more. 


Fly, perjured girl !—but whither fly? 
Who now will praise thy cheek and eye ἢ 
Who now will drink the syren tone, 
Which tells him thou art all his own? 
Oh, none :—and he who loved before 
Can never, never love thee more. 


“ Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no 
St. JOHN, chap. viii. 


Ou woman, if through sinful wile 
Thy soul hath stray’d from honor’s 
*Tis mercy only can beguile, [ track, 
By gentle ways, the wand’rer back. 


The stain that on thy virtue lies, [stay; 
Wash’d by those tears, not long will 

As clouds that sully morning skies 
May all be wept in showers away. 


Go, go, be innocent,—and live ; 
The tongues of men may wound thee 
But Heay’n in pity can forgive, [sore ; 
And bid thee “go, and sin no more!” 


NONSENSE. 


‘Goon reader! if you e’er have seen, 
When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, 
The mermaids, with their tresses green, 
Dancing upon the western billow : 
If you have seen, at twilight dim, 
When the lone spirit’s vesper hymn 
Floats wild along the winding shore— 
If you have seen, through mist of eve, 
The fairy train their ringlets weave, 
‘Glancing along the spangled green :— 
If you have seen all this, and more, 
God bless me, what a deal you’ve seen ! 


EPIGRAM, 
FROM THE FRENCH. 
“ T never give a kiss (says Prue) 
“To naughty man, for I abhor it.” 


143 


ON A SQUINTING POETESS. 
To no one Muse does she her glance con- 


fine, 
But has an eye, at once, to all the Nine ! 


TO 


Moria pur quando yuol, non ὃ bisogna mutar 
ni faccia ni voce per esser un Angelo.* 
DIE when you will, you need not wear 
At Heaven’s Court a form more fair 
Than Beauty here on earth has given; 
Keep but the lovely looks we see— 
The voice we hear—and you will be 
An angel ready-made for Heaven! 


TO ROSA. 
A far conserva, e cumulo d’amanti. 
Past. Fid. 
AND are you then a thing of art, 
Seducing all, and loving none ; 
And have I strove to gain a heart 
Which every coxcomb thinks his own? 


Tell me at once if this be true, 
And I will calm my jealous breast ; 


| Will learn to join the dangling crew, 


And share your simpers with the rest. 


But if your heart be not so free, — 
Ob! if another share that heart, 


Tell not the hateful tale to me, 


But mingle mercy with your art. 


Td rather think you “false as hell,” 
Than find you to be all divine, — 
Than know that heart could love so well, 
Yet know that heart would not be 
mine ! 


TO PHILLIS. 


PHILLIS, you little rosy rake, 
That heart of yours [ long to rifle ; 
Come, give it me, and do not make 
So much ado about a trifle! 


TO A LADY, 
ON HER SINGING. 
Tuy song has taught my heart to feel 
Those soothing thoughts of heay’nly 
love, 
Which o’er the sainted spirits steal 
When list’ning to the spheres above ! 


She will not give a kiss, ’tis true ; 
es take one though, and thank you 
or it. 


jee he words addressed by Lord Herbert of 
Cherbury, to the beautiful nun at Murano.—See 
| his Life. 


144 MOORE’S 


When, tired of life and misery, 

I wish to sigh my latest breath, 
Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee, 

And thou shalt sing me into death. 


And if along thy lip and check Ε 
That smile of heav’nly softness play, 
Which,—ah! forgive a mind that’s 
weak, — 
So oft has stol’n my mind away ; 


Thou’lt seem an angel of the sky, 
That comes to charm me into bliss: 

Vl gaze and die—Who would not die, 
If death were half so sweet as this ? 


SONG. ON THE BIRTHDAY OF 
MRS. 
WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799. 


OF all my happiest hours of joy, 
And eyen I have had my measure, 
When hearts were full, and ey’ry eye 
Hath kindled with the light of pleasure, 
An hour like this I ne’er was given 
So full of friendship’s purest blisses; 
Young Love himself looks down from | 
heaven, 
To smile on such a day as this is. 
Then come, my friends, this hour 
improve, 
Let’s feel as if we ne’er could sever; 
And may the birth of her we love © 
Be thus with joy remember’d ever! 


Oh! banish ey’ry thought to-night, 
Which could disturb our soul’s com- | 
munion ; 

Abandon’d thus to dear delight, 
We'll ey’n for once forget the Union! | 
On that let statesmen try their pow’rs, 
And tremble o’er the rights they’d die | 
The union of the soul be ours, { for ; 

And ey’ry union else we sigh for. 
Then come, my friends, &e. 


In ey’ry eye around I mark 
The feelings of the heart o’erflowing; 
From ev’ry soul I catch the spark 
Of sympathy, in friendship glowing. 
Oh! could such moments ever fly ; 
Oh! that we ne’er were doom’d to 
lose ’em ; 
And all as bright as Charlotte’s eye, 
And all as pure as Charlotte’s bosom. 
Then come, my friends, &c. 


WORKS. 


Whether I waste my life in tears, 
Or live, as now, for mirth and loving ; 
This day shall come with aspect kind, 
Wherever fate may cast your rover ; 
He'll think of those he left behind, 
And drink a health to bliss that’s over ! 
Then come, my friends, &c. 


SONG.* 


Mary, I believed thee true, 
And I was blessed in thus believing ; 
But now I mourn that e’er I knew 
A girl so fair and so deceiving. 
Fare thee well! 


Few have ever loved fike me,— 
Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely ! 
And few have e’er deceived like thee,— 
Alas ! deceived me too severely. 


Fare thee well !—yet think awhile 
On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt 
thee ! 
Who now would rather trust that smile, 
And die with thee than live without 
thee. 


Fare thee well! I’ll think of thee, 
Thou leay’st me many a bitter token ; 
For see, distracting woman, see, [en !— 
My peace is gone, my heart is brok- 
Fare thee well ! 


MORALITY. 

A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. ADDRESSED TO J. 
AT—NS—N, ESQ., M. R. I. A. 
TuoucH long at school and college 

dosing [ing, 
O’er books of verse and books of pros- 
And copying from their moral pages 
Fine recipes for making sages; ! 
Thongh long with those divines at school, 
Who think to make us good by rule ; 
Who, in methodic forms advancing, 
Teaching morality like dancing, 
Tell us, for Heaven or money’s sake, 
What steps we are through life to take: 
Though thus, my friend, so long em- 
ploy’d, 
With so much midnight oil destroy’d, 
IT must confess, my searches past, 
I’ve only learned to doubt at last. 
| I find the doctors and the sages 
Have differ’d in all climes and ages, 
And two in fifty scarce agree 
On what is pure morality. 


For me, whate’er my span of years, 
Whatever sun may light my roving ; 


*These words were written to the pathetic 
Scotch air ‘‘ Galla Water.” 


JUVENILE POEMS. 145 


Lis like the rainbow’s shifting zone, 
And every vision makes its own. 


The doctors of the Porch advise, 
As modes of being great and wise, 
That we should cease to own or know 
The luxuries that from feeling flow :— 
“ Reason alone must claim direction, 
«‘ And Apathy’s the soul’s perfection. 
“ Like a dull lake the heart must lie ; 
“ Nor passion’s gale nor pleasure’s sigh, 
«Though Heav’n the breeze, the breath, 

supplied, 

«Must curl the wave or swell the tide !” 


Such was the rigid Zeno’s plan 
To form his philosophic man ; 
Such were the modes he taught mankind 
To weed the garden of the mind; [true, 
They tore from thence some weeds, ’tis 
But all the flow’rs were ravaged too! 


Now listen to the wily strains, 
Which, on Cyrené’s sandy plains, 
When Pleasure, nymph with loosen’d 
Usurp’d the philosophic throne, — [zone, 
Hear what the courtly sage’s* tongue 
To his surrounding pupils sung :— 


“ Pleasure’s the only noble end — [tend, | 


“To which all human pow’rs should 
« And Virtue gives her heay’nly lore, 


“But to make Pleasure please us more. | 


ἐς Wisdom and she were both design’d 

«To make the senses more refined, 

“That man might revel, free from cloy- 
ing, [ing !” 

“Then most a sage when most enjoy- 

15 this morality ?—Oh, no! 

Ev’n I a wiser path could show. 

The flow’r within this vase confined, 

The pure, the unfading flow’r of mind, 

Must not throw all its sweets away 

Upon a mortal mould of clay : 

No, no,—its richest breath should rise 

In virtue’s incense to the skies. 


But thus it is, all sects we see 
Have watchwords of morality: 
Some ery out Venus, others Jove; 
Here ’tis Religion, there ’tis Love. 
But while they thus so widely wander, 
While mystics dream, and doctors pon- 
And some, in dialectics firm, [der ; 
Seek virtue in a middle term ; 
While thus they strive, in Heaven’s de- 
To chain morality with science ; [fiance, 
The plain good man, whose actions teach 

* Aristippus. 


More virtue than a sect can preach, 
Pursues his course, unsagely bless’d, 
His tutor. whisp’ring in his breast ; 
Nor could he act a purer part, 
Though he had Tully all by heart. 
And when he drops the tear on wo, 
He little knows or cares to know 

| That Epictetus blamed that tear, 

By Heaven approved, to virtue dear! 


Oh! when I’ve seen the morning 
beam 

Floating within the dimpled stream ; 

| While Nature, wak’ning from the night, 

Has just put on her robes of light, 

Have I, with cold optician’s gaze, 

Explored the doctrine of those rays? 

No, pedants, I have left to you 

Nicely to sep’rate hue from hue. 

Go, give that moment up to art, 

When Heaven and nature claim the 


heart ; 
And, dull to all their best attraction, 
Go—measure angles of refraction. 
| While I, in feeling’s sweet romance, 
Look on each daybeam as a glance 
From the great eye of Him above, 
Wak’ning his world with looks of love! 


THE TELL-TALE LYRE. 


| ’veE heard, there was in ancient days 
A Lyre of most melodious spell ; 
Twas heav’n to hear its fairy lays, 
If half be true that legends tell. 


"Twas play’d on by the gentlest sighs, 
And to their breath it breathed again 
In such entrancing melodies 
As ears had never drunk till then! 


Not harmony’s serenest touch 
So stilly could the notes prolong ; 
They were not heavenly song so much 
As they were dreams of heavenly song. 


If sad the heart, whose murm’ring air 
Along the chords in languor stole, 
The numbers it awaken’d there 
Were eloquence from pity’s soul. 


Or if the sigh, serene and light, 
Was but the breath of fancied woes, 
The string, that felt its airy flight, 
Soon whisper’d it to kind repose. 


And when young lovers talk’d alone, 
If, ’mid their bliss that Lyre was near, 


146 MOORH’S WORKS. 


It made their accents all its own, 
And sent forth notes that Heaven 
might hear. 


‘There was a nymph, who long had loved, 
But dared not tell the world how well: 

The shades, where she at evening roved, 
Alone could know, alone could tell. 


Twas there, at twilight time, she stole, 
When the first star announced the 
night,— 
‘With him who claim’d her inmost soul, 
To wander by that soothing light. 


It chanced that, in the fairy bower 
Where bless’d they woo’d each other’s 
smile, 
This Lyre, of strange and magic power, 
Hung whisp’ring o’er their heads the 
while. 


And as, with eyes commingling fire, 
They listen’d to each other’s vow, 

The youth full oft would make the Lyre 
A pillow for the maiden’s brow: 


And, while the melting words she 
breathed, 
Were by its echoes wafted round, [ed, 
Her locks had with the cords so wreath- 
One knew not which gave forth the 
sound. 


Alas, their hearts but little thought, 
While thus they talk’d the hoursaway, 

That every sound the Lyre was taught 
Would linger long, and long betray. 


So mingled with its tuneful soul 

Were all their tender murmurs grown, 
‘That other sighs unanswer’d stole, 

Nor words it breathed but theirs alone. 


Unhappy nymph! thy name was sung 
To every breeze that wander ἃ by ; 
The secrets of thy gentle tongue  [sky. 

Were breathed in song to earth and 


The fatal Lyre, by Envy’s hand 
Hung high amid the whisp’ring groves, 
To every gale by which ’twas fann’d, 
Proclaim’d the myst’ry of your loves. 


Nor long thus rudely was thy name 
To earth’s derisive echoes given; 
Some pitying spirit downward came, 
And took the Lyre and thee to heaven. 


There, freed from earth’s unholy wrongs, 
Both happy in Love’s home shall be ; 


Thou, uttering naught but seraph songs, 
And that sweet Lyre still echoing 
thee! . 


PEACE AND GLORY. 
WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF WAR. 


WHERE is now the smile, that, lighten’d 
Every hero’s couch of rest? 

Where is now the hope, that brighten’d 
Honor’s eye and Pity’s breast? 

Have we lost the wreath we braided 
For our weary warrior men ? 

Ts the faithless olive faded? 
Must the bay be pluck’d again ? 


Passing hour of sunny weather, 
Lovely, in your light awhile, 

Peace and Glory, wed together, 
Wander’d through our blessed isle. 

And the eyes of Peace would glisten, 
Dewy as ἃ morning sun, 

When the timid maid would listen 
To the deeds her chief had done. 


Is their hour of dalliance over ? 
Must the maiden’s trembling feet 
Waft her from her warlike lover 
To the desert’s still retreat ? 
Fare you well! with sighs we banish 
Nymph so fair and guests so bright ; 
Yet the smile, with which you vanish, 
Leaves behind a soothing light ;— 


Soothing light, that long shall sparkle 
O’er your warrior’s sanguined way, 
Through the field where horrors darkle, 

Shedding hope’s consoling ray. 
Long the smile his heart will cherish, 
To its absent idol true; 
While around him myriads perish, 
Glory still will sigh for you! 


SONG. 


TAKE back the sigh, thy lips of art 
In passion’s moment breathed to me ; 
Yet, no—it must not, will not part, 
’Tis now the life-breath of my heart, 
And has become too pure for thee. 


Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh 
With all the warmth of truth impress’d; 

Yet, no—the fatal kiss may lie, 

Upon thy lip its sweets would die, 
Or bloom to make a rival blest. 

Take back the vows that, night and day, 
My heart received, I thought, from 

thine : 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


Yet, no—allow them still to stay, 
They might some other heart betray, 
As sweetly as they’ve ruin’d mine. 


LOVE AND REASON. 


“Quand l'homme commence a raisonner, 
il cesse de sentir.”’ 
J. J. ROUSSEAU.* 


’TwaAs in the summer time so sweet, 
When hearts and flowers are both in 
season, 
That—who, of all the world, should meet, 
One early dawn, but Love and Reason ! 


Love told his dream of yesternight, 
While Reason talk’d about the weather; 

The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright, 
And on they took their way together. 


The boy in many a gambol flew, 
While Reason, like a Juno, stalk’d, 
And from her portly figure threw 
A lengthen’d shadow, as she walk’d. 


No wonder Love, as on they pass’d, 
Should find that sunny morning chill, 


_ For still the shadow Reason cast 


Fell o’er the boy, and cool’d him still. 


In vain he tried his wings to warm, 
Or find a pathway not so dim, 

For still the maid’s gigantic form 
Would stalk between the sun and him. 


“‘This must not be,” said little Love— 
‘“‘The sun was made for more than 
you.” 
So, turning through a myrtle grove, 
He bid the portly nymph adieu. 


Now gayly roves the laughing boy 

O’er many a mead, by many a stream; 
In every breeze inhaling joy, 

And drinking bliss in every beam. 


From all the gardens, all the bowers, 
He cull’d the many sweets they shad- 
[Lers, 


ed ‘ 
- And ate ‘the fruits and smell’d the flow- 


Till taste was gone and odor faded. 


But now the sun, in pomp of noon, 
Look’d blazing o’er the sultry plains; 
Alas! the boy grew languid soon, 
And fever thrill’d through all his 
veins. 


* Quoted somewhere in St. Pierre’s Etudes 
dela Nature. 


147 


The dew forsook his baby brow, 
No more with healthy bloom he 
smiled— 
Oh! where was tranquil Reason now, 
To cast her shadow o’er the child? 


Beneath a green and aged palm, 
His foot at length for shelter turning, 
He saw the nymph reclining calm, 
With brow as cool as his was burning. 


“Oh! take me to thy bosom cold,” 
In murmurs at her feet he said; 

And Reason oped her garment’s fold, 
And flung it round his feyer’d head. 


He felt her bosom’s icy touch, 
And soon it lull’d his pulse to rest ; 
For, ah! the chill was quite too much, 
And Love expired on Reason’s breast! 


Nay, do not weep, my Fanny dear; 
While in these arms you lie, 

This world hath not a wish, a fear, 

That ought to cost that eye a tear, 
That heart, one single sigh. 


The world !—ah, Fanny, Love must shu 
The paths where many rove ; 

One bosom to recline upon, 

One heart to be his only-one, 
Are quite enough for Love. 


What can we wish, that is not here 
Between your arms and mine ? 
Is there, on earth, a space so dear 
As that within the happy sphere 

Two loving arms entwine? 


For me, there’s not a lock of jet 
Adown your temples curl’d, 

Within whose glossy, tangling net, 

My soul doth not, at once, forget 
All, all this worthless world. 


’Tis in those eyes, so full of love, 
My only worlds I see; 

Let but their orbs in sunshine moye, 

And earth below and skies above, 
May frown or smile for me. 


ASPASIA. 


Twas in the fair Aspasia’s bower, 

That Love and Learning, many an hour, 
Tn dalliance met; and Learning smiled 
With pleasure on the playful child, 
Who often stole, to find a nest 

Within the folds of Learning’s vest. 


148 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


i 


There, as the list’ning statesman hung 
In transport on Aspasia’s tongue, 
The destinies of Athens took 
Their color from Aspasia’s look. 
Oh happy time, when laws of state, 
When all that ruled the country’s fate, 
Its glory, quiet, or alarms, 
Was plann’d between two snow-white 

arms ! 


eet times! they could not always 

ast— 

And yet, ev’n now, they are not past. 

Though we have lost the giant mould, 

In which their men were cast of old, 

Woman, dear woman, still the same, 

While beauty breathes through soul or 
frame, 

While man possesses heart or eyes, 

Woman’s bright empire never dies! 


No, Fanny, love, they ne’er shall say, 
That beauty’s charm hath pass’d away ; 
Give but the universe a soul 
Attuned to woman’s soft control, 

And Fanny hath the charm, the skill, 
To wield a universe at will. 


THE GRECIAN GIRL’S DREAM OF 
THE BLESSED ISLANDS.* 


TO HER LOVER. 


ἧχι TE καλος 
Ilv@ayopys, ὅσσοι τε χορον στηριξαν κρωτος. 
ἈΑπολλων περι Ἰλωτινον. 
Oracul. Metric. a Joan. 
Opsop. collecta. 


Was it the moon, or was it morning’s 
ray, [arms away ? 
That cail’d thee, dearest, from these 


* Tt wasimagined by some of the ancients 
that thereis an ethereal ocean above us, and 
that the sun and moon are two floating, lumin- 
ous islands, in which the spirits of the blest re- 
side. Accordingly we find that the word 
Qkeavos Was sometimes synonymous With anp, 
and death was not unfrequently called Qkeavovo 
πόρος, or * the passage of the ocean.” 

Τ Eunapius, in his life of Lamblichus, tells us 
of two beautiful little spirits or loves, which 
Jamblichus raised by enchantment from the 
warm springs at Gadara; ‘dicens astantibus 
(says the author of the Dii Fatidici, p. 160) illos 
esse loci Genios;” which words, however, are 
not in Eunapius. 

I find from CelJarius, that Amatha, in the 
neighborhood pf Gadara, was also celebrated 
for its warm springs, and I have preferred it as 
“more poetic name than Gadara. Cellarius 
quotes Hieronymus, ‘ Est et alia villain vicinia 


Scarce hadst thou left me, when a dream 
of night 

Came o’er my spirit so distinct and bright. 

That while [ yet can vividly recall 

Its witching wonders, thou shalt hear 
them all. 

Methought I saw, upon the lunar beam, 

Two winged boys, such as thy muse 
might dream, 

Descending from above, at that still hour, 

And gliding, with smooth step, nto my 
bower. 

Fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day, 

In Amatha’s warm founts imprison’ 
stay ,t [rill, 

But rise at midnight, from th’ enchanted 

To cool their plumes upon some moon- 
light bill. 


At once I knew their mission—twas 
to bear 
My spirit upward, through the paths of 
air, [beams 
To thatelysian realm, from whence stray 
So oft, in sleep, had visited my dreams. 
Swift at their touch dissolved the ties, 
that clung 
Allearthly round me, and aloft Isprung; 
While, heav’nward guides, the little genii 
flew [ven’s own dew, 
Thro’ paths of light, refresh’d by hea- 
And fann’d by airs still fragrant with the 
breath {not death. 
Of cloudless climes and worlds that know 


Thou know’st, that, far beyond our 
nether sky, 
And shown but dimly to man’s erring eye, 
A mighty ocean of blue ether rolls, 
Gemin’d with bright islands, where the 
chosen souls, 


Gadaree nomine A matha, ubi ealidee aquee erum- 
punt.""—Geograph,. Antiq. 111). 111. cap. 13. 

+ This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or 
“Waters above the firmament,’ was one of the 
many physical errors in which the early fathers 
bewildered themselves. Le P. Baltus. in his 
“Défense des Saints Péres accusés de Platon- 
isme,” taking it for granted that the ancients 
were more correct in their notions, (which by 
nomeans appears from what I have already 
quoted,) iduead the obstinacy of the fathers, 
in this whimsical opinion, as a proof of their re- 
pugnance to even truth from the hands of the 
philosophers. This is a strange way of defend- 
ing the fathers, and attributes much more than 
they deserve to the philosophers. For an ab- 
stract of this work of Baltus, (the opposer of 
Fontenelle. Van Dale, &c., in the famous Oracle 
controversy.) see ‘f Bibliotheque des Auteurs 
Ecclésiast. du 18° Siéele,”’ part. 1, tom. 1. 


4 


2 
€ 


; 


Β 


ὙΥ οὗ ὁ pass’din lore and loye their earth- 
ly hours, 
Repose forever in unfading bowers. 
That very moon, whose solitary light 
So often guides thee to my bower at 
night, 
Is no chill planet, but an isle of love, 
Floating in splendor through those seas 
above, [grown, 
And peopled with bright forms, aérial 
Nor knowing aught of earth but love 
alone. [way: 
Thither, I thought, we winged our airy 
Mild o’er its valleys stream’d a silvery 
day, 
While, all around, on lily beds of rest, 
Reclined the spirits of the immortal 
Blest.* [maids, 
Oh! there I met those few congenial 
Whom love hath warm’d, in philosophic 
shades ; [ breast, 
There still Leontium,t on her sage’s 
Found lore and love, was tutor’d and 
caress’d ; [arms 
And there the clasp of Pythia’st gentle 
Repaid the zeal which deified her charms. 
The Attic Master,§ in Aspasia’s eyes, 
Forgot the yoke ai less endearing ties, 


* There were various opinions among the an- 
cients with respect to their lunar establishment; 
some made it an elysium and others a purga- 
tory; while some supposed it to be a kind of 
entrepot between heaven and earth, where souls 
which had left their bodies, and those that 
were on their way to join them, were deposit- 
edin the Valley of Hecate, and remained till 
further orders. Tots περὶ σεληνὴν aepe λεγειν 
αυτας KATOLKELY, και ar’ auTNsS κατὼ χώρειν εις 
τὴν περιγειον γενεσιν.--- ϑέοῦ. lib. i. Eclog. Physic. 

t The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who 
called her his ‘‘ dear little Leontium,” (Acovta- 
ριον.) as 
his letters in Laertius. This Leontiam was a 
woman of talent; “she had the impudence 
(says Cicero) to write against Theophrastus ;” 
an 
which is arty polite nor translatable. ‘* Mer- 
etricula etiam Leontitm contra Theophras- 
tum seribere ausa est.’—De Natur. Deor. 


appears by a fragment of one of 


Cicero, at the same time, gives her a name | 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


Ϊ 
| 


left a daughter called Danae, who was just as | 


rigid an Epicurean as her mother; something 
like Wieland’s Danae in Agathon. 

It wonld sound much better, I think, if the 
name were Leontia, as it occurs the first time 
in Laertins; but M. Ménage will not hear of 
this reading. 

t Pythia was a woman whom Aristotle loved, 
and to whom after her death he paid divine 
honors, solemnizing her memory by the same 
sacrifices which the Athenians offered to the 
Goddess Ceres. Forthis impious gallantry the 
philosopher was, of course, censured ; but it 
would be wellif certain of our modern Stagy- 


| der the name of this fair Pythagorean. 
She | 


149 


While fair Theano,|| innocently fair, 
Wreathed playfully her Samian’s flowing 
hair, J [past, 
Whose soul now fix’d, its transmigrations 
Found in those arms a resting-place, at 
last ; {thought 
And smiling own’d, whate’er his dreamy 
In mystic numbers long had vainly 
sought, {hath bound, 
The One that’s form’d of Two whom love 
Is the best number gods or men e’er 
found. 


But think, my Theon, with what joy 
I thrill’d, [valley rill’d, 
When near a fount, which through the 
ἮΝ fancy’s eye beheld a form recline, 
Of lunar race, but so resembling thine 
That, oh! ’twas but fidelity in me, 
To fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee. 
No aid of words the unbodied soul re. 
quires, 
To waft a wish or emba&sy desires ; 
But by a power, to spirits only given, 
A deep, mute impulse, only felt in heay- 
. en, [mer skies, 
Swifter than meteor shaft through sum- 
From soul to soul the glanced idea flies. 


rites showed a little of this superstition about 
the memory of their mistresses. 

§ Socrates, who used to console himself in 
the society of Aspasia for those ‘‘ less endear- 
ing ties’ which he found at home with Xantip- 
pe. For an account of this extraordinary crea- 
ture, Aspasia, and her school of erudite luxury 
at Athens, see L’Histoire de l’Académie, &ce. 
tom. xxxi. p. 69. Ségur rather fails on the in- 
spiring subject of Aspasia.—‘‘ Les Femmes,”’ 
tom. i. p. 122. 

The author of the ‘‘ Voyage du Monde de 
Descartes” has also placed these philosophers in 
themoon, and hasallottedseigneuries to them, as 


| well as to the astronomers, (part ii. p. 143 ;) but 


he ought not to have forgotten their wives and 
mistresses; “cures non ips&i in morte relin- 
quunt.”” 

|| There are some sensible letters extant un- 
They 
are addressed to her female friends upen the 
education of children, the treatment of ser- 
vants, &e. One, in particular, to Nicostrata, 
whose husband had given her reasons for jeal- 
ousy, contains such truly considerate and ra- 
tional advice, that it ought to be translated for 
the edification of all married ladies. See Gale's 
Opuseul. Myth. Phys. p. 741. 

4] Pythagoras was remarkable for fine hair, 
and Doctor Thiers (in his Histoire des Per- 


| ruques) seems to take for granted it was allhis 
!own; as he has not mentioned him among 


those ancients who were obliged to have re. 
course to the “ coma apposititia.” 1, Histoire 
des Perruques, chapitre i, 


150 


Oh, my beloved, how divinely sweet 

Is the pure joy, when kindred spirits 
meet! 

Like him, the river-god,* whose waters 


flow, 
With love their only light, through caves 
below, 
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids, 
And festal rings, with which Olympic 
maids 
Have deck’d his current as an offering 
To lay at Arethusa’s shining feet. [meet 
Think, when he meets at last his foun- 
tain-bride, [tide ! 
What perfect love must thrill the blended 
Each lost in each, till, mingling into one, 
Their lot the same for shadow or for sun, 
A type of true love, to the deep they run. 
Ἔν δὴ thus— 
But, Theon, ’tis an endless theme, 
And thou grow’st weary of my half-told 


dream. « 
Oh would, my love, we were together 
now [brow, 


᾽ 
And I would woo sweet patience to thy 
And make thee smile at all the magic 
tales 
Of starlight bowers and planetary vales, 
Which my fond soul, inspired by thee 
and love, 
Tn slumber’s loom hath fancifully wove. 
But no; no more—soon as to-morrow’s 
ray 
O’er soft Ilissus shall have died away, 
Τ᾽] come, and, while love’s planet inthe 
west, [rest. 
Shines o’er our meeting, tell thee all the 


TO CLOH. 
IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. 
I coup resign that eye of blue, 
Howe’er its splendor used to thrill me ; 
And ey’n that cheek of roseate hue,— 
To lose it, Cloe, searce would kill me. 


That snowy neck I ne’er should iiss, 
However much I’ve raved about it; 
And sweetly as that lip can kiss, 
I think I could exist without it. 


In short, so well I’ve learn’d to fast, 
That, sooth my love, I know not 
whether 
* The river Alpheus, which flowed by Pisa 
or Olympia, and-into which it was customary 
to throw offerings of different kinds, during the 
celebration of the Olympie games. In the pret- 
ty romanee of Clitophon and Leueippe. the 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


I might not bring myself at last, 
To—do without you altogether. 


THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN. 


I BRING thee, love, a golden chain, 
I bring thee, too, a flowery wreath ; 
The gold shall never wear a stain, 
The flow’rets long shall sweetly 
breathe. 
Come, tell me which the tie shall be, 
To bind thy gentle heart to me. 


The chain is form’d of golden threads, 
Bright as Minerva’s yellow hair, 

When the last beam of evening sheds 
Its calm and sober lustre there. 

The Wreath’s of brightest myrtle wove, 
With sun-lit drops of bliss among it, 

And many a rose-leaf, cull’d by Love, 
To heal his lip when bees have stung it. 

Come, tell me which the tie shall be, 

To bind thy gentle heart to me. 


Yes, yes, I read that ready eye, [loath, 
Which answers when the tongue is 
Thou lik’st the form of either tie, [ both. 
And spread’st thy playful hands for 
Ah!—if there were not something wrong, 
The world would see them blended oft ; 
The Chain would make the Wreath so 
strong ! [soft ! 
The Wreath would make the Chain so 
Then might the gold, the flow’rets be, 
Sweet fetters for my love and me. 


But, Fanny, so unbless’d they twine, 
That (Heaven alone can tell the reason) 
When mingled thus they cease to shine, 
Or shine but for a transient season. 
Whether the Chain may press too much, 
Or that the Wreath is slightly braided, 
Let but the gold the flow’rets touch, 
And all their bloom, their glow is 
Oh! better to be always free, faded ! 
Than thus to bind my love to me. 


THE timid girl now hung her head, 
And, as she turn’d an upward glance, 
I saw a doubt its twilight spread 
Across her brow’s divine expanse. 
Just then, the garland’s brightest rose 
Gaye one of its love-breathing sighs— 
Oh! who ecanask how Fanny chose, 
river is supposed to carry these offerings 
as bridal gifts to the fountain Arethusa, Kae 
emt τὴν Ἀρεθουσαν οὕτω Tov AAdetov vupdo- 
στολει. ὅταν OVY ἡ των ολυμπιὼν EOpTH, K. τ. A. 


| Wib. i 


SS eee 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


That ever look’d in Fanny’s eyes ? 
“The Wreath, my life, the Wreath 
shall be 
“The tie to bind my soul to thee.” 


Anp hast thou marked the pensive shade, 
That many a time obscures my brow, 
Midst all the joys, beloved maid, 
Which thou canst give, and only thou? 


Oh! ’tis not that I then forget 

The bright looks that before me shine ; 
For neyer throbb’d a bosom yet 

Could feel their witchery, like mine. 


When bashful on my bosom hid, 
And blushing to have felt so bless’d, 
Thou dost but lift thy languid lid, 
Again to close it on my breast ;— 


Yes,—these are minutes all thine own, 
Thine own to give, and mine to feel; 

Yet ev’n in them, my heart has known 
The sigh to rise, the tear to steal. 


For I haye thought of former hours, 
When he who first thy soul possess’d, | 

Like me awaked its witching powers, 
Like me was loved, like me was blest. 


Upon his name thy murm’ring tongue 
Perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt; 

Upon his words thine ear hath hung, 
With transport all as purely felt. 


For him—yet why the past recall, 
To damp and whither present bliss? 
Thowrt now my own, heart, spirit, all, 
And Heaven could grant no more than 
this ! 


Forgive me, dearest, oh! forgive ;, 
I would be first, be sole to thee, 
Thou shouldst have but begun to live, 
The hour that gave thy heart to me. 


Thy book of life till then effaced, 
Love should have kept that leaf alone | 
On which he first so brightly traced | 
That thou wert, soul and all, my own. | 


| 


* Love and Psyche are here considered as 
the active and passive principles of creation, 
and the universe is supposed to have received 
its first harmonizing impulse from the nuptial | 
sympathy between these two powers. A mar- 
riage is generally the first step in cosmogony. 
Timzus held Form to be the father, and Mat- | 


151 


SAB ies ’S PICTURE. 


Go then, if she, whose shade thou art, 
No more will let thee soothe my pain ; 

Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart 
Some pangs, to give thee back again. 


Tell her, the smile was not so dear, 
With which she made thy semblance 

As bitter is the burning tear, [mine, 
With which I now the gift resign. 


Yet go—and could she still restore, 
As some exchange for taking thee, 
The tranquil look which first I wore, 
When her eyes found me calm and 
free ; 


Could she give back the careless flow, 
The spirit that my heart then knew— 

Yet, no, ’tis vain—go, picture, go— 
Smile at me once, and then—adieu ! 


FRAGMENT OF A MYTHOLOGICAL 
HYMN TO LOVE.* 


Best infant of eternity ! 
Before the day-star learn’d to move, 
In pomp of fire, along his grand career, 
Glancing the beamy shafts of light 
From his rich quiver to the farthest 
sphere, 
Thou wert alone, oh Love! 
Nestling beneath the wings of an- 
cient Night, {owing thee. 
Where horrors seein’d to smile in shad- 


No form of beauty sooth’d thine eye, 
_ As through the dim expanse it wan- 
der’d wide ; 
No kindred spirit eaught thy sigh, 
As o’er ὑπὸ watery waste it ling’ring 
died. 


Unfelt the pulse, unknown the power 
That latent in his heart was sleeping,— 
Oh Sympathy! that lonely hour 
Saw Love himself thy absence weeping. 


But look, what glory through the dark- 
ness beams, 
Celestial airs along the water glide:— 


ter the mother of the World; Elion and Ber- 
outh, I think, are Sanchoniatho’s first spiritual 
lovers, and Maneo-capae and his wife intro- 
duced ereation amongst the Peruvians. In 


| short, Harlequin seems to have studied cos- 


mogonies, when he said * tutto il mondo ὁ fat- 
to come la nostra famiglia.” 


152 


What Spirit art thou, moving o’er the tide 
So beautiful ? oh, not of earth, 
But, in that glowing hour, the birth 
Of the young Godhead’s own creative 
Tis she! [dreams. 
Psyche, the firstborn spirit of the air. 
To thee, oh Love, she turns, 
On thee her eyebeam burns: 
Blest hour, before all worlds or- 
They meet— [dain’d to be! 
The blooming god—the spirit fair 
Meet in communion sweet. 
Now, Sympathy, the hour is thine; 
All nature feels the thrill divine, 
The veil of Chaos is withdrawn, 
And their first kiss is great Creation’s 
dawn ! 


TO HIS SERENE HIGHNESS THE 
DUKE OF MONTPENSIER, 


ON HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADE- 
LAIDE FORBES. 
Donington Park, 1802. 
To catch the thought, by painting’s 
spell, 

Howe’er remote, howe’er refined, 
Aud o’er the kindling canvas tell 

The silent story of the mind ; 


O’er-nature’s form to glance the eye, 
And fix, by mimic light and shade, 
Her morning tinges, ere they fly, 
Her evening blushes, ere they fade;— 


Yes, these are Painting’s proudest powers; 
The gift, by which her art divine 


* Though [have styled this poem a Dithyram- 
bie Ode, I cannot presume to say that it possess- 
es, in any degree, the characteristics of that 
species of poetry. The nature of the ancient 
Dithyrambie is very imperfectly known. <Ac- 
cording to M. Burette, a licentious irregularity 
of metre, an extravagant research of thought 
and expression, and a rude embarrassed con- 
struction, are among its most distinguishing 
features; and in all these respects, [ have but 
too closely, I fear, followed my models. Burette 
adds, ‘* Ces caractéres des dithyrambes se font 
sentir ὃ ceux qui lisent attentivement les odes 
de Pindare.’—Méemoires de V Acad. vol. x. p. 
306. ‘The same opinion may be collected from 
Schmidt's dissertation upon the subject. I 
think, however, if the Dithyrambies of Pindar 
were in our possession, we should find that, 
however wild and fanciful, they were by no 
means the tasteless jargon they are represented, 
and that even their irregularity was what Boi- 
Jeau calls ‘un beau désordre.”” Chiabrera,who 
las been styled the Pindar of Italy, and from 
Whom «all its poetry upon the Greek model was 
called Chiabreresco, (as Crescimbeni informs 


MOORWS 


WORKS. 


Above all others proudly towers, — 
And these, oh Prince! are richly thine. 


And yet, when Friendship sees thee 
trace, 
In almost living truth express’d, 
This bright memorial of a face 
On which her eye delights to rest ; 


While o’er the lovely look serene, 
The smile of peace, the bloom of youth, 
The cheek, that blushes to be seen, 
The eye that tells the bosom’s truth ; 


While o’er each line, so brightly true, 
Our eyes with ling’ring pleasure rove, 

Blessing the touch whose various hue 
Thus brings to mind the form we love ; 


We feel the magic of thy art, 
And own it with a zest, a zeal, 

A pleasure, nearer to the heart 
Than critic taste can ever feel. 


THE FALL OF HEBE. 
A DITHYRAMBIC ODE.* 


’TWAS on a day 
When the immortals at their banquet 
The bow] [lay ; 
Sparkled with starry dew, 
The weeping of those myriad urns of 
light, [ Power, 
Within whose orbs, the almighty 
At nature’s dawning hour, 
Stored the rich fluid of ethereal soul.t 
Around, [their flight 
Soft odorous clouds, that upward wing 
From eastern isles, 


us, lib. i. cap. 2.) has given, amongst his Ven- 
demmie, a Dithyrambie, ‘all’ uso de’ Greci;” 
full of those compound epithets, which, we are 
told, were a chief characteristic of the style, 
(συνθετοὺυς de λεξεις εποιου».--οΟ πα. Διθυραμ.: 
βοδιδ. ;) such as 

Briglindorato Pegaso 

Nubicalpestator. 


But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst 
all the license of dithyrambies, would ever have 
descended to balladJanguage like the follow- 
ing: 

Bella Filli, e bella Clori, 

Non pit dar pregio a tue bellezze e taci, 

Che se Bacco fa vezzi alle mie labbra 

Fo le fiche a’ vostri baci. 
esser vorrei Coppier, 


E se troppo desiro 
Deh fossiio Bottiglier, 
Rime del CUIABRERA, part il. p. 352. 
t This is a Platonic fancy. The philosopher 
supposes, in his Timeeus, that, when the Deity 
had formed the soul of the world, he proceeded 
to the composition of other souls, in which pro- 


4 


i ae a 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


153 


(Where they have bathed them in the 

orient ray, [fill’d,) 
And with rich fragrance all their bosoms 
In circles flew, and, melting as they flew, 
A liquid daybreak o’er the board distill’d. 


All, all was luxury! 
All must be luxury, where Lyzus 
His locks divine [smiles. 
Were crown’d 
With a bright meteor-braid, 
Which, like an ever-springing wreath 
of vine, 
Shot into brilliant leafy shapes, 
And o’er his brow in lambent tendrils 
play’d: 
While mid the foliage hung, 
Like lucid grapes, 
A thousand clustering buds of light, 
Cull’d from the gardens of the galaxy. 


Upon his bosom Cytherea’s head [sung 
Lay lovely, as when first the Syrens 
Her beauty’s dawn,  [drawn, 
And all the curtains of the deep, un- 
Reveal’d her sleeping in its azure bed. 
The captive deity 
Hung lingering on her eyes and lip, 
With looks of ecstasy. 
Now, on his arm, 
In blushes she reposed, [charm, 
And, while he gazed on each bright 
To shade his burning eyes her hand in 
dalliance stole. 


And now she raised her rosy mouth 
The nectar’d wave [to sip 
Lyzus gave, 

And from her eyelids, half-way closed, 

Sent forth a melting gleam, [bow]: 
Which fell, like sun-dew, in the 


cess, says Plato, he made use of the same cup, 
though the ingredients he mingled were not 
quite so pure as for the former; and having re- 
fined the mixture with a little of his own es- 
sence, he distributed it among the stars, which 
served as reservoirs of the fluid.—Tavr’ εἰπε 
και παλιν EL TOV προτερον κρατῆρα εν ὦ THY TOU 
παντος yuxay Kepavvus εμισγε, K. τ. A. 

*We learn from Theophrastus, that the roses 
of Cyrene were particularly fragrant.—Evoo- 
ματα τα de ta ev Κυρηνὴ poda. 

t Heraclitus (Physicus) held the soul to be a 
spark of the stellar essence—“ Scintilla stel- 
laris essentiz.’—Macronius, in Somn. Scip. 
lib. i. cap. 14. 

{Lhe country of the Hyperboreans. These 
people were supposed to be placed so far north 
that the north wind could not affect them; they 
lived longer than any other mortals, passed 
their whole time in music and dancing, &c. 


While her bright hair, in mazy flow 
Of gold descending 
Adown her cheek’s luxurious glow, 
Hung o’er the goblet’s side, 
And was reflected in its crystal tide, 
Like a bright crocus flower, [hour 
Whose sunny leaves, at evening 
With roses of Cyrene blending, * 
Hang o’er the mirror of some silvery 
stream. 


The Olympian cup 
Shone in the hands [feet 
Of dimpled Hebe, as she wing’d her 
U 


Ρ 
The empyreal mount, [fount;t 
To drain the soul-drops at their stellar 
And still 
As the resplendent rill 
Gush’d forth into the cup with mant- 
Her watchful care [ling heat, 
Was still to cool its liquid fire 
With snow-white sprinklings of 
that feathery air 
The children of the Pole respire, 
In those enchanted lands, t 
Where life is all a spring, and north 
winds never blow. 


But oh! 
Bright Hebe, what a tear, 
And what a blush were thine, 
When, as the breath of every Grace 
Wafted thy feet along the studded sphere, 
With a bright cup for Jove himself to 
drink, [tread, 
Some star, that shone beneath thy 
Raising its amorous head 
To kiss those matchless feet, 
Check’d thy career too fleet, 
And all heaven’s host of eyes 


&e. But the most extravagant fiction related 
of them is that to which the two lines preeed- 
ing allude. It was imagined that, instead of 
our vulgar atmosphere, the Hyperboreans 
breathed nothing but feathers! According to 
Herodotus and Pliny, this idea was suggested 
by the quantity of snow which was observed to 
fall in those regions; thus the former: Ta ὧν 
πτερα εικαζοντας THY χιονα τοὺς SKvGas TE και 
Tous περιοικοις Soxew Aeyerv.— HERODOT. lib. iy. 
cap. 31. Ovid tells the fable otherwise: see 
Metamorph. lib. xv. 

Mr Oi alteran; and some other Irish anti- 
quarians, have been at great expense of learn- 
ing to prove that the strange country, where 
they took snow for feathers, was Ireland, and 
that the famous Abarjs was an Irish Druid. 
Mr. Rowland, however, will have it that Aba- 
ris was a Welshman, and that his name is only 
a corruption of Ap Rees! 


154 


Entranced, but fearful all, 
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fall 
Upon the bright floor of the azure 
skies,* [lay, 
Where, mid its stars, thy beauty 
As blossom, shaken from the 
Of a spring thorn, [spray 
Lies mid the liquid sparkles of the morn. 
Or, as in temples of the Paphian shade, 
The worshippers of Beauty’s queen be- 
hold 
An image of their rosy idol, laid 
Upon a diamond shrine. 


The wanton wind, 
Which had pursued the flying fair, 
And sported mid the tresses uncon- 
Of her bright hair, [fined 
Now, as she fell,—oh wanton breeze ! 
Ruffled the robe, whose graceful flow 
Hung o’er those limbs of unsunn’d snow, 
Purely as the Eleusinian veil 
Hangs o’er the Mysteries ! t 
The brow of Juno flush’d— 
Love bless’d the breeze! 
The Muses blush’d; 
And every cheek was hid behind a lyre, 
While every eye look’d laughing through 
the strings. 


But the bright cup? the nectar’d draught 
Which Jove himself was to have quaff’d ? 
Alas, alas, upturn’d it lay 
By the fal’n Hebe’s side ; 
While, in slow lingering drops, th’ ethe- 
real tide, [ebb’d away. 


As conscious of its own rich essence, | 


Who was the Spirit thatremember’d Man, 
In that blest hour, 
And, with a wing of love, 


* Tt is Servius, I believe, who mentions this 
unlucky trip which Hebe made in her occupa- 
tion peu vearen and Hoffman tells it after 
him: “Cum Hebe pocula Jovi administrans, 
perque lubricum minus eauté incedens, cecidis- 
set,’ &e. 

+ The arcane symbols of this ceremony were 
deposited in the cista, where they lay relig- 
iously concealed from the eyes of the profane. 
They were generally carried in the procession 
by an ass; and hence the proverb, which one 
may so often apply inthe world, “ asinus por- 
tat mysteria.”” See the Divine Legation, book 
li. sect. 4. 

! In the Geoponiea, lib. ii. cap. 17, there is a 
fable somewhat like this descent of the neetar 
to earth. Ev ovpavy τῶν gewv ευωχονμενων, 
και TOV νέκταρος πολλου TapaKEelmevoV, ανασ- 
κιρτησαι χορεια Tov ἔρωτα και συσσεισαι τῳ 
πτέρῳ τοῦ κρατῆρος τὴν βασιν, και περι- 
τρεψαι μὲν αὐτον" Τὸ δὲ 


vexTap εἰς Τὴν γὴν. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Brush’d off the goblet’s scatterd 
tears, 
As, trembling, near the edge of heaven 
they ran, 
And sent them floating to our orb be- 
Essence of immortality! [low ?} 
The shower 
Fell glowing through the spheres ; 
While all around new tints of bliss, 
New odors and new light, 
Enrich’d its radiant flow. 
Now, with a liquid kiss, 
It stole along the thrilling wire 
Of Heaven’s luminous Lyre,§ 
Stealing the soul of music in its flight ; 
And now, amid the breezes bland, 
That whisper from the planets as they 
roll, 
The bright libation, softly fann’d 
By all their sighs, meandering stole. 
They who, from Atlas’ height, 
Beheld this rosy flame 
Descending through the waste of 
] night, 
Thought ’twas some planet, whose em- 
pyreal frame 
Had kindled, as it rapidly revolved 
Around its fervid axle, and dissolved 
Into a flood so bright! 


The youthful Day, 
Within his twilight bower, 
Lay sweetly sleeping 
On the flush’d bosom of alotos-flower;|| 
When round him, in profusion weep- 
ing, 
Dropp’d the celestial shower, 
Steeping 
The rosy clouds, that eurl’d 


About his infant head, 
exyudev, κι τ A. Vid. Autor. de Re Rust. edit. 
Cantab, 1704, 

§ The constellation Lyra. The astrologers 
attribute great virtues to this sign in ascen- 
denti, which are enumerated by Pontano, in 
his Urania: 
| — + FEece novem cum pectine chordas 
| Emoduilans, muleetque novo vaga sidera eantu, 

Quo captes nascentum anim® concordia dueunt 

Pectora, &e. 

|| The Egyptians represented the dawn of day 
by a young boy seated upon a lotos. Ecre 

Avyuttous ἑωρακὼς ἀρχὴν avaToAns παιδιον νε- 
ογνον γραφοντας ἐπὶ AwTw KabeGonevov.—Plu- 
tarch. περι tov μὴ χραν ἐμμετρ. See also his 
Treatise de Isid. et Osir. Observing that the 
lotos showed its head above water at sunrise 
| and sank again at his setting, they conceived 
| the idea of conseerating this Nower to Osiris, or 
| the sun. 

This symbo! of a youth sitting upon a lotos is 


= 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


Like myrrh upon the locks of Cupid 
But, when the waking boy [shed. 
Waved his exhaling tresses through 
the sky, 
O morn of joy !— 
The tide divine, 
All glorious with the vermil dye 
It drank beneath his orient eye, 
Distill’d, in dews, upon the world, 
And every drop was wine, was heavenly 
WINE! 
Blest be the sod, and blest the flower 
On which descended first that 
shower, 

All fresh from Jove’s nectareous springs ; 
Oh far less sweet the flower, the sod, 
O’er which the Spirit of the Rainbow 

flings 
The magic mantle of her solar God !* 


RINGS AND SEALS. 


“Ὥσπερ σφραγιδες τα φιληματα. 
ACHILLES ΤΠ ΑΤΙΌΒ, lib. ii. 
“Go !” said the angry, weeping maid, 
“The charm is broken—once betray’d, 
‘« Never can this wrong’d heart rely 
“Qn word or look, on oath or sigh. 
“Take back the gifts, so fondly given, 
“With promised faith and yows to 
heaven ; 
“ That little ring which, night and morn, 
“With wedded truth my hand hath 
Worn ; 
“ΠΡ Ὁ seal which oft, in moments blest, 
“Thou hast upon my lip impress’d, 
«« And sworn its sacred spring should be 
“ΑΔ fountain seal’dt for only thee ; 
‘« Take, take them back, the gift and vow: 
“ς All sullied, lost and hateful now !” 


I took the ring-—the seal I took, 
While, oh, her every tear and look 
Were suchas angels look and shed, 
When man is by the world misled. 
Gently I whisper’d, ‘“‘ Fanny, dear! 


very frequent on the Abraxases, or Basilidian 
stones. See Montfaucon, tom. ii planche 158, 
and the “Supplement,” &e. tom. ii. lib. vii. 


chap. ὃν 

* The ancients esteemed those flowers and 
trees the sweetest upon which the rainbow had 
appeared to rest; and the wood they chiefly 
burned in s»erifiees, was that which the smile 
of Tris had consecrated. Plutarch. Sympos 
lib. iv. cap. 2, where (as Vossius remarks) 
καιουσι, instead of καλουσι, is undoubt- 
edly the genuine reading. See Vossius for 
some curious particularities of the rainbow, 


“ Not half thy lover’s gifts are here : 

‘«Say, where are all the kisses given, 

“From morn to noon, from noon to 
even,— 

‘Those signets of true love, worth more 

“Than Solomon’s own seal of yore,— 

‘“Where are those gifts, so sweet, so 
many ἢ 

‘Come, dearest,—give back allif any.” 


While thus I whisper’d, trembling too, 
Lest all the nymph had sworn was true, 
I saw a smile relenting rise 
"ΜΊΑ the moist azure of her eyes, 

Like daylight o’er a sea of blue, 

While yet in mid-air hangs the dew. 
She let her cheek repose on mine, 

She let my arms around her twine; 
One kiss was half allow’d, and then— 
The ring and seal were hers again. 


TO MISS SUSAN B—CKF—D,f 
ON HER SINGING. 


| I more than once have heard, at night, 


A song, like those thy lip hath given, 
And it was sung by shapes of hght, 
Who look’d and breathed, like thee, 92 
heaven. 


But this was all a dream of sleep, 
And Ihave said, when morning shone, 
“Why should the night-witch, Fanoy, 
keep 
‘These wonders for herself alone?” 


I knew not then that fate had lent 
Such tones to one of mortal birth ; 

IT knew not then that Heaven had sent 
A yoice, a form like thine on earth. 


And yet, in all that flowery maze, 
Through which my path of life has led 

When I have heard the sweetest lays 
From lips of rosiest lustre shed ; 


When I have felt the warbled word 
From Beauty’s lip, in sweetness vying 


De Origin. et Progress. Idololat. lib. iii. 
eap. 13. 

Ϊ “There are gardens, aise to be those of 
King Solomon, in the neighborhood of Bethle- 
hem. The friars show a fountain, which, they 
say, is the ‘sealed fountain’ to which the holy 
spouse in the Canticles is compared; and they 
pretend a tradition, that Solomon shut up these 
springs and put his signet upon the door, to 
keep them tor his own drinking.” —Maundrell’s 
Travels. See also the notes to Mr. Good's 
Translation of the Song of Solomon. 

t The present Duchess of Hamilton. 


150 


With music’s own melodious bird, 
When on the rose’s bosom lying ; 


Though form and song at once combined 
Their loveliest bloom and softest thrill, 
My heart hath sigh’d, my ear hath pined 
For something lovelier, softer still:— 


Oh, I have found it all, at last, 

In thee, thou sweetest living lyre 
Through which the soul of song e’er 

pass’d, 

Or feeling breathed its sacred fire. 
All that I e’er, in wildest flight 

Of fancy’s dreams, could hear or see 
Of music’s sigh or beauty’s light, 

Is realized, at once, in thee ! 


IMPROMPTU, 
ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS. 


O dulces comitum valete ceetus! CATULLUS. 


No, never shall my soul forget 

The friends I found so cordial-hearted ; 
Dear shall be the day we met, 

And dear shall be the night we parted. 


Τῇ fond regrets, however sweet, 

Must with the lapse of time decay, 
Yet still, when thus in mirth you meet, 
Fill high to him that’s far away! 

Long be the light of memory found 
Alive within your social glass ; 

Let that be still the magic round, 
O’er which Oblivion dares not pass. 


A WARNING TO.. 


On fair as heaven and chaste as light! 

Did nature mould thee all so bright, 

That thou shouldst e’er be brought to 
weep 

O’er languid virtue’s fatal sleep, 

O’er shame extinguish’d, honor fled, 

Peace lost, heart wither’d, feeling dead? 


No, no! a star was born with thee, 
Which sheds eternal purity. 
Thou hast, within those sainted eyes, 
So fair a transcript of the skies, 
In lines of light such heavenly lore, 
That man should read them and adore. 
Yet have I known a gentle maid 
Whose mind and form were both array’d 
Tn nature’s purest light, like thine ;— 
Who wore that clear, celestial sign, 
Which seems tc mark the brow that’s fair 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


——  ὄ.-’’'- τ,  ΤὕτὔᾶῷἋΓασ 


For destiny’s peculiar care : 

Whose bosom too, like Dian’s own, 

Was guarded by a sacred zone, 

Where the bright gem of virtue shone ; 

Whose eyes had, in their light, a charm 

Against all wrong, and guile, and harm, 

Yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour, 

These spells have lost their guardian 
power ; 

The gem has been heguiled away ; 

Her eyes have lost their chast’ning ray ; 

The modest pride, the guiltless shame, 

The smiles that from reflection came, 

All, all have fled, and left her mind 

A faded monument behind ; 

The ruins of a once pure shrine, 

No longer fit for guest divine. 

Oh! ’twas a sight I wept to see— 

Heaven keep the lost one’s fate from 
thee ! 


--..--ς. 


πθὴ; πο ΠΕ ΎΞῊΣ 


ΠῚ time, I feel, to leave thee now, 
While yet my soul is something free ; 
While yet those dangerous eyes allow 
One minute’s thought to stray from 
thee. 


Oh ! thou becom’st each moment dearer ; 
Byery chance that brings me nigh 

Brings my ruin nearer, nearer— [thee, 
Τ am lost, unless I fly thee. 


Nay, if thou dost not scorn and hate me, 
Doom me not thus so soon to fall ; 

Duties, fame, and hopes await me,— 
But that eye would blast them all! 


For, thou hast heart as false and cold 
As ever yet allured or sway’d, 

And couldst, without a sigh, behold 
The ruin which thyself hath made. 


Yet,—-could I think that, truly fond, 
That eye but once would smile on me, 

Bv’n as thou art, how far beyond [be! 
Fame, duty, wealth, that smile would 


Oh! but to win it, night and day, 
Inglorious at thy feet reclined, 

Τ᾽ ἃ sigh my dreams of fame away, 
he world for thee forgot, resign’d. 


But no, ’tis o’er, and—thus we part, 
Never to meet again—no, never. 
False woman, what a mind and heart 
Thy treach’ry has undone forever! 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


WOMAN. 


AWAY, away, you're all the same, 
A smiling, flutt’ring, jilting throng ; 
And, wise too late, I burn with shame, 
To think I’ve been your slave so long. 


Slow to be won, and quick to rove, 
From folly kind, from cunning loath, 

Too cold for bliss, too weak for love, 
Yet feigning all that’s best in both ; 


Still panting o’er a crowd to reign,— 
More joy it gives to woman’s breast 

To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 
Than one true, manly lover blest. 


Away, away—your smile’s a curse— 
Oh! blot me from the race of men, 
Kind pitying Heaven, by death or worse, 

If e’er I love such things again. 


EO τα ΤῊΣ ΟΕ ΘΕ ΤΥ ΝΣ 


Νοσει τα φιλτατα. EURIPIDES. 


ComE, take thy harp—'tis vain to muse 
Upon the gathering ills we see; 

Ch! take thy harp and let me lose 
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 


Sing to me, love!—though death were 

near, [get— 

Thy song could make my soul for- 
Nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear, 
All may be well, be happy yet. 


Let me but see that snowy arm 
Once more upon the dear harp lie, 
And I will cease to dream of harm, 
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh 


Give me that strain of mournful touch, 
We used to love long, long ago, 

Before our hearts had known as much 
As now, alas! they bleed to know. 


* In Plutarch’s Essay on the Decline of the 
Oracles, Cleombrotus, one of the interlocutors, 
deseribes an extraordinary man whom he had 
met with. after long research, upon the banks 
of the Red Sea. Onee in every year, this su- 
pernatural personage appeared to mortals and 
conversed with them ; the rest of his time he 
passed among the Genii and the Nymphs. Περι 
τὴν ἐρυθραν ϑαλασσαν evporv, avOpwrots ava παν 
ετὸς ἁπαξ ἐντυγχάνοντα, ταλλα δε συν Tats νυμ- 
φαις, vomact και δαιμοσι, ὡς εῥασκε. He spoke 
ina tone not far removed from singing, and 
whenever he opened his lips, a fragrance filled 
the place: φθεγγομενου de tov τόοπὸν εὐωδια 
κατειχε, του στοματος ἡδιστον αποπνέοντος. 
From him Cleombrotus learned the doctrine of 
a plurality of worlds. 

The celebrated Janus Dousa. a little be- 
fore his death, imagined that he heard a strain 


157 


Sweet notes! they tell of former peace, 
Of all that look’d so smiling then, 

Now vanish’d, lost —oh pray thee, cease, 
I cannot bear those sounds again. 


Art thou, too, wretched? yes, thou art ; 
I see thy tears flow fast with mine— 
Come, come to this devoted heart, 
’Tis breaking, but it still is thine ! 


A VISION OF PHILOSOPHY. 


’TwAs on the Red Sea coast, at morn, 
we met 

The venerable man ;* a healthy bloom 

Mingled its softness with the vigorous 
thought [he spoke, 

That tower’d upon his brow; and,when 

’Twas language sweeten’d into song— 
such holy sounds [hear, 

As oft, they say, the wise and virtuous 

Prelusive to the harmony of heaven, 

When death is nigh ;t and still, as he 
unclosed 

His sacred lips, an odor, all as bland 

As ocean-breezes gather from the flowers 

That blossom in elysium,} breathed 
around. 

With silent awe we listen’d, while he told 

Of the dark veil which many an age had 
hung {man, 

O’er Nature’s form, till, long explored by 

The mystic shroud grew thin and lumin- 
ous, [shone thro’ :— 

And glimpses of that heavenly form 

Of magic wonders, that were known and 
taught 

By him (or Cham or Zoroaster named) 

Who mused amid the mighty cataclysm, 

O’er his rude tablets of primeval lore ;$ 

And gathering round him, in the sacred 
ark, 

of music in the air. See the poem of Heinsius, 

“Tn harmoniam quam paulo ante obitum au- 

dire sibi visus est Dousa.”” Page 501. 

+ 
‘ 


ενθα μακαρων 
νασον ὠκεανιδες 
αυραι περιπνεουσιν" αν- 


θεμα δεχρυσου φλεγει. PINDAR. Olymp. il. 


§ Cham, the son of Noah, is supposed to have 
taken with him into the ark the principal doe- 
trines of magical, or rather of natural science, 
which he had inseribed upon some very dura- 
ble substances, in order that they might resist 
the ravages of the deluge, and transmit the se- 
crets of antediluvian knowledge to his poster- 
ity. See the extracts made by Bayle, in his 
article, Cham. The identity of Cham and Zo 
roaster depends upon the authority of Berosus, 
(or rather the impostor Annius,) anda few 


158 


The mighty secrets of that former globe, 

Let not the living star of science* sink 

Beneath the waters, which ingulf’d a 
world !— 

Of visions, by Calliope reveal’d 

-To him,t who traced upon his typic 


lyre 
The diapason of man’s mingled frame, 


more such respectable testimonies. See 
Naudé’s Apologie pour les Grands Hommes, 
&e., chap. viii., where he takes more trouble 
than is necessary in refuting this gratuitous 
supposition. 

* Chamum a posteris hujus artis admiratori- 
bus Zoreastrum, seu vivum astrum, propterea 
fuisse dictum et pro Deo habitum.—Bochart. 
Geograph. Sacr. lib. iv. cap. 1. 

1 Orpheus.—Paulinus, in his Hebdomades, 
eap. 2, lib. iii., has endeayored* to show, after 
the Platonists, that man is a diapason, or oc- 
tave, made up of a diatesseron, which is his 
soul, and a diapente, which is his body. ‘Those 
frequent allusions to music, by which the an- 
cient philosophers illustrated their sublime 
theories, must have tended very much to ele- 
vate the character of the art, and to enrich it 
With associations of the grandest and most in- 
teresting nature. See a preceding note, for 
their ideas upon the harmony of the spheres. 
Heraclitus compared the mixture of good and 
eyilin this world to the blended vyaricties of 
harmony in a musical instrument, (Plutarch. de 


Anime Procreat.,) and Euryphaimus, the Pyth- | 


agorean, in a fragment preserved by Stobeus, 
describes human life, in its perfection, as a 
sweet and well-tuned lyre. Some of the an- 
cients were so fanciful as to suppose that the 
operations of the memory were regulated by a 
kind of musical cadence, and that ideas oc- 
curred to it “ per arsin et thesin,” while others 
converted the whole man into a mere harmon- 
ized machine, whose motion depended upon a 
certain tension of the body, analogous to that 
of the strings in an instrument. Cicero indeed 
ridicules Aristoxenus for this faney, and says, 
“Tet him teach singing, and leave philosophy 
to Aristotle ;’ but Aristotle himself, though 
decidedly opposed to the harmonie speculations 
of the Pythagoreans and Platonists, could 
sometimes condescend to enliven his doctrines 
by reference to the beauties of musical science; 
as, in the treatise Περὶ κοσμον attributed to 
him, Ka@amep δε ev Xopw, κορυφαιον καταρξαν.- 
TOS, K. τ. A. 

The Abbé Batteux, in his inquiry into the 
doctrine of the Stoics. attributes to those phi 
losophers the samemode of illustration."* L’ame 
étoit cause active move αἰτιος; le corps 
cause passive ἧδε του racxerv:—l]'une agissant 
dans l'autre ; et y prenant, par sonaction méme, 
un caractére, des formes, des modifications, 
quelle m’avoit pas par elle-méme; a peu prés 
comme lair, qui, chassé dans un instrument de 
musique, fait connoitre, par les différens sons 
qu il produit, les différentes modifications qu'il 
yregoit.”” See a fine simile founded upon this 
notion in Cardinal Polignae’s poem, lib. 5, v. 
734. 

| Pythagoras is represented in Iamblichus as 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And the grand Doric heptachord of hea- 
ven. 

With all of pure, of wondrous and arcane, 

Which the grave sons of Mochus, many 


a night, 
Told to the young and bright-haird vis- 
itant [a flow 


Of Carmel’s sacred mount.t—Then, in 


descending with great solemnity from Mount 
Carmel, for which reason the Carmelites haye 
claimed him as one of their fraternity. This 
Mochus or Moschus, with the descendants of 
whom Pythagoras conversed in Phoenicia, and 
from whom he derived the doctrines of atomic 
philosophy, is supposed by some to be the same 
with Moses. uett has adopted this idea, 
Démonstration Evangélique, Prop. iy. chap. 2, 

7; aud Le Clere, among others, has refuted 
it. See Biblioth. Choisie, tom. i. p. 75. It is cer- 
tain, however, that the doctrine of atoms was 
known and promulgated long before Epicurus. 
“With the fountains of Democritus,’ says 
Cicero, ‘‘the gardens of Epicnrus were water- 
ed;” and the learned author of the Intellectual 
System has shown, that all the early philoso- 
yhers, till the time of Plato, were atomists. 

e find Epicurus, however, boasting that his 
tenets were new and unborrowed, and perhaps 
few amone the ancients had any stronger claim 
to originality. In truth, ifwe examine their 
schools of philosophy, notwithstanding the pe- 
culiarities which seem to distinguish them from 
each other, we may generally observe that the 
difference is but verbal and trifling ; and that, 
among those various and learned heresies, there 
is scarcely one to be selected, whose opinions 
are its own, original and exclusive. The doc- 
trine of the world’s eternity may be traced 
through all the sects. The continual metem- 
psychosis of Pythagoras, the grand periodie 
year of the Stoics. (at the conclusion of which 
the universe is supposed to return to its origi- 
nal order, and commence anew revyolution,) 
the successive dissolution and combination of 
atoms maintained by the Epicureans—all these 
tenets are but different imitations of the same 
general belief in the eternity ofthe world. As 
explained by St. Austin, the periodic year of 
the Stoics disagrees only so far with the idea 
of the Pythagoreans, that instead of an endless 
transmission of the soul through a variety of 
bodies, it restores the same body and soul to 
repeat their former round of existence, so that 
the ‘identical Plato, who lectured in the 
Academy of Athens, shall again and again, at 
certain intervals, during the lapse of eternity, 
appear in the same Academy and resume the 
same functions:” sic eadem tempora 
temporaliumque rerum volumina repeti, utv g. 
sicut in isto seeculo Plato philosophus in urbe 
Atheniensi, in eA scholé quae Academia dicta 
est, discipulos docuit, ita per innumerabilia 
retro seecula, multum plexis quidem interyallis, 
sed certis, et idem Plato, et eadem civitas, 
eademque schola, iidemque discipuli repetiti et 
per innumerabilia deinde secula repetendi sint. 
—De Civitat. Dei, lib. xii. cap. 13. Vanini, in 
his dialogues, has given us a similar explication 
of the periodic revolutions of the world, ‘Ea 


ll 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


Of calmer converse, he beguiled us on 
Through many a maze of Garden and of 
Porch, 


de causf, qui nune sunt in usu ritus, centies 
millies fuerunt, totiesque renascentur quoties 
oceiderunt.”” 52. 

The paradoxical notions of the Stoics upon 
the beauty, the riches, the dominion of their 
imaginary sage, are among the most distin- 
guishing characteristics of their school, and, 
according to their advoeate Lipsius, were pecu- 
liar to that seet. ‘ Priora illa (decreta) que 
passim in philosophantium scholis feré obtinent, 
ista que peculiaria huic sect et habent con- 
tradictionem: i. e. paradoxa.”—Manuduet. ad 
Stoic. Philos. lib. iii. dissertat. 2. But itis evi- 
dent (as the Abbé Garnier has remarked, Mé- 
moires de |’ Acad. tom. xxxv.) that even these 
absurdities of the Stoies are borrowed, and that 
Plato is the source of all their extravagant 
paradoxes. We find their dogma, ‘dives qui 
sapiens,” (which Clement of Alexandria hus 
transferred from the Philosopher to the Chris- 
tian, Pedagog. lib. iii. cap. 6,) expressed in the 
prayer of Socrates at the end of the Phaedrus. 
Ὦ dire Παν τε και αλλοι ὅσοι tHdE geor, δοιητε 
μοι καλω γενεσθαι τανδοθεν" ταξωθεν de ὅσα Exw, 
τοις evTos εἰναι μοι φιλια' πλουσιον δὲ νομιζοιμι 
tov σοφον. And many other instances might 
be adduced from the Avrepacrac, thie UoAcrixos, 
&e., to prove that these weeds of paradox 
were all gathered among the bowers of the 
Academy. Hence it is that Cicero, in the pre- 
face to his Paradoxes, calls them Soeratica; 
and Lipsius, exulting in the patronage of 
Socrates, says: ‘‘Ille totus est noster.” This 
is, indeed, a coalition, which evinces as much 


as can be wished the confused similitude of an- | 


cient philosophical opinions: the father of skep- 
ticism is here enrolled among the fowiders of 
the Portico; he whose best knowledge was 
that of his own ignoranee, is called in to author- 


| the mention of a deity. 


| fancies to their own purpose. 


| ity. 


159 


Through many a system, where the scat- 
τοῦ ἃ light 
Of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam 


no very flattering analogy, that the deity is as 
incapable of virtue as of vice. Kat yap ὡσπερ 
οὐδὲν ϑῆριου ἐστι κακια, οὐδ᾽ ἀαρετη, οὕτως οὐδε 
ϑεου.--- Δ μῖς. Nicomach. lib. vii. cap. 1. In 
truth, Aristotle, upon the subject of Provi- 
dence, was little more correct than Epicurus. 
He supposed the moon to be the limit of Divine 
interference, precluding, of course, this sublu- 
nary world from its influence. The first defini- 
tion of the world in his treatise Hep: Κόσμου, 
(if this treatise be really the work of Aristotle,) 
agrees, almost verbum verbo, with that in the 
letter of Epicurus to Pythocles ; and both omit 
In his Ethies, too, he 
intimates a doubt whether the gods feel any 
interest in the concerns of mankind.—E: yao 
τις επιμελεια των ανθρωπινων ὑπο ϑεων γινεται. 
It is trne, he adds ὥσπερ δοκει, but even this is 
very skeptical. 

In these erroneous conceptions of Aristotle, 
we trace the cause of that general neglect 
which his philosophy experienced among the 
early Christians. Plato is seldom much more 
orthodox, but the obscure enthusiasm of his 
style allowed them to accommodate all his 
Such glowing 
steel was easily moulded, and Platonism became 
a sword in the hands of the fathers. 

The Providence of the Stoies, so vaunted in 
their school, was a power as contemptibly in- 
efficient as the rest. All was fate inthe system 
of the Portico. The chains of destiny were 
thrown over Jupiter himself, and their deity 
was like the Borgia of the Epigrammatist, “οὗ 
Cesar et nihil.” Not even the language of 
Seneca ean reconcile this degradation of divin- 
“Ile ipse omnium conditor ae rector 
scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur; semper puret, 


| semel jussit.”—Lib. de Providextid, enp. 5. 


ize the pretensions of the most obstinate dog- | 


matists in all antiquity. 
Rutilius, in his Itinerarium, has ridiculed the 


sabbath of the Jews, as “lassati mollis imago | 
Dei:” but Epieurus gave an eternal holiday to | 


his gods, and, rather than disturb the slumbers 
of perapas, denied at once the interference of 
a Providence. 

have been singular in this opinion. Theophilus 
of Antioch, if he deserve any eredit, impnutes a 
similar belief to Pythagoras :—yoc (Πυθαγορας) 
τε των παντων ϑεοὺς avOpwmwy undev φροντιζειν. 
And Plutarch, though so hostile to the follow- 
ers of Epicurus, his unaccountably adopted 
the very same theological error. Thus, after 
quoting the opinion of Anaxagoras and Plato 
upon divinity, he adds, Kow.wws οὖν ἁμαρτα- 
νουσιν ἀμῴοτεροι, OTL τον ϑεον ἐποιησαν ἐπιστρε- 
howevov των ανθρωπινων.---1)6 Placit. Philosoph. 
lib. i. cap. 7. Plato himself has cieahnted a 
degree of indifference to the gods, which is not 


far removed from the apathy of Epicurus’s | 


heaven; as thus, in his Philebus, where Pro- 
tarchus asks, Ovxovr εἰκὸς ye οὔτε xatpew geous, 
ouvte τὸ εναντίον; and Socrates answers, [avy 
μεν OUP ELKOS, ασχημον youv αὐτων ἑκατερον 
γιγνόμενον εστιν ;—while Aristotle supposes a 
still more absurd neutrality, and concludes, by 


He does not, however, seem to | 


With respect to the difference between the 
Stoics, Peripatetics and Academiciais, the fol- 
lowing words of Ciecro prove that he saw but 
little to distinguish them from each other :— 
“Peripateticos et Academicos, nominibus differ- 
entes, re congruentes; a quibus Stoici ipsi ver- 
bis magis quam sententiis dissenserunt.”— 
Academic. lib. ii. 5; and perhaps what Reid has. 


/remarked upon one of their points of contro- 


probably all for want of definition. 


versy might be applied as effectually tu the 
reconcilement of all the rest. “The dis- 
pute between the Stoies and Peripatetics was 
The one 


| said they were good under the control of reason, 
| the other that they should be eradicated.”"— 


Essays, vol. iii. In short, it appears a no legs 
difficult matter to establish the boundaries of 
opinion between any two of the Philosophical 
sects, than it would be to fix the landmarks of 
those estates in the moon, which Ricejolus so 
generously ellotted to his brother astronomers. 
Accordingly we observe some of the greatest 
men of antiquity passing without seruple from 
school to school, according to the faney or con- 
venience of the moment. Cicero, the father of 
Roman philosophy, is sometimes an Academ- 
ician, sometimes a Stoic; and, more than 
once, he acknowledges a conformity with Epi 


100 MOORL’S 


WORKS. 


From the pure sun, which, though re- 
fracted all 

Into a thousand hues, is sunshine still, * 

And bright through every change !—he 
spoke of Him, 

The lone,t eternal One, 
above, 

And of the soul’s untraceable descent 

From that high fount of spirit, through 
the grades 

Of intellectual being, till it mix 

With atoms vague, corruptible, and 
dark; 

Nor yet even then, though sunk in earth- 
ly dross, 


who dwells 


ecurus; ‘non sine causa igitur Epicurus ausus 
est dicere semper in pluribus bonis esse sapien- 
tem, quia semper sit in voluptatibus.”—Tuscu- 
lan. Quest. lib. y. Though often pure in his 
theology, Cicero sometimes smiles at futurity as 
a fiction; thus,in his Oration for Cluentius, 
speaking of punishments in the life to come, he 
says, ‘‘ once si falsa sunt, id quod omnes intel- 
ligunt, quid ei tandem aliud mors eripuit, 
preter sensum doloris ?”—though here we 
should, perhaps, do him but justice by agreeing 
with his commentator Sylvius, who remarks upon 
this passage, ‘‘ Hee autem dixit, ut cause sue 
subserviret.’’ The poet Horace roves like a 
butterfly through the schools, and now wings 
along the walls of the Porch, now basks among 
the flowers of the Garden: while Virgil, with a 
tone of mind strongly philosophical, has yet left 
us wholly uncertain as to the sect he espoused. 
The balance of opinion declares him to have 
been an Epicurean, but the ancient author of 
his life asserts that he was an Academician; 
and we trace through his poetry the tenets of 
almost all the leading sects. The same kind of 
eclectic indifference is observable in most of 
the Roman writers. Thus Propertius, in the fine 
elexy to Cynthia, on his departure for Athens, 
Illie vel studiis animum emendare Platoms, 
Incipiam, aut hortis, docte Epicure, tuis. 
Lib. iii. Eleg. 21, 


Though Broeckhusius here reads, “‘dux Epi- | 


” 


eure,” which seems to fix the poet under the 
banners of Epicurus. Even the Stoic Seneca, 
whose doctrines have been considered so ortho- 
dox that St. Jerome has ranked him among the 
ecclesiastical writers, while Boccaccio doubts 
(in consideration of his supposed eorrespoudence 
with St. Paul) whether Dante should have 
placed him in limbo with the rest of tie Pagans 
even the rigid Seneca has bestowed such 
commendations on Epicurus, that if only those 
passages of his works were preseryed to us, we 
could not hesitate, I think, in pronouncing him 
a confirmed Epicurean. With similar incon- 
sistency, we find Porphyry, in his work upon 
abstinence, referring to Epicurus as an example 
of the most Pythagorean temperance ; and Lan- 
celotti (the author of “ Farfalloni degli antiei 
Istorici’”’) has been seduced by this grave repu- 
tation of Epicurus into the absurd error of 
associating him with Chrysippus, as a chief of 
the Stuic school. here is no doubt, indeed, 


Corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch 

Quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still. 

As some bright river, which has roll’d 
along [mines of gold, 

Through meads of flowery light and 

When pour’d at length into the dusky 
deep, 

Disdains to take at once its briny taint, 

But keeps unchanged awhile the lustrous 
tinge, 

Or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left.{ 


And here the old man ceased—a 
winged train [eyes. 
Of nymphs and genii bore him from our 


that however the Epicurean sect might have 
relaxed from its criginal purity, the morals of 
its founder were as correct as those of any 
among the ancient philosophers; and his doe- 
trines upon pleasure, as explained in the letter 
to Menceceus, are rational, amiable, and eon- 
sistent with our nature. A late writer, De 
Sablons, in his Grands Hommes yengés, ex- 
presses strong indignation against the Encyclo- 
pédistes for their just and animated praises of 
Epicurus, and discussing the question, “si ce 
philosophe étoit vertueux,” denies it upon no 
other authority than the ealumnies collected by 
Plutareh, who himself confesses that, on this 
particular subject, he consulted only opinion 
and report, without pausing to investigate their 
truth.—AAAa τὴν δοξαν, ov τὴν αληθειαν oKo- 
πουμεν. To the factious zeal of his illiberal 
rivals, the Stoies, Epicurus chiefly owed these 
gross misrepresentations of the life and opinions 
of lumself and his associates, which, notwith- 
standing the learned exertions of Gassendi, 
have still left an odium on the name.of his phi- 
losophy ; and we ought to examine the ancient 
accounts of this philosopher with about the 
same degree of cautious belief which, in read- 
ing ecclesiastical history, we yield to the inveec- 
tives of the fathers against the heretics,—trust- 
ing as little to Plutarch upon a dogma οἱ Epi- 
curus, as we would to the vehement St. Cyril 
upon a tenet of Nestorius. (1801.) 

The preceding remarks, I wish the reader to 
observe, were written at a time when I thought 
the studies to which they refer much more 
important as well as more amusing than, 1 
freely confess, they appear to me at present. 

* Lactantius asserts that all the truths of 
Christianity may be found dispersed through 
the ancient philosophical sects, and that any 
one who would collect these seattered frag- 
ments of orthodoxy might form a code in no 
respect differing from that of the Christian. 
“Si extitisset aliquis, qui veritatem ieee 
per singulos per sectasque diffusam colligeret 
in unum, ac redigeret in corpus, is profecto non 


dissentiret a nobis.”’—Jnst. lib. vi. ο. 7. 
} To μονον Kat epnpov. 
t This bold Platonic image I haye taken from 
a passage in Father Bouchet’s letter upon the 
Matempsychosis, inserted in Picart’s Cérém 
Relig. tom. iv, 


di. 


— =. 
es 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


161 


The fair illusion fled! and, as I waked, 

*T was clear that iny rapt soul had roam’d 
the while, [spirit-world, 

To that bright realm of dreams, that 

Which mortals know by its Jong track 
of light 

O’er midnight’s sky, and callthe Galaxy.* 


TOMES.» see's 


\ 


To see thee every day that came, 

To find thee still each day the same ; 
In pleasnre’s smile, or sorrow’s tear 
To me still ever kind and dear ;— 

To meet thee early, leave thee late, 
Has been so long my bliss, my fate, 
That life, without this cheering ray, 
Which came, like sunshine, every day, 
And all my pain, my sorrow chased, 
Is now a lone and loveless waste. 


Where are the chords she used to 
touch ? 


The airs, the songs she loved so much ?- 


Those Eos are hush’d, those chords are 
still, 

And so, perhaps, will every thrill 

Of feeling soon be lull’d to rest, 

Which late I waked in Anna’s breast. 

Yet, no—the simple notes I play’d 

From memory’s tablet soon may fade ; 

The songs, which Anna loved to hear, 

May vanish from her heart and ear; 

But friendship’s voice shall ever find 

An echo in that gentle mind, 

Nor memory lose nor time impair 

The sympathies that tremble there. 


TO LADY HEATHCOTE, 


ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUN- 
BRIDGE-WELLS. 


“Tunnebridge est ἃ la méme distance de Lon- 
dres, que Fontainebleau lest de Paris. Ce qu'il 
yade beau et de galant dans l’un et Ana 
l'autre sexe s'y rassemble au tems des eaux. 
La compagnie,” &c. &e. See Mémoires de 
Grammont, Second Part, chap. iii. 


Tunbridge Wells. 

WHEN Gramment graced these happy 
springs, 

And Tunbridge saw, upon her Pantiles, 


* According to Pythagoras, the people of 
Dreams are souls Collected together in the 
Galaxy.—Anpos δὲ ονειρων, kata Πυθαγοραν, ai 
Wuxat ἃς συναγεσθαι φησιν εἰς Tov γαλαξιαν,.---- 


Porphyr. de Antro Nymph. 


The merriest wight of all the kings [isles; 
That ever ruled these gay, gallant 


Like us, by day, they rode, they walk’d, 
At eve, they did as we may do, 

And Grammont just like Spencer talk’d, 
And lovely Stewart smiled like you. 


The only different trait is this, 
That woman then, if man beset her, 
Was rather given to saying ‘‘ yes,” 
Because,—as yet, she knew no better. 


Each night they held a coterie, 

Where, every fear to slumber charm’d, 
Lovers were all they ought to be, 

And husbands not the least alarm’d. 


Then call’d they up their school-day 

pranks, [neath 

Nor thought it much their sense be- 
To play at riddles, quips, and cranks, 

And lords show’d wit, and ladiesteeth: 


As—‘ Why are husbands like the mint ?” 
Because, forsooth, a husband’s duty 
Is but to set the name and print 
That give a currency to beauty. 


‘« Why is a rose in nettles hid 
‘Tike a young widow, fresh and fair?” 
Because ’tis sighing to be rid 
Of weeds, that “have no business 
there !” 


And thus they miss’d and thus they hit, 
And now they struck and now they 
parried ; 
And some lay in of full grown wit, 
While others of a pun miscarried. 


’T was one of those facetious nights 
That Grammont gave this forfeit ring 

For breaking grave conundrum-rites, 
Or punning ill, or—some such thing :— 


From whence it can be fairly traced, 
Through many a branch and many a 
bough, 
From twig to twig, until it graced 
The snowy hand that wears it now. 


All this ΤΊ] prove, and then, to you, 
Oh Tunbridge! and your springs 
ironical, 
I swear by Heathcote’s eye of blue 
To dedicate the important chronicle. 


Long may your ancient inmates give 
Their mantles to your modern lodgers, 

And Charles’s loves in Heathcote live, 
And Charles’s bards revive in Rogers. 


102 


Let no pedantic fools be there ; 
Forever be those fops abolish’d, 
With heads as wooden as thy ware, 
And, Heaven knows! not half {so pol- 
ish’d. 
But still receive the young, the gay, 
The few who know the rare delight 
Of reading Grammont every day, 
And acting Grammont every night. 


THE DEVIL AMONG THE SCHOL- 
ARS, 


A FRAGMENT. 


Te κακον ὃ γελως ; 
Curysost. Homil. in Epist. ad Hebreeos. 
* * * 


Burt, whither have these gentle ones, 
These rosy nymphs and black-eyed nuns, 
With all of Cupid’s wild romancing, 
Led my truant brains a dancing ? 
Instead of studying tomes scholastic, 
Keclesiastic, or monastic, 

Off I fly, careering far 

In chase of Pollys, prettier far 

Than any of their namesakes are,— 
The Polymaths and Polyhistors, 
Polyglots and all their sisters. 

So have I known a hopeful youth 

Sit down in quest of lore and truth, 
With tomes sufficient to confound him, 


* Mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who 
never doubted about any thing, except who was 
his father. —‘‘ Nulla de re unquam preterquam 
de patre dubitavit."-—Jn Vit. He was very 
learned—‘‘ La-dedans, (that is. in his head when 


it was opened,) le Punique heurte le Persan, | 


1 Hébreu choque l’ Arabique, pour ne point par- 
ler de la mauvaise intelligence du Latin avec le 
Gree,” &c.—See L’ Histoirede Montmaur, tom. 
ii. p. 91. 

} Bombastus was one of the names of that 


great scholar and quack Paracelsus.—‘‘ Philip- | 
| If such is the tie between women and men, 


pus Bombastus latet sub splendido tegmine 
Aureoli Theophrasti Paracelsi,” says Stadelius 
de cireumforanea Literatorum vanitate.—He 
used to fight the devil every night with a broad- 
sword, to the no small terror of his pupil Opor- 
inus, who has recorded the circumstance. (Vide 
Oporin. Vit. apud Christian. Gryph. Vit. Select. 
quorundam Eruditissimorum, &¢e.) Paracelsus 
had but a poor opinion of Galen:—‘t My very 
beard (says he in his Paragreenum) has more 
earning in it than either Galen or Avicenna.” 

{ The angel who scolded St. Jerome for read- 
ing Cicero, as Gratian tells the story in his 
“Coneordantia discordantium Canonum,” and 
says, that for this reason bishops were not al- 
lowed to read the Classies: “ Episcopus Gen- 
tilium libros non legat.”—Distinet. 37. But 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


| 


Like Tohu Bohu, heap’d around him,— 

Mamurra* stuck to Theophrastus,. 

And Galen tumbling o’er Bombastus.t 

When lo! while all that’s learm’d and 
wise 

Absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, 

And through the window of his study 


| Beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, 


With eyes, as brightly turn’d upon him as 
The angel’s} were on Hieronymus. 
Quick fly the folios, widely seatterd, 
Old Homer’s laurell’d brow is batter’d, 


And Sappho, headlong sent, flies just im: 


The reverend eye of St. Augustin. 
Raptured he quits each dozing sage, 

Oh woman, for thy lovelier page : 
Sweet book !—unlike the books of art,— 
Whose errors are thy fairest part ; 

In whom the dear errata column 

Is the best page in all the volume !§ 


But to begin my subject rhyme— 
’T was just about this devilish time, 
When scarce there happen’d any frolics 
That were not done by Diabolies, 
A cold and loveless son of Lucifer, 
Who woman scorn’d, nor saw the use of 
A branch of Dagon’s family, [her, 
(Which Dagon, whether He or She, 
Is a dispute that vastly better is 
Referr’d to Scaliger* et cwteris,) 
Finding that, in this cage of fools, 
The wisest sots adorn the schools, 


Gratian is notorious for lying—besides, angels, — 


as the illustrious pupil of Pantenus assures us, 
have got no tongues. Οὐυχ᾽ ὡς ἡμιν τα wra, 
οὕτως εκεινοις ἢ γλωττα" οὐδ᾽ αν opyava τις dw, 
φωνὴης ayyedots.—Clem. Alexand. Stromat. 

§ The idea of the Rabbins, respecting the 
origin of women, is not a little singular. They 
think that man was originally formed with a 
tail, like a monkey, but that the Deity cut off 
this appendage, and made woman of it. Wpon 


| this extraordinary supposition the following re- 


flection is founded — 


The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf, 
For he takes to his tail like an idiot again, 
And thus makes a deplorable ape of himself. 


Yet, if we may judge as the fashions. prevail, 
Every husband remembers th’ original plan, 
And, knowing his wife is no more than his tail, 
Why he—leaves her behind him as much as 

he can. 


*Sealiger. de Emendat. Tempor.—Dagonm 
was thought by others to be a certain sea- 
monster, who came every day out of the Red 
Sea to teach the Syrians husbundry.—See 
Jacques Gaffarel, (Curiosités inouies, chap. i.,)) 
who says he thinks this story of the sea monster 
‘carries little show of probability with it.” 


JUVENILE POEMS. 


Took it at once his head Satanic in, 

To grow a great scholastic manikin,— 

A doctor, quite as learn’d and fine as 

Scotus John or Tom Aquinas, * 

Lully, Hales lrrefragabilis, 

Or any doctor of the rabble is. 

Tn languages,t the Polyglots, 

Compared to him, were Babel sots ; 

He chatter’d more than ever Jew did, 

Sanhedrim and Priest included ;— 

Priest.and holy Sanhedrim 

Were one-and-seventy fools to him ; 

But chief the learned demon felt a 

Zeal so strong for gamma, delta, 

That, all for Greek and learning’s glory, 

He nightly tippled ‘‘ Graeco moré,” 

And never paid a bill or balance 

Hxcept upon the Grecian Kalends :— 

From whence your scholars, when they 
want tick, 

Say, to be Attic ’s to be on tick; 

In logics he was quite Ho Panu,§ 

Knew as much as ever man knew. 

He fought the combat syllogistic 

With so much skill and art eristie, [rite, 

That though you were the learn’d Stagi- 

At once upon the hip he had you right. 


ΧΤ wish it were known with any degree of 
gertainty whether the Commentary on Boethius 
attributed to Thomas Aquinas be really the 
work of this Angelic Doctor. There are some 
bold assertions hazarded in it: for instance, he 
says that Plato kept school in a town called 
Academia, and that Alcibiades was a very 
beautiful woman whom some of Aristotle's pu- 
pils fell in love with :—*‘ Alcibiades mulier fuit 
plucherrima, quam videntes quidam discipuli 
Aristotelis,’ &¢.—See Freytag Adparat. Lit- 
lerar. art. 86, tom. i. 

i The following compliment was paid to Lau- 
rentius Valla, upon his accurate knowledge of 
the Latin language :— 


Nune postquam manes defunctos Valla petivit, 
Non andet Pluto verba Latina loqui. 


Since Val arrived in Pluto's shade, 
His nouns and pronouns all so pat in, 
Pluto himself would be afraid 
To say his sonl’s his own in Latin ! 


See for these lines the “‘ Auctorum Censio ” 
of Du Verdier (page 29.) 


+ It is much to be regretted that Martin Lu- 
ther, with all his talents for reforming, should 
yet be vulgar enough to laugh at Camerarius 
for writing to himin Greek. ‘ Master Joachim 
(says he) has sent me some dates and some 
raisins, and has also written me two letters in 
Greek. Assoon as I am recovered, I shall 
answer them in Turkish, that he too may have 
the pleasnre of reading what he does not under- 
stand.” ‘* Greeca sunt, legi non possunt,” is the 
ignorant speeeh attributed to Accursius ; but 


163 


In music, though he had no ears 

Except for that among the spheres, 

(Which most of all, as he averrd it, 

He dearly loved, ’cause no one heard it,) 

Yet aptly he, at sight, could read 

Each tuneful diagram in Bede, 

And find, by Euclid’s corollaria, 

The ratios of a jig or aria. 

But, as for all your warbling Delias, 

Orpheuses and Saint Cecilias, 

He own’d he thought them much sur- 
pass’d 

By that redoubted Hyaloclast || 

Who still contrived by dint of throttle, 

Where’er he went to crack a bottle. 


Likewise to show his mighty knowl 
edge, he, 

On things unknown in physiology, 
Wrote many a chapter to divert us, 
(Like that great little man Albertus, ) 
Wherein he show’d the reason why, 
When children first are heard to ery, 
If boy the baby chance to be, 
He cries O A !—if girl, O E!— 
Which are, quotb he, exceeding fair hints 
Respecting their first sinful parents ; 


very unjustly :—for, far from asserting that 
Greek could not be read, that worthy juris- 
consult upon the Law 6. de Bonor. Possess. ex- 
pressly says, “Gree literse possunt intelligi 
et legi.” (Vide Nov. Libror, Rarior. Collee- 
tion. Faseic. 1V.)—Scipio Carteromachus seems 
to have been of opinion that there is no salva- 
tion out of the pale of Greek Literature: “ Via 
prima salutis Graid pandeturab urbe:” and 
the zeal of Laurentius Rhodomannus cannot be 
sufficiently admired, when he exhorts his coun- 
trymen, “per gloriam Christi, per salutem 
patriz, per reipublice: decus et emolumentum,” 
to study the Greek language. Nor must we 
forget Phavorinus, the excellent Bishop of 
Nocera, who, careless of all the usual commen- 
dations of a Christian, required no further eu- 
logium on his tomb than ‘* Here lieth a Greek 
Lexicographer.” 

δ Ὃ ravv.—The introduction of this language 
into English poetry has a good effect, and ought 
to be more universally adopted. A word or 
two of Greek in a stanza would serve as ballast 
to the most ‘light o’love ἡ verses. Ausonius, 
among the ancients, may serve as a model :— 


Ov yap μοι gents ἐστιν in hac regione μένοντι 
Αξιον ab nostris ercdevea esse kaunvats 
Ronsard, the French poet, has enriched his 
sonnets and odes with many an excellent mor- 
sel from the Lexicon. His ‘tehére Entele- 
chie,” in addressing his mistress, ean only be 
equalled by Cowley’s ‘‘ Antiperistasis.”’ 

|| Or Glass-Breaker.—Morhofius has given an 
account of this extraordinary man, in a work, 
published 1682,—‘* De vitreo seypho fracto,” &c. 


104 MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Oh Eve!” exclaimeth little madam, 
While little master cries, ‘‘ Oh Adam!’’* 


But ’twas in Opties and Dioptrics, 
Our demon play’d his first and top tricks. 
He held that sunshine passes quicker 
Through wine than any other liquor; 
And though he saw no great objection 
To steady light and clear reflection, 

He thought the aberrating rays, 

Which play about a bumper’s blaze, [on, 

Were by the doctors look’d, in common, 

As a more rare and rich phenomenon. 

He wisely said that the sensorium 

Ts for the eyes a great emporium, 

To which these noted picture-stealers 

Send all they can and meet with dealers. 

In many an optical proceeding 

The brain, he said, show’d great good- 
breeding: 

For instance, when we ogle women 

(A trick which Barbara tutor’d him in,) 

Although the dears are apt to getin a 

Strange position on the retina, 

Yet instantly the modest brain 

Doth set them on their legs again !t 


Our doctor thus, with “stufl’d suf- 
ficiency”’ 


* Translated almost literally from a passage 
in Albertus de Secretis, &c. 

tAlluding to that habitual act of the judg- 
ment, by which, notwithstanding the inversion 
of the image upon the retina, a correct impres- 
sion of the object is conveyed to the senso- 
rium. 

t Under this description, I believe “ the Devil 
among the Scholars” may be included. Yet 
Leibnitz found out the uses of incomprehen- 
sibility, when he was appointed secretary to a 
society of philosophers at Nuremberg, chiefly 
for his ingenuity in writing a cabalistical letter, 


Of all omnigenous omnisciency, 
Began (as who would not begin 
That had, like him, so much within ?) 
To let it out in books of all sorts, 
Folios, quartos, large and small sorts ; 
Poems, so very deep and sensible 
That they were quite incomprehensible ; 
Prose, which had been at learning’s Fair, 
And bought up all the trumpery there, 
The tatter’d rags of every vest, 
In which the Greeks and Romans dress’d, 
And o’er her figure swoll’n and antic 
Seatter’d them all with airs so frantic, 
That those, who saw what fits she had, 
Declared unhappy Prose was mad ! 
Epics he wrote and scores of rebuses, 
ΑἹ] as neat as old Turnebus’s ; 
Eggs and altars, cyclopeedias, 
Grammars, prayer-books—oh ! 
tedious, 
Did I but tell the half, to follow me ; 
Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy, 
No—nor the hoary Trismegistus, 
(Whose writings all, thank heaven! 
have miss’d us, ) 

Fer fill’d with lumber such a wareroom 
As this great ‘‘ porcus literarum !” 

* * * * 


*twere 


not one word ofwhich either they or himselfcould 
interpret. See the Eloge Historique de M. de 
Leibnitz, l'Europe Savante.—People in allages 
have loved to be puzzled. We find Cicero 
thanking Atticus for having sent him a work of 
Serapion ‘ex quo (says he) quidem ego (quid 
inter nos liceat dicere) millesimam partem vix 
intelligo.” Lib. ii, epist. 4. And we know that 
Avieenna, the learned Arabian, read Aristotie’s 
Metaphysies forty times over for the mere 
pieasare of being able to inform the world that 

e could not comprehend one syllable through- 
out them. (Nioolad Massa in Vit Avicen.) 


: 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


165 


ττρρ eee ee eee ee ea cen nc TEE ESSE an! 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


TO FRANCIS, EARL OF MOTRA, 


GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY’S FORCES, 
MASTER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, 
CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC. 


My Lorp,—It is impossible to think of 
addressing a Dedication to your Lord- 
ship without calling to mind the well- 
known reply of the Spartan to a rheto- 
rician, who proposed to pronounce an eu- 
logium on Hegeules. “On Hercules !” 
said the honest Spartan, “‘ who ever 
thought of blaming Hercules?” Ina 
similar manner the concurrence of pub- 
lic opinion has left to the panegyrist of 
your Lordship a very superfluous task. 
I shall, therefore, be silent on the sub- | 
ject, and merely entreat your indulgence 
to the very humble tribute of gratitude 
which I have here the honor to present. 

Tam, my Lord, 

With every feeling of attachment 
and respect, 
Your Lordship’s very devoted Servant, 
THOMAS MOORE. 


27 Bury Street, St. James's, 
April 10, 1806. 


PREFACE.* 


Tur principal poems in the following 
collection were written during an ab- 
sence of fourteen months from Europe. 
Though curiosity was certainly not the 
motive of my voyage to America, yet it 
happened that the gratification of curi- 
osity was the only advantage which I 
derived from it. Finding myself in the 
country of a new people, whose infancy 
had promised so much, and whose prog- 


* This Preface, as well as the Dedication 
which precedes it, were prefixed originally to 
the miscellaneous volume entitled ‘Odes and | 


ress to maturity has been an object of 
such interesting speculation, I deter- 
mined to employ the short period of 
time which my plan of return to Europe 
afforded me, in travelling through a few 
of the States, and acquiring some knowl- 
edge of the inhabitants. 

The impression which my mind re- 
ceived from the character and manners 
of these republicans, suggested the Bpis- 
tles which are written from the city of 
Washington and Lake Erie.t How far 
I was right, in thus assuming the tone 
of a satirist against a people whom I 
viewed but as a stranger and a visiter, is 
a doubt which my feelings did not allow 
me time to investigate. All I presume 
to answer for isthe fidelity of the picture 
which I have given; and though pru- 
dence might have dictated gentler lan- 
guage, truth, I think, would have justi- 


| fied severer. 


I went to America with prepossessions 
by no means unfavorable, and indeed 
rather indulged in many of those illusive 
ideas, with respect to the purity of the 
government and the primitive happiness 
of the people, which 1 had early imbibed 
in my native country, where, unfortu- 
nately, discontent at home enhances 
every distant temptation, and the west- 
ern world has long been looked to as ἃ 
retreat from real or imaginary oppres- 
sion; as, in short, the elysian Atlantis, 
where persecuted patriots might find 
their visions realized, and be weleomed 
by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. 
In all these flattering expectations I 
found myself completely disappointed, 
and felt inclined to say to America, as 
Horace says to his mistress, “ intentata 


| Epistles,” of which, hitherto, the poems relat- 


ing to my American tour have formed a part. 
ἡ Epistles VI., Vi., and VIIL. 


166 


nites.” Brissot, in the preface to his 
travels, observes, that ‘‘ freedom in that 
country is carried to so high a degree as 
to border upon a state of nature;” and 
there certainly is a close approximation 
to savage life, not only in the liberty 
which they enjoy, but in the violence of 
party spirit and of private animosity 
which results from it. This illiberal zeal 
imbitters all social intercourse; and, 
though I scarcely could hesitate in se- 
lecting the party whose views appeared 
to me the more pure and rational, yet I 
am sorry to observe that, in asserting 
their opinions, they both assume an 
equal share of intolerance; the Demo- 
erats, consistently with their principles, 
exhibiting a vulgarity of rancor, which 
the Federalists too often are so forgetful 
of their cause as to imitate. 

The rude familiarity of the lower or- 
ders, and indeed the unpolished state of 
society in general, would neither sur- 
prise nor disgust if they seemed to flow 
from that simplicity of character, that 
honest ignorance of the gloss of refine- 
ment, which may be looked for in anew 
and inexperienced people. But, when 
we find them arrived at maturity in most 
of the vices, and all the pride of civili- 
zation, while they are still so far re- 
moved from its higher and better char- 
acteristics, it is impossible not to feel 
that this youthful decay, this crude an- 
ticipation of the natural period of cor- 
ruption, must repress every sanguine 
hope of the future energy and greatness 
of America. 

I am conscious that, in venturing 
these few remarks, I have said just 
enough to offend, and by no means suf- 
ficient to convince; for the limits of a 
preface prevent me from entering into a 
justification of my opinions, and I am 
committed on the subject as effectually 
as if I had written volumes in their de- 
fence. My reader, however, is apprized 
of the very cursory observation upon 
which these opinions are founded, and 
can easily decide for himself upon the 
degree of attention or confidence which 
they merit. 

With respect to the poems in general, 
which occupy the following pages, | 
know not in what manner to apologize 
to the public for intruding upon their 
notice such a mass of unconnected tri- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


fles, such a world of epicurean atoms asI 
have here brought in conflict together.* 
To say that I have been tempted by the 
liberal offers of my bookseller, isan excuse 
which can hope for but little indulgence 
from the critic ; yet I own that, without 
this seasonable inducement, these poems 
very possibly would never have been 
submitted to the world. The glare of 
publication is too strong for such imper- 
fect productions : they should be shown 
but to the eye of friendship, in that dim 
light of privacy which is as favorable to 
poetical as to female beauty, and serves 
as a veil for faults, while it enhances 
every charm which it displays. Besides, 
this is not a period for the idle occu- 
pations of poetry, and times like the 
present require talents more active and 
more useful. Few have now the leisure 
to read such trifles, and I most sincerely 
regret that I have had the leisure to 
write them. 


POEMS RELATING TO 
AMERICA. 


TO LORD VISCOUNT STRANG- 
FORD. 


ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE 
AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT, 


SweEeET Moon! if, like Crotona’s sage, t 
By any spell my hand could dare 
To make thy disk its ample page, 
And write my thoughts, my wishes 
there ; 
How many a friend, whose careless eye 
Now wanders o’er that starry sky, 
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet 
The recollection, kind and sweet, 
The reveries of fond regret, 
The promise, never to forget, 
And all my heart and soul would send 
To many a dear-loved, distant friend. 


How little, when we parted last, 
I thought those pleasant times were past, 
Forever past, when brilliant joy 
Was all my vacant heart’s employ : 


* See the foregoing Note, p. 165. 

| Pythagoras; who was supposed to have a 
power of writing upon the Moon by the means 
of a magic mirror,—See BayLe, art. Pythag. 


— 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


167 


When, fresh from mirth to mirth again, 
We thought the rapid hours too few ; 
Our only use for knowledge then 
To gather bliss from all we knew. 
Delicious days of whim and soul! 
When, mingling lore and laugh to- 
gether, 
We lean’d the book on Pleasure’s bow], 
And turn’d the leaf with Folly’s feath- 
Little I thought that all were fled, [er. 
That, ere that summer’s bloom was shed, 
My eye should see the sail unfurl’d 
That wafts me to the western world. 


And yet, ’twas time;—in youth’s| 


sweet days, 
To cool that season’s glowing rays, 
The heart awhile, with wanton wing, 
May dip and dive in Pleasure’s spring ; 
But, if it wait for winter’s breeze, 
The spring will chill, the heart will 
freeze, 
And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope,— 
Oh! sheawaked such happy dreams, 


And gaye my soul such tempting scope | 


For all its dearest, fondest schemes, 
That not Verona’s child of song, 

When flying from the Phrygian shore, 
With lighter heart could bound along, 

Or pant to be a wand’rer more ! * 


Even now delusive hope will steal 
Amid the dark regrets I feel, 
Soothing, as yonder placid beam 
Pursues the murmurers of the deep, 
And lights them with consoling gleam, 
And smiles them into tranquil sleep. 
Oh! such a blessed night as this, 
IT often think, if friends were near, 
How we should feel, and gaze with 
bliss 
Upon the moon-bright scenery here ! 
The sea is like a silvery lake, 
And o’er its calm the vessel glides > 
Gently, as if it fear'd to wake 
The slumber of the silent tides. 
The only envious cloud that lowers 
Hath hung its shade on Pico’s height,t 
Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers, 
And scowling at this heav’n of light, 
Exults to see the infant storm 
Cling darkly round his giant form ! 


* Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th 
Carmen of Catullus: — 


Jam mens preetrepidans avet vagari, 
Jam leti studio pedes vigeseunt ! 


t A very high mountain on one of the Azores, 
from which the island derives its name. It is 


_ Now, could I range those verdant isles, 
Invisible at this soft hour, 
_And see the looks, the beaming smiles, 
That brighten many an orange bower ; 
| And could 1 lift each pious veil, 
And see the blushing cheek it shades,— 
‘Oh! I should have full many a tale, 
To tell of young Azorian maids. t 
| Yes, Strangford, at this hour, perhaps, 
Some lover (not too idly blest, 
| Like those, who in their ladies’ laps 

May cradle every wish to rest) 
Warbles, to touch his dear one’s soul, 
| Those madrigals, of breath divine, 
| Which Camoens’ harp from Rapture 

stole 

And gave, all glowing warm, to thine.§ 
ΟΠ! could the lover learn from thee, 
| And breathe them with thy graceful 

tone, 

Such sweet, beguiling minstrelsy Lown. 
Would make the coldest nymph his 


| 

| But, hark!—the boatswain’s pipings 
tell 

| Tis time to bid my dream farewell : 

| Eight bells:—the middle watch is set ; 

Good night, my Strangford !—ne’er for- 


ge 
That, far beyond the western sea 


|Is one, whose heart remembers thee. 


STANZAS. 


Θυμος δε ποτ᾽ eos 
με προσφωνει ταδε 
Τίνωσκε τανθρωπεια μὴ σεβειν αγαν. 


ZESCHYLL. Fragment. 


A BEAM of tranquillity smiled in the 
west, . [no more ; 
| The storms of the morning pursued us 
| And the wave, while it welcomed the 
moment of rest, [were o’er. 

Still heaved, as remembering ills that 


|Serenely my heart took the hue of the 
| hour, [as the dead; 
| Its passions were sleeping, were mute 
| And the spirit becalm’d but remember’d 
| their power, {that was fled. 
| As the billow the force of the gale 
| said by some to be as high as the peak of Tene- 
riffe. 
+ I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the in- 

| habitants of the Azores are much addicted to 

gallantry. This is an assertion in which even 
| Guthrie may be credited, 
§ These islands belong to the Portuguese. 


168 MOORHE’S 


I thought of those days, when to plea- 
sure alone 

My heart ever granted a wish ora sigh; 

When the saddest emotion my bosom 

had known, {than I. 

Was pity for those who were wiser 


I reflected, how soon in the cup of De- 
sire [away ; 

The pearl of the soul may be melted 
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of 
fire [quench’d in the clay ; 

We inherit from heav’n, may be 


And I pray’d of that Spirit who lighted 
the flame, [dim ; 

That Pleasure no more mightits purity 
So that, sullied but little, or brightly the 
same, [rowed from him. 

I might give back the boon [had bor- 


How blest was the thought! it appear’d 
as if Heaven [shown ; 

Had already an opening to Paradise 
As if, passion all chasten’d and error 
forgiven, [own. 

My heart then began to be purely its 


T look’d to the west, and the beautiful 
sky, [clouded no more: 
Which morning had clouded, was 
“Oh! thus,” I exclaim’d, ‘‘may a hea- 
venly eye [darken’d before.” 
“Shed light on the soul that was 


TO THE FLYING FISH.* 


WHEN I have seen thy snow-white wing 
From the blue wave at evening spring, 
And show those seales of silvery white, 
So gayly to the eye of light, 

As if thy frame were form’d to rise, 
And live ainid the glorious skies ; 

Oh! it has made me proudly feel, 

How like thy wing’s impatient zeal 

Is the pure soul, that rests not, pent 
Within this world’s gross element, 

But takes the wing that God has given, 
And rises into light and heaven! 


But, when I see that wing, so bright, 
Grow languid with a moment’s flight, 
Attempt the paths of air in vain, 

And sink into the waves again ; 


* It isthe opinion of St. Austin upon Genesis, 
and I believe of nearly all the Fathers, that 
birds, like fish, were originally produced from 
the waters ; in defence of which idea they have 
collected every fanciful cireumstanee which can 
tend to prove a kindred similitude between 


WORKS. 


Alas! the flattering pride is o’er ; 
Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar, 
But erring man must blush to think, 
Like thee, again the soul may sink. 


Oh Virtue ! when thy clime I seek, 
Let not my spirit’s flight be weak : 
Let me not, like this feeble thing, 
With brine still dripping from its wing, 
Just sparkle in the solar glow, 
And plunge again to depths below ; 
But when I leave the grosser throng 
With whom my soul hath dwelt so long, 
Let me, in that aspiring day, 
Cast every lingering stain away, 
And, panting for thy purer air, 
Fly up at once and fix me there. 


TO MISS MOORE. 


FROM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEM- 
BER, 1803. 


In days, my Kate, when life was new, 
When, lull’d with innocence and you, 
1 heard, in home’s beloved shade, 
The din the world at distance made ; 
When, every night my weary head 
Sunk on its own unthorned bed, 
And, mild as evening’s matron hour 
Looks on the faintly shutting flower, 
A mother saw our eyelids close, 

And bless’d them into pure repose ; 
Then, haply if a week, a day, 

I linger’d from that home away, 
How long the little absence seem’d! 
How bright the look of weleome beam’d, 
As mute you heard, with eager smile, 
My tales of all that pass’d the while ! 


Yet now, my Kate, a gloomy sea 
Rolls wide between that home and me; 
The moon may thrice be born and die, 
Ere ey’n that seal can reach mine eye, 
Which used so oft, so quick to come, 
Still breathing all the breath of home,— 
As if, still fresh, the cordial air 
From lips beloved were lingering there. 
But now, alas,—far different fate ! 

It comes o’er ocean, slow and late, 
When the dear hand that filled its fold 
With words of sweetness may lie cold. 


them ; ovyyevevav τοις TeTOMEVOLS πρὸς Ta νῆκτα. 
With this thought in our minds, when we 
first see the Flying Fish, we could almost faney 
that we are present at the moment of creation 
and witness the birth of the first bird from the 
Waves. 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


169 


But hence that gloomy thought! at) Oh! ask me not, if Truth have yet 


last, 
Beloved Kate, the waves are past: 
I tread on earth securely now, 
And the green cedar’s living bough 
Breathes more refreshment to my eyes 
Than could a Claude’s divinest dyes. 
At length I touch the happy sphere 
To liberty and virtue dear, 
Where man looks up, and, proud to claim 
His rank within the social frame, 
Sees a grand system round him roll, 
Himself its*centre, sun, and soul! 
Far from the shocks of Europe—far 
From every wild, elliptic star 
That, shooting with a devious fire, 
Kindled by heaven's avenging ire, 
So oft hath into chaos hurl’d 
The systems of the ancient world. 


The warrior here, in arms no more, 
Thinks of the toil, the conflict o’er, 
And glorying in the freedom won 
For hearth and shrine, for sire and son, 
Smiles on the dusky webs that hide 
His sleeping sword’s remember’d pride. 
While Peace, with sunny cheeks of toil, 
Walks o’er the free, unlorded soil, 
Effacing with her splendid share 


The drops that war had sprinkled there. | 


Thrice happy land! where he who flies 
From the dark ills of other skies, 

From scorn, or want’s unnerving woes, 
May shelter him in proud repose : 

Hope sings along the yellow sand 

His welcome to a,patriot land; 

The mighty wood, with pomp, receives 
The stranger in its world of leaves, 
Which soon their barren glory yield 

To the warm shed and cultured field ; 
And he, who came, of all bereft, 

To whom malignant fate had left 

Nor home nor friends nor country dear, 
Finds home and friends and country here. 


Such is the picture, warmly such, 
That Fancy long, with florid touch, 
Had painted to my sanguine eye 
Of man’s new world of liberty. 

*Such romantic works as “The American 


Farmer's Letters,’ and the acconnt of Ken- 
tucky by Imlay, would seduce us iuto a belief, 


| favorable specimen of America. 


ΠΟΥ seal on Fancy’s promise set ; 

If ev’n a glimpse my eyes behold 

Of that imagined age of gold ;— 

Alas, not yet one gleaming trace !* 
Neyer did youth, who loved a face 

As sketch’d by some fond pencil’s skill, 
And made by fancy lovelier still, 
Shrink back with more of sad surprise, 
When the live model met his eyes, 
Than I have felt, in sorrow felt, 

To find a dream on which I’ve dwelt 
From boyhood’s hour, thus fade and flee 
At touch of stern reality ! 


But, courage, yet, my wavering heart! 
Blame not the temple’s meanest part, t 
Till thou hast traced the fabric o’er — 
As yet, we have beheld no more 
Than just the porch to Freedom’s fane ; 
And, though a sable spot may stain 
The vestibule, ’tis wrong, ’tis sin 
To doubt the godhead regins within ! 
So here I pause—and now, my Kate, 
To you, and those dear friends, whose 

fate 
Touches more near this home-sick soul 
Than ail the Powers from pole to pole, 
One word at parting—in the tone 
Most sweet to you, and most my own. 
The simple strain I send you here,+ 
Wild though it be, would charm ycur 
ear, 
Did you but know the trance of thought 
In which my mind its numbers caught : 
"Twas one of those half-waking dreams, 
That haunt me oft, when music seems 
To bear my soul in sound along, 
And turn its feelings all to song. 
I thought of home, the according lays 
Came full of dreams of other days ; 
Freshly in each succeeding note 
I found some young remembrance float, 
Till following, as a clew, that strain, 
I wander’d back to home again. 

Oh! love the song, and let it oft 

Live on your lip, in accents soft. 
Say that it tells you, simply well, 
i Norfolk, it must be owned, presents an un- 


The charac- 
teristics of Virginia in general are not such as 


that innocenee, peace, and freedom had desert- | can delight either the politician or the moralist, 


ed the rest of the world for Martha's Vineyard 
and the banks of the Ohio. The French tray- 
ellers, too, almost all from revolutionary_mo- 


| attractive form. 


and at Norfolk they are exhibited in their least 
At the time when we arrived 
the yellow fever had not yet disappeared, and 


tives, have contributed their share to the diffu- | every odor that assailed us 1m the streets very 


sion of this flattering misconception. A visit to | 


the country is, however, quite sufficient to cor- 
rect even the most enthusiastic prepossession. 


strongly accounted for its visitation. 
ΓΑ trifling attempt at musical composition 
accompanied this Epistle. 


170 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


All I have bid its wild notes tell,— 

Of Memory’s dream, of thoughts that yet | 
Glow with the light of joy that’s set, 
And all the fond heart keeps in store 

Of friends and scenes beheld no more. 

_ And now, adieu !—this artless air, 

With a few rhymes, in transcript fair, 
Are all the gifts I yet can boast 

To send you from Columbia’s coast ; 


But when the sun, with warmer smile, 


Shall light me to my destin’d isle,* 
You shall have many a cowslip-bell, 
Where Ariel slept, and many a shell, 
In which that gentle spirit drew 
From honey flowers the morning dew. 


A BALLAD. 


THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. 
WRITTEN AT NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA. 


“They tell of a young man, who lost his | 
mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, 
suddenly disappearing from his friends, was 
never afterwards heard of. As he had fre- 
quently said, 


He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its yenomous tear and nightly steep 
The flesh with blistering dew ! 


_And near him the she-wolf stirr’d the 

brake, [ear, 

And the copper-snake breathed in his 

Till he starting cried, from his dream 
awake, 

' Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake, 

“4 And the white canoe of my dear?” 


| He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright 
Quick over its surface play’d—[light!”” 
““Welcome,” he said, ‘‘my dear one’s 
| And the dim shore echoed, for many a 
night, 
The name of the death-cold maid. 


in his ravings, that the girl | 


was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, | 


_ it is supposed that he had wandered into that | 
dreary wilderness, and had died of Mune? Or or 
been Jost in some of its dreadful morasses.’ 
Anon. 
“La Poésie a ses monstres Comme la na- 
ture.” —D’ A LEMBERT. 
“THEY made her a grave, too cold and | 
damp 
“Por a soul so warm and true ; 
“And she’s gone to the Lake of the 
Dismal Swamp, t [lamp, | 
‘‘ Where, all night long, by a fire-fly 
“She paddles her white canoe. 


“ And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 
“« And her paddle I soon shall hear ; 
‘Long and loving our life shall be, 


| 
| 
| 
| 


| Woos the bright touches 
| Whether you sketch the vyalley’s golden 


Till he hollow’d a boat of the birchen 
bark, 

Which carried him off from shore ; 
Far, far he follow’d the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were 

dark 

And the boat return’d no more. 


| But oft, from the Indian hunter’s camp 
This lover and maid so true 

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp 

To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp, 
And paddle their white canoe ! 


TO THE MARCHIONESS'DOWAGER 


OF DONEGALL 


FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804, 
| Lapy ! where’er you’ roam, whatever 
land [hand ; 


of that artist 
[leads ;f 


meads, 


“And ΤΊ] "46 the maid in a ὁ ypress | Where mazy Linth his lingering current 


tree, 
“ When the footstep of death is near.” 


Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds— | 


His path was rugge Ἃ and sore, 
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
Through many a fen, where the serpent | 

‘And man never trod before. 


And, when on earth he sunk to sleep, 
If slumber his eyelids knew, 


* Bermuda, 

t The Great Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve 
miles distant from Norfolk, and the Lake in 
the middle of it (about seyen miles long) 18 
called Drummond’s Pond. 

| Lady Donegall, I had reason to suppose, 


[feeds, | 


Enamor’d catch the mellow hues that 
sleep, 

| At eve, on Meillerie’s immortal steep ; 

| Or musing o’er the Lake, at day’s de- 


cline, [shrine,§ 
| Mark the last shadow on that holy 
| Where, many a night, the shade of 


Tell complains 
| Of Gallia’s triumph and Helvetia’s chains; 
| Oh! lay the pencil for a moment by, 


| was at this time still in Switzerland, where the 
well-known powers of her pencil must have 
been frequently awakened. 

§ The chapel of William Tell on the Lake of 


Lucerne, 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


Turn from the canvas that creative eye, 
And let its splendor, like the morning 


ray 
Upon a shepherd’s harp, illume my lay. 


Yet, Lady, no—for song so rude as 
mine, [vine ; 
Chase not the wonders of your art di- 
Still, radiant eye, upon the canvas 
dwell ; 


And, while I sing the animated smiles 
Of fairy nature in these sun-born isles, 
Oh, might the song awake some bright 
esign, [line, 
Inspire a touch, or prompt one happy 
Proud were my soul, to see its humble 
thought 


On painting’s mirror so divinely caught ; 


While wondering Genius, as he lean’d 
to trace 

The faint conception kindling into grace, 

Might love my numbers for the spark 
they threw, Fyou. 

And bless the lay that lent a charm to 


Say, have you ne’er, in nightly vision, 


stray’d 
To those pure isles of ever-blooming 
shade, [placed 


Which bards of old, with kindly fancy 
For happy spirits in th’ Atlantic waste? 
There το βα μὲν while, from earth, each 
breeze that came [fame, 
Brought echoes of their own undying 
In eloquence of eye, and dxeams of song, 
They charm’d their lapse of nightless 
hours along :— [ suit, 
Nor yet in song, that mortal ear might 
For every spirit was itself a lute, 
Where Virtue waken’d, with elysian 
breeze, [ monies. 
Pure tones of thought and mental har- 


bland 


*M. Gebelin says, in his Monde Primitif, 
“ Lorsque Strabon erfit que les anciens théolo- 
giens et poétes placoient les champs ¢lysées 
dans les isles de ’Océan Atlantique, il n’entend- 
it rien ἃ leur doctrine.” M. Gebelin’s suppo- 
sition, I have no doubt, is the more correct; 
but that of Strabo is, in the present instance, 
most to my purpose. 

1 Nothing can be more romantie than the lit- 
tle harbor of St. George’s. The number of 
beautiful islets, the singular clearness of the 
water, and the animated play of the graceful 
little boats, gliding forever between the islands 
and seeming to sail from one cedar-greve into 


[spell ; 
Still, magic finger, weave your potent | 


171 


Floated our bark to this enchanted land— 
These leafy isles upon the ocean thrown, 
Like studs of emerald o’er a silver 
zone,— [gave 
Not all the charm, that ethnic fancy 
To blessed arborso’er the western wave, 
Could wake a dream, more soothing or 
sublime, 
Of bowers ethereal, and the Spirit’s clime. 


Bright rose the morning, every wave 
was still, 


‘When the first perfume of a cedar hill 


Sweetly awaked us, and, with smiling 
charms, 


The fairy harbor woo’d us to its arms.t 


Gently we stole, before the whisp’ring 


wind, [like awnings, twined 
Through plantain shades, that round, 
And kiss’d on either side the wanton 
sails, [vales ; 
Breathing our welcome to these vernal 


| While, far reflected o’er the wave serene, 


Each wooded island shed so soft a green 
That the enamor’d keel, with whisp’ring 

play, [its way. 
Through liquid herbage seem’d to steal 


Never did weary bark more gladly 
glide, 
Or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide ! 
Along the margin, many a shining dome, 
White as the palace of a Lapland gnome, 
Brighten’d the wave ;—in every myrtle 


ove 

Seatided bashful, like a shrine of love, 

Some elfin mansion sparkled through the 
shade ; 

And,while the foliage interposing play’d, 

Lending the scene an ever-changing 
grace, [trace 

Fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to 


|The flowery capital, the shaft, the 
Believe me, Lady, when the zephyrs | 


porch,t [torch 
And dream of temples, till the kindling 


another, formed altogether as lovely a minia- 
ture of nature’s beauties as can well be imag- 
ined. 

t This js an allusion which, to the few who 
are fanciful enough to indulge init, renders 
the scenery of Bermuda particularly interesting. 


Inthe short but beautiful twilight of their spring 
evenings, the white cottages, scattered over the 
islands, and but partially seen through the trees 
that surround them, assume often the appear- 


ance of little Grecian temples; and a vivid 
fancy may embellish the poor fisherman’s hut 
with columns such as the peneil of a Clande 
might imitate. 1 had one favorite object of this 


172 


Lighted me back to all the glorious days 
Of Attic genius; and I seem’d to gaze 
On marble, from the rich Pentelic mount, 


Gracing the umbrage of some Naiad’s | 


fount. 


Then thought I, too, of thee, most | 


sweet of all 
The spirit race that come at poet’s call, 
Delicate Ariel! who, in brighter hours, 
Lived on the perfume of these honey’d 
bowers, 
In velvet buds, at evening, loved to lie, 
And win with music every rose’s sigh. 
Though weak the magic of my humble 
strain 
To charm your spirit from its orb again, 
Yet, oh, for her, beneath whose smile I 
sing, [wing 
For her (whose pencil, if your rainbow 
Were dimm’d or ruffled by a wintry sky, 


Could smooth its feather and relume its | 


dye, ) ({sphere, 
Descend a moment from your starry 
And, if the lime-tree grove that once was 
dear, (hill, 
The sunny wave, the bower, the breezy 
The sparkling grotto car delight you 
still, [light, 
Ob cull their choicest tints, their softest 
Weave all these spells into one dream of 
night, [lies, 
And, while the lovely artist slumbering 
Shed the warm picture o’er her mental 
eyes; 
Take for the task her own creative spells, 
And brightly show what song but faintly 
tells. 


kind in my walks, which the hospitality of its 
owner robbed me of, by asking me to visit him. 
He was a plain good man, and received me well 
and warmly, but I could never turn his house 
into a Grecian temple again. 


* This gentleman is attached to the British 


consulate at Norfolk. His talents are worthy | 


of a much higher sphere ; butthe excellent dis- 
positions of the family with whom he resides, 
and the cordial repose he enjoys amongst some 
of the kindest hearts in the world, should be al- 


most enough to atone to him for the worst ca- | : ; 
chantman was at any time a match for her. 


Brees of fortune. The consul himself, Colonel 
familton, is one among the very few instances 
of aman, ardently loyal to his king, and yet 
beloved by the Americans, His house is the 
very temple of hospitality, and I sincerely pity 
the heart of that stranger who, warm from the 
weleome of such a board, could sit down to 
write a libel on his host, in the true spirit of a 
modern philosophist. See the Travels of the 
Duke de la Rouchefoucault Liancourt, vol. ii. 

| We were seyen days on our passage from 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


—— 


TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ., 
OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.* 
FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804, 


Κεινὴ δ᾽ ἡνεμοεσσα και atporos, ova 9’ ἁλιπληξ, 
Αἰιθνυιῃς και μαλλον επιδρομος ἤεπερ ἱπποις, 
Tlovtw ενεστηρικται. 


CALLIMACH. Hymn in Del. γ. 11. 

Ou, what a sea of storm we’ve pass’d !— 
High mountain waves and foamy 

showers, 

And battling winds whose savage blast 
But ill agrees with one whose hours 
Have pass’d in old Anacreon’s bowers. 

Yet think not poesy’s bright charm 

Forsook me in this rude alarm :— t 


| When close they reef’d the timid sail, 


When, every plank complaining loud, 
We labor’é in the midnight gale, 
And ey’n our haughty mainmast 
bow’d, 
Even then, in that unlovely hour, — [er, 
The Muse still brought her soothing pow- 
And, midst the war of waves and wind, 
In song’s Elysium lapp’d my mind. 
Nay, when no numbers of my own 
Responded to her wakening tone, 
She open’d, with her golden key, 
The casket where my memory lays, 
Those gems of classic poesy, [days. 
Which time has saved from ancient 
Take one of these, to Lais sung,— 
I wrote it while my hammock swung, 
As one might write a dissertation 
Upon “ Suspended Animation !” 


Sweett is your kiss, my Lais dear, 


| But, with that kiss I feel a tear 


Norfolk to Bermuda, during three of which we 
were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. The 
Driver sloop of war, in which I went, was built 
at Bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an ex- 
cellent sea-boat. She was then commanded by 
my very much regretted friend Captain Comp- 
ton, who in July last was killed aboard the Lilly 
in an action with a French privateer. Poor 


| Compton! he fell a victim to the strange im- 


policy of allowing such a miserable thing as the 
Lilly to remain in the service; so small, crank, 
and unmanageable, that a well-manned mer- 


1 This epigram is by Paul the Silentiary, and 
may be found in the Analeeta of Brunek, vol. 
iii. p. 72. As the reading there is somewhat dif- 


| ferent from what I have followed in this trans- 


lation, I shall give it as I had it inmy memory 

at the time, and as it is in Heinsins, who, I be- 

lieve, first produced the epigram. See his 

Poemata. 

Ἢ δυ μεν εστι φιλημα To Λαιδος" ἡδυ Se αὐτων 
Ἡπιοδινητων δακρυ χεεις βλεφαρων, 


er 


- POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 173 


Gush from your eyelids, such as start 

When those who’ve dearly loyed must 
art. 

Sadly eo lean your head to mine, 

And mute those arms around me twine, 

Your hair adown my bosom spread, 

All glittering with the tears you shed. 

In vain I’ve kiss’d those lids of snow, 

For still, like ceaseless founts they flow, 

Bathing our cheeks, whene’er they meet. 

Why is it thus? do tell me, sweet ! 

Ah, Lais! are my bodings right ? 

Am I to lose you? is to-night 

Our last —— go, false to heaven and me! 

Your very tears are treachery. 


Svcu, while in air I floating hung, ᾿ 
Such was the strain, Morgante mio! 
The muse and I together sung, 
With Boreas to make out the trio. 
But, bless the little fairy isle ! 
How sweetly after all our ills, 
We saw the sunny morning smile 
Serenely o’er its fragrant hills; 
And felt the pure, delicious flow 
Of airs, that round this Eden blow 
Freshly as ev’n the gales that come 
O’er our own healthy hills at home. 


Could you but view the scenery fair, 
That now beneath my window lies, 
You'd think, that nature lavish’d there 
Her purest wave, her softest skies, 
To make a heaven for love to sigh in, 
For bards to live and saints to die in. 

Close to my wooded bank below, 
In glassy calm the waters sleep, 
And to the sunbeam proudly show 
The coral rocks they love to steep.* 


Και ποὰν κιχλιζουσα σοβεις ευβοστρυχον aryAny, 
ἭΜμετερα κεφαλὴν δηρον ερεισαμενὴ. 
Mupoperny δ᾽ εφιλησα' τα δ᾽ ὡς δροσερὴς απὸ 
πηγὴς, 
Δακρυα μιγνυμένων πιπτε κατα στοματων" 
Ecte δ᾽ ἀνειρομενῳ, τινος ovvexa δακρυα λειβεις ; 
Δειδια pin με λιπης" ἐστε yap ὅὁρκαπαται. 


*The water 18. so clear around the island, 
that the rocks are seen beneath to a very great 
depth ; and, as we entered the harbor, they ap- 
peared to us so near the surface that it seemed 
impossible weshould not strike on them. There 
is no necessity, of course, for heaving the lead; 
and the negro pilot, looking down at the rocks 
from the bow of the ship, takes her through this 
difficult navigation with a skill and confidence 
which seem to astonish some of the oldest sail- 
ors. 

| In Kircher's “ Eestatie Journey to Heav- 
en,” Cosmiel, the genius of the world, gives 


The fainting breeze of morning fails ; 
The drowsy boat moves slowly past, 
And I can almost touch its sails 
As loose they flap around the mast. 
The noontide sun a splendor pours 
That lights up all these leafy shores ; 
While his own heay’n, its clouds and 
beams, 
So pictured in the waters lie, 
That each small bark, in passing, seems 
To float along a burning sky. 


Oh for the pinnace lent to thee,t 
Blest dreamer, who, in vision bright, 
Didst sail o’er heaven’s solar sea 
And touch at all its isles of light. 
Sweet Venus, what a clime he found 
Within thy orb’s ambrosial round !—t 
There spring the breezes, rich and warm, 
That sigh around thy vesper car; 
And angels dwell, so pure of form 
That each appears a living star.§ 
These are the sprites, celestial queen ἢ 
Thou sendest nightly to the bed 
Of her I love, with touch unseen 
Thy planet’s bright’/ning tints to shed ; 
To lend that eye a light still clearer, 
To give that cheek one rose-blush 
more, 
And bid that blushing lip be dearer, 
Which had been all too dear before. 


But, whither means the muse to roam ? 

Tis time to call the wand’rer home. 

Who could have thought the nymph 
would perch her 

Up in the clouds with Father Kircher? 

So, health and love to all your mansion ! 

Long may the bowl that pleasures 

bloom in, 


Theodidactus a boat of asbestos, with which he 
embarks into the regions of the sun. ‘* Vides 
(says Cosmiel) hane asbestinam naviculam 
commoditati {περ preparatam.’’—Itinerar. I. 
Dial. i. cap. δ. This work of Kircher abounds 
with strange fancies. 

} When the Genius of the world and his fel- 
low-traveller arrive at the planet Venus, they ~ 
find an island of loveliness, full of odors and in- 
telligences, where angels preside, who shed the 
cosmetic influence of this planet over the 
earth; such being, according to astrologers, the 
“vis influxiva’ of Venus. When they are in 
this part of the heavens, a casuistical question 
oceurs to Theodidactus, and he asks, ** Wheth- 
er baptism may be performed with the waters 
of Venus ?”—“* An aquis globi Veneris baptis- 
mus institui possit 1 to which the Genius an- 
swers, ‘‘ Certainly.” 

§This idea is Father Kircher’s. “ Tot anima- 
tos soles dixisses.”"—Jtinera’. 1. Dial. i. cap. 5. 


174 MOORE’S 


The flow of heart, the soul’s expansion, 
Mirth and song, your board illumine. 
At all your feasts, remember too, 
When cups are sparkling to the brim, 
That here is one who drinks to you, 
And, oh! as warmly drink to him. 


LINES, 
WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. 


THAT sky of clouds is not the sky 
To light a lover to the pillow 

Of her he loves— 
The swell of yonder foaming billow 
Resembles not the happy sigh 

That rapture moves. 


Yet do I feel more tranquil far 
Amid the gloomy wilds of ocean, 
In this dark hour, 
Than when, in passion’s young emotion, 
I’ve stolen, beneath the evening star, 
To Julia’s bower. 


Oh! there’s a holy calm profound 

In awe like this that ne’er was given 
To pleasure’s thrill; 

’*Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, 

And the soul, listening to the sound, 
Lies mute and still. 


Tis true, it talks of danger nigh, 

Of slumb’ring with the dead to-morrow 
In the cold deep, 

Where pleasure’s throb or tears of sorrow 

No more shall wake the heart or eye, 
But all must sleep. 


Well !—there are some, thou stormy bed, 
To whom thy sleep would bea treasure ; 
Oh! most to him, 
Whose lip hath drain’d life’s cup of 
pleasure, 
Nor left one honey drop to shed 
Round sorrow’s brim. 


Yes—/e can smile serene at death : 
Kind heaven, do thou but chase the 
weeping 
Of friends who love him ; 
Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping 


YT" 
ἁλὶ } 


Go, 


WORKS. - 


-3:.-  ΞΞ ee τ σν 


ODES TO NEA; 


WRITTEN AT BERMUDA. 


NEA rvpavver.—EvURIPID. Medea, v. 967- 


Nay, tempt me not to love again, 
There was a time when love was 
sweet ; 
Dear Nea! had I known thee then, 
Our souls had not been slow to meet. 
But, oh, this weary heart hath run, 
So many a time, the rounds of pain, 
Not ev’n for thee, thou lovely one, 
Would I endure such pangs again. 


If there be climes, where never yet 
The print of beauty’s foot was set, 
Where man may pass his loveless nights, 
Unfever'd by her false delights, 

Thither my wounded soul would fly, 
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye 
Should bring no more their bliss, or pain, 
Nor fetter me to earth again. 

Dear absent girl! whose eyes of light, 

Though little prized when all my own, 
Now float before me, soft and bright 

As when they first enamoring shone,— 
What hours and days have I seen glide, 
While fix’d, enchanted by thy side, 
Unmindful of the fleeting day, 

Y’ve let life’s dream dissolve away. 

O bloom of youth profusely shed ! 

O moments! simply, vainly sped, 

Yet sweetly too—for Love perfumed 
The flame whichthus my life consumed ; 
And brilliant was the chain of flowers, 
In which he led my victim-hours. 

Say, Nea, say, couldst thon, like her, 

When warm to feel and quick to err, 

Of loving fond, of roving fonder, 

This thoughtiess soul might wish to 
wander,— 

Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim, 
Endearing still, reproaching never, 
Till ev’n this heart should bun with 

shame, 

And be thy own more fix’d than ever? 
No, no—on earth there’s only one 

Could bind such faithless folly fast ; 
And sure on earth but one alone 

Could make such virtue false at last! 


Nea, the heart which she forsook, | 
Mor thee were but a worthless shrme— 
lovely girl, that angel look 


ἌΓ πο thrill a soul more pure than mine. 


Ἵ POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


τ 


175 


Oh! thou shalt be all else to me, 
That heart can feel or tongue can feign: 
ΤΊ] praise, admire, and worship thee, 
But must not, dare not, love again. 


— Tale iter omne cave. 
PROPERT. lib. iv. eleg. 8. 


I pray you, let us roam no more 

Along that wild and lonely shore, 
Where late we thoughtless stray’d ; 

7Twas not for us, whom heaven intends 

To be no more than simple friends, 
Such lonely walks were made. 


That little Bay, where turning in 
From ocean’s rude and angry din, 
As lovers steal to bliss, 
The billows kiss the shore, and then 
Flow back into the deep again, 
As though they did not kiss. 


Remember, o’er its circling flood 
In what a dangerous dream we stood— 
The silent sea before us, 
Around us, all the gloom of grove, 
That ever lent its shade to love, 
No eye but heaven’s o’er us! 


I saw you blush, you felt me tremble, 
In vain would formal art dissemble 
All we then look’d and thought ; 
7Twas more than tongue could dare 
reveal, 
Twas ev’ry thing that young hearts feel, 
By Love and Nature taught. 


I stoop’d to cull, with faltering hand, 

A shell that on the golden sand 
Before us faintly gleam’d ; 

I trembling raised it, and-when you 

Had kiss’d the shell, I kiss’d it too— 
How sweet, how wrong it seem’d! 


Oh, trust me, ’twas a place, an hour, 
The worst that e’er the tempter’s power 
Could tangle me or you in; 
Sweet Nea, let us roam no more 
Along that wild and lonely shore, 
Such walks may be our ruin. 


You read it in these spell-bound eyes, 
And there alone should love be read ; 
You hear me say it all in sighs, 
And thus alone should love be said. 


Then dread no more ; I will not speak ; 
Although my heart to anguish thrill, 


Vl spare the burning of your cheek, 
And look it all in silence still. 


Heard you the wish I dared to name, 
To murmur on that luckless night, 
When passion broke the bonds of shame, 

iaanoee grew madness in your sight? 


. 
Divinely through the graceful dance, 
You seem’d to float in silent song, 
Bending to earth that sunny glance, 
As if to light your steps along. 


Oh! how could others dare to touch 
That hallow’d form with hand so free, 

When but to look was bliss too much, 
Too rare for all but Love and me! 


With smiling eyes, that little thought 
How fatal were the beams they threw, 

My trembling hands you lightly caught, 
‘And round me, like a spirit, flew. 


Heedless of all, but you alone,— 
And you, at least, should not condemn, 
If, when such eyes before me shone, 
My soul forgot all eyes but them,— 


I dared to whisper passion s vow,— 
For love had ey’n of thought bereft 
me,— 
Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow, 
But, with a bound, you blushing left 
me. 


Forget, forget that night’s offence, 
Forgive it, if alas! youcan; [sense— 
’Twas love, ’twas passion—soul and 
"Twas all that’s best and worst in 
man. 


That moment, did th’ essembled eyes 
Of heaven and earth my madness 
view, [skies, 
I should have seen, through earth and 
But you alone—but only you. 


Did not a frown from you reproye, 
Myriads of eyes to me were none; 

Enough for me to win your love, 
And die upon the spot when won. 


A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY. 


I sust had turn’d the classic page, 

And traced that happy period over, 
When blest alike were youth and age, 
And love inspired the wisest sage, 

ce wisdom graced the tenderest 

over, 


170 


Before I laid me down to sleep, 
Awhile I from the lattice gazed 
Upon that still and moonlight deep, 
With isles like floating gardens raised 
For Ariel there his sports to keep ; 
While, gliding ’twixt their leafy shores, 
The lone nigbt-fisher pled his oars. 


I felt,—so strongly fancy’s power 
Came o’er mein that witching hour,— 

As if the whole bright scenery there 
Were lighted by a Grecian sky, 

And I then breathed the blissful air 
That late had thnll’d to Sappho’s sigh. 


Thus, waking, dream’d I,—and when 
Sleep 


Nor, through her curtain dim and deep, 
Hath ever lovelier vision shone. 

T thought that, all enrapt, I stray’d 

Through that serene, luxurious shade, ἢ 

Where Epicurus taught the Loves 


To polish virtue’s native brightness,— | 
to) ᾽ 


As pearls, we’re told, that fondling 
doves [whiteness.t 
Have play’d with, wear a smoother 
’T was one of those delicious nights 
So common in the climes of Greece, 
When day withdraws but half its lights, 
And all is moonshine, balm, and 
peace. 
And thou wert there, my own beloved, 
And by thy side I fondly roved 
Through many a _ temple’s reverend 
gloom, 
And many a bower’s seductive bloom, 
Where Beauty learn’d what Wisdom 
taught, 
And sages sigh’d and lovers thought ; 
Where schoolmen conn’d no maxims 
stern, 
But all was form’d tosoothe or move, 
To make the dullest love to learn, 
To make the coldest learn to love. 
*Gassendithinks that the gardens, which 
Pausanias mentions in his first book, were 
those of Epicurus; and Stuart says, in his An- 
tiquities of Athens, “Near this convent (the 
convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place 
called at present Kepoi, or the Gardens; and 
Ampelos Kepos, or the Vineyard Garden : these 
were peas y the gardens which Pausanias 
visited.” Vol. i. chap. 2. 
| This method of polishing pearls, by leaving 
them awhile to be played with by doves, is 
mentioned by the fanciful Cardanus, de Rerum 
Varictat. lib. vil. cap. 34. 
‘In Hereynio Germanie saltu inusitata gen- 
eva alitum accepimus, quarum plume, ignium 
modo, colluceant noctilbus.—Plin. lib. x. cap. 47. 


[on ; | 
Came o’er my sense, the dream went | 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ee 
| 


And now the fairy pathway seem’d 
To lead us through enchanted ground, 
Where all that bard has ever dream’d 
Of love or luxury bloom’d around. 
Ob! ’twas a bright, bewild’ring seene— 
Along the alley’s deep’ning green 
Soft lamps, that hung lke burning 
flowers, 
And scented and illumed the bowers, 
Seem’d, as to him, who darkling roves 
Amid the lone Hercynian groves, 
Appear those countless birds of light, 
That sparkle in the leaves at night, 
And from their wings diffuse a ray 
_ Along the traveller’s weary way.t 
’T was hght of that mysterious kind, 
Through which the soul perchance 
may roam, 
When it has left this world behind, 
And gone to seek its heavenly home. 
| And, Nea, thou wert by my side, 
Through all this heay’nward path my 
guide. 


| But, lo, as wand’ring thus we ranged 
| That upward path, the vision changed ; 
| And now, methought, we stole along 
Through halls of more voluptuous 
glory 
| Than ever lived in Teian song, 
| Or wanton’d in Milesian story.§ 
'And nymphs were there, whose very 
eyes [sighs ; 
Seem’d soften’d o’er with breath of 
Whose ev’ry ringlet, as it wreath’d, 
A mute appeal to passion breathed. 
Some flew, with amber cups, around, 
Pouring the flowery wines of Crete ;|} 
And, as they pass’d with youthful bound, 
The onyx shone beneath their feet. J] 
While others, waving arms of snow 
Entwined by snakes of burnish’d 
gold,** 
And showing charms, as loath to show, 
§ The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their 
origin in Miletus, a luxurious town of Tonia. 
| Aristides was the most celebrated author of 
| these licentious fictions. See Plutarch, (in 
| Crasso,) who calls them ἀκόλαστα βιβλια. 
|| “Sone of the Cretan wines, which Athe- 
nieus calls owvos ἀανθοσμιας, from their fra- 
grancy resembling thatof the finest flowers.” — 
Barry on Wines, chap. vii. : : 
| | It appears that in very splendid mansions, 
the floor or payeuen was frequently of onyx. 
| Thus Martial: ““Caleatusquetuo sub pede lucet 
onyx.” Epig. 50, lib, xii. \ 
** Bracelets of this shape were a favorite or- 
nament among the women of antiquity. Oc em, 
καρπιοι opers και αἱ χρυσαι medat Mardos και 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


Through many a thin Tarentian fold,* 
Glided among the festal throng 
Bearing rich urns of flowers along. 
Where roses lay, in languor breathing, 
And the young bee-grape,t round them | 

wreathing, 

Hung on their blushes warm and meek, 
Like curls upon a rosy cheek. 


Oh, Nea! why did morning break 
The spell that thus divinely bound me? 
Why did I wake? how could I wake 
- With thee my own and heaven around 
me ! 


WeELL—peace to thy heart, though an- 
other’s it be, [bloom not for me! 
And health to that cheek, though it 
To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon 
groves,t [roves, 
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee 
And, far from the light of those eyes, I | 
may yet [dor forget. | 
Their allurements forgive and their splen- 


Farewell to Bermuda,§ and long may | 
the bloom {fume ; | 
Ofthe lemon and myrtle its valleys per- | 
May spring to eternity hallow the shade, | 
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller || | 
has stray’d. [happen to roam 
And thou—when, at dawn, thou shalt | 
Through the lime-cover’d alley that. 
leads to thy home, [were done, | 
Where oft, when the dance and the revel | 
And the stars were beginning to fade in 
the sun, {the way | 
I have led thee along, and have told by 
What my heart all the night had been | 
burning to say— _ [those times, | 
Oh! think of the past—give a sigh to 
And a blessing for me to that alley of) 
limes. 


Apiotayopas και Aados hapnaxa.—Philostrat. | 
Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the βραχιοισι 
Spaxovtes. See his Afnores, where he describes | 
the dressing-room of a Grecian lady, and we 
find the “silver yase,” the rouge, the tooth- 
powder, and all the ‘‘mystic order” of a modern | 
toilet 

ὁ Ῥαραντινιδιον, διαφανες evduua, ὠνομασμε- 
vov απὸ τὴς Ταραντινων χρήσεως και τρυφης.--- 
Pollux. 

+ Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv., and | 
“now called the Museatel, (a musecarum telis,”’) | 
says Pancirollus, book i. sect. 1, chap. 17. 

+ Thad, at this time, some idea of paying a 
visit to the West Indies. 

§ The inhabitants pronounce the name as if 
it were written Bermooda. See the commen- 


Ir I were yonder wave, my dear, 
And thou the isle it clasps around, 
I would not let a foot come near 
My land of bliss, my fairy ground. 


If I were yonder conch of gold, 

And thou the pearl within it placed, 
I would not let an eye behold 

The sacred gems my arms embraced. 


If I were yonder orange-tree, 

And thou the blossom blooming there, 
I would not yield a breath of thee 

To scent the most imploring air. 


Oh! bend not o’er the water’s brink, 
Give not the wave that odorous sigh, 
Nor let its burning mirror drink 
The soft reflection of thine eye. 


That glossy hair, that glowing cheek, 
So pictured in the waters seem, 

That I could gladly plunge to seek 
Thy image in the glassy stream. 


Blest fate ! at onee my chilly grave 
And nuptial bed that stream might be ; 
ΤΊ] wed thee in its mimie wave, 
And die upon the shade of thee. 


Behold the leafy mangrove, bending 
O’er the waters blue and bright, 

Like Nea’s silky lashes, lending 
Shadow to her eyes of light. 


Oh, my beloved! where’er I turn, 
Some trace of thee enchants mine 

In every star thy glances bun; _ [eyes; 
Thy blush on every flow’ret lies. 


Nor find I in creation aught 
Of bright, or beautiful, or rare, 
Sweet to the sense, or pure to thought, 
But thou art found reflected there. 


tators on the words “‘still-vex’'d Bermoothes,” 
in the Tempest.—I wonder it did not occur to 
some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possi- 
bly, the discoverer of this *‘ island of hogs and 
devils” might have been no lessa personage 
than the great John Bermudez, who, about the 


| same period (the beginning of the sixteenth 


century) Was sent Patriarch of the Latin 
church to Ethiopia, and has left us most won- 
derful stories of the Amazons and the Griffins 
which he encountered. —Travels of the Jesuits, 
vol. i. Lam afraid, however, it would take the 


| Patriarch rather too much out of his way. 


|| Johnson does not think that Waller was 
ever at Bermuda; but the “Account of the 
European Settlements in America” affirms it 
confidently, (vol. ii.) I mention this work, 


178 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


THE SNOW SPIRIT. 3 


No, ne’er did the wave in its element 
An island of lovelier charms— [steep 
It blooms in the giant embrace of the 
Like Hebe in Hercules’ arms. [deep, 
The blush of your bowers is light to the 


eye 
And their melody balm to the ear ; 
But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, 
And the Snow Spirit never comes here. 


The down from his wing is as white as the 
pearl [part, 
That shines through thy lips when they 
And it falls on the green earth as melt- 
ing, my girl, ὁ 
As a murmur of thine on the heart. 
Oh! fly to the clime, where he pillows 
the death, 
As he cradles the birth of the year ; 
Bright are your bowers and balmy their 
breath, 
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 


How sweet to behold him, when borne 
on the gale, 

And brightening the bosom of morn, 
He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil 
O’er the brow of each virginal thorn. 
Yet think not the veil he so chillingly 

Is the veil of a vestal severe; [casts 
No, no, thou wilt see, what a moment 
it lasts, 
Should the Snow Spirit ever come here. 
But fly to his region—lay open thy zone, 
And he’ll weep all his brilliancy dim, 
To think that a bosom, as white as his 
own, [him. 
Should not melt in the daybeam like 
Oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet 
O’er his luminous path will appear— 


Fly, fly, my beloved! this island is | 


sweet, 
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. 


Ἔνταυθα Se καθωρμισται ἡμιν. καὶ ὃ, TL LEV OvOLG. | 


τῇ νήσῳ, οὐκ οιδα" χρυσὴ δ᾽ av πρὸς ye ἐμου 
ονομαζοιτο.---ΉΠΠΟΒΤΕΑΎ, Icon. 17, lib. i. 
T sToue along the flowery bank, 
While many a bending seagrape* drank 
The sprinkle of the feathery oar 
That wing’d me round this fairy shore. 


howeyer, less for its authority than for the 


’Twas noon; and every orange bud 
Hung languid o’er the crystal flood, 
Faint as the lids of maiden’s eyes 
When love-thoughts in her bosom rise. 
Oh, for a naiad’s sparry bower, 

To shade me in that glowing hour! 


A little dove, of milky hue, 
Before me from a plantain flew, 
And, light along the water’s brim, 
I steer’d my gentle bark by him ; 
For fancy told me, Love had sent 
This gentle bird with kind intent : 
To lead my steps, where I should meet— 
1 knew not what, but something sweet. 


And—bless the little pilot dove ! 
He had indeed been sent by Love, 
To guide me to a scene so dear 
As fate allows but seldom here ; 
One of those rare and brilliant hours, 
That, like the aloe’st lingering flowers, 
May blossom to the eye of man 


| But once in all his weary span. 


Just where the margin’s op’ning shade 
A vista from the waters made, 
My bird reposed his silver plume 
Upon a rich banana’s bloom. 
Oh vision bright! oh spirit fair ! 
What spell, what magic raised her there? 
’Twas Nea! slumb’ring calm and mild, 
And bloomy as the dimpled child, 


| Whose spirit in elysium keeps 


Its playful sabbath, while he sleeps. 


The broad banana’s green embrace 
Hung shadowy round each tranquil 
One little beam alone could win [grace ; 
The leaves to let it wander in, 

And, stealing over all her charms, 
From lip to cheek, from neck to arms, 
New lustre to each beauty lent,— 
Itself all trembling as it went! 


Dark lay her eyelid’s jetty fringe 
Upon that cheek whose roseate tinge 
Mix’d with its shade, like evening’s light 


| Just touching on the verge of night. 


Her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, 
Seem’d glowing through the ivory lid, 
And, as I thought, a lustre threw 
Upon her lip’s reflecting dew,— 


ΒΟ. as a night-lamp, left to shine 


t The Agave. This, I am aware, is an er- 


pleasure I feel in quoting an unacknowledged | roneous notion; but it is quite true enough for 


production of the great Edmund Burke. 
* The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of 
the West Indies, 


- 


poetry. Plato, I think, allows a poet to be 
“three removes from truth; tpitaros amo τὴς 
αληθειας. 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. ee ee 


Alone on some secluded shrine, So may we try the graceful way 
May shed upon the votive wreath, In which their gentle arms are twined, 


Which pious hands have hung beneath. | And thus, like her, my hand I lay 


ϊ Upon thy wreathed locks behind : 
Was ever vision half so sweet? [beat, ‘ 
Think, think how quick my heart-pulse | And thus I feel thee breathing sweet, 
As o’er the rustling bank I stole ;— As slow to mine thy head I move ; 
Oh! ye, that know the lover’s soul, And thus our lips together meet, [love. 
It is for you alone to guess, And thus,—and thus,—I kiss thee, 


That moment’s trembling happiness. 
— λιβανοτω εικασεν, ὃτι απολλυμενον evdpacvet. 
----- AnisTo?. Rhetor. lib. iii. cap. 4. 


THERE’S not a look, a word of thine, 
A STUDY FROM THE ANTIQUE. ie Hani Mec a 


BEHOLD, my love, the curious gem Thou ne’er hast bid a ringlet shine, 
Within this simple ring of gold; Nor given thy locks one graceful twine 
’Tis hallow’d by the touch of them Which I remember not. 


Who lived in classic hours of old. There never yet a murmur fell 


Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps, From that beguiling tongue, 
Upon her hand this gem display’d, Which did not, with a ling’ring spell, 
Nor thought that time’s succeeding lapse | Upon my charmed senses dwell, 
Should see it grace a lovelier maid. Like songs from Eden sung. 
Look, dearest, what a sweet design ! Ah! that I could, at once, forget 
The more we gaze, it charms the more; All, all that haunts me so— 
Come—closer bring that cheek to mine, And yet, thou witching girl,—and yet, 
And trace with me its beauties o’er. To die were sweeter than to let 
‘Thou seest, it isa simple youth The loved remembrance go. 
By some enamor’d nymph embraced—} No; if this slighted heart must see 
Look, as she leans, and say in sooth, Its faithful pulse decay, 


Is not that hand most fondly placed? | Oh let it die, rememb’ring thee, 


. . ᾽ ik 2 t ar t 
Upon his curled head behind Saree ΤῸ ἢ ἘΣΣῚ 
It seems in careless play to lie,* : 


Yet presses gently, half inclined : 
To bring the truant’s lip more nigh. 
Oh happy maid! too happy boy ! TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. 
mane one so fond and little loath, FROM BERMUDA.* 
e other yielding slow to joy— : : 
Oh ἘΣ δ, eadeeds ate bhisead Doth: “THE daylight is gone—but, before we 
: depart, [my heart, 
Imagine, love, that I am he, “One cup shall go round to the friend of 
And just as warm as he is chilling; “The kindest, the dearest—oh! judge 
Imagine, too, that thou art she, by the tear [and how dear.” 
But quite as coy as she is willing: “‘Tnow shed while I name him, how kind 


“Somewhat like the symplegma of Cupid | tudes, the people have been so indolent, and 
and Psyche at Florence, in which the position | their trade so limited, that there is but little 
of Psyche’s hand is finely and delicately expres- | which the historian could amplify into import- 
sive of affection. See the museum Floren- | ance; and, with respect to the natural pro- 
tinum, tom. ii. tab. 43, 44. There are few sub- | duetions of the country, the few which the in- 
jects on which poetry could be more interest- | habitants can be induced to cultivate are so 
ingly employed than in illustrating some of | common in the West Indies, that they have 
these ancient statues and gems. been described by every naturalist who has 

1 Pinkerton has said that ‘a good history | written any account of those islands. 
and description of the Bermudas might afford It is often asserted by the trans-Atlantic 
a pleasing addition to the geographical libra- | politicians that this little colony deseryes more 
ty; but there certainly are not materials for | attention from the mother-country than it re- 
such a work. .The island, since the time of its | ceives, and it certainly possesses advantages of 
discovery, has experienced so very few vicissi- | situation. to which we shonld not be long in 


180 MOORE’S 


’Twas thus in the shade of the Cala- 
bash-Tree, [ber like me, 

With a few, who could feel and remem- 
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I 
threw [on you. 

Was a sigh to the past and a blessing 


Oh! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bring- 
ing hour, [in full flower, 
When friends are assembled, when wit, 
Shoots forth from the lip, under Bac- 
chus’s dew, {and new— 

In blossoms of thought ever springing 
Do yousometimes remember, and hallow 


the brim 
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown 
it to him [so fair, 


Who is lonely and sad in these valleys 
And would pine in elysium, if friends 
were not there! 


Last night, when we came from the 
Calabash-Tree, [was free, 
When my limbs were at rest and my spirit 
The glow of the grape and the dreams 
of the day [play, 
Set the magical springs of my fancy in 
And oh,—such a vision as haunted me 
then {again. 
Τ would slumber for ages to witness 
The many I like and the few I adore, 
The friends who were dear and beloved 
before, 
But never till now so beloved and dear, 
At the call of my fancy, surrounded me 
here ; 


sensible if it were once in the hands of an ene- 
my. I was told by a celebrated 
Washington, at New York, that they had 
formed a plan for its capture towards the con- 
clusion of the American War; ‘ with the in- 
tention (as he expressed himself) of making it 
anestof hornets for the annoyance of British 
trade in that part of the world.’’ And there is 
no doubt it lies so conveniently in the track of 
the West Indies, that an enemy might with 
ease convert it into a very harassing impedi- 
ment. 

The plan of Bishop Berkeley for a college at 
Banca where American savages might be 
converted and edueated, though concurred in 
by the government of the day, was a wild and 
useless speculation. Mr. Hamilton, who was 
governor of the island some years since, 
proposed, if I mistake not, the establish- 
ment of a marine academy for the instrue- 
tion of those children of West Indians, who 


might be intended for any nautical em- 
ployment. This was a more rational idea, 


and for something of this nature the island is 
admirably caleulated. But the plan should be 
much more extensive, and embrace a general 
system of education ; which would relieve the 


friend of | 


WORKS. 


And soon,—oh, at once, did the light of © 


their smiles 

To a paradise brighten this region of 
isles ; 

More lucid the wave, as they look’d 
on it, flow’d, 


And brighter the rose, as they gather’d 


it, glow’d. 
Not the valleys Herzean, (though water’d 
by rills 
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastor- 
al hills,t {[meval and wild, 
Where the Song of the Shepherd, pri- 
Was taught to the nymphs by their mys- 
tical child, ) [o’er wave 
Could boast such a lustre o’er land and 
As the magic of love to this paradise 
gave. 


Oh magic of love! unembellish’d by 
you, [scape a hue ? 


Hath the garden a blush or the land-— 


Or shines there a vista in nature or art, 
Like that which Love opes thro’ the eye 
to the heart? 


Alas, that a vision so happy should 
fade! [lianey play’d, 

That, when morning around me in bril- 
The rose and the stream I had thought 
of at night [bright ; 
Should still be before me, unfadingly 
While the friends, who had seem’d to 
hang over the stream, —[dream. 

And to gather the roses, had fled with my 


colonists from the alternative to which they are 
reduced at present, of either sending their sons 
to England for instruction, or intrusting them 
to colleges inthe states of America, where 
ideas, by no means favorable to Great Britain, 


| are very sedulously inculeated. 


The women of Bermuda, though not gener- 
ally handsome, have an affectionate languor in 
their look and manner, which is always inter- 
esting. What the French imply by their epi- 
thet aimante seems very much the character of 
the young Bermudian girls—that predisposi- 


| tion to loving, which, without being awakened 


by any particular object, diffuses itself through 
the general manner in a tone of tenderness that 


| never fails to fascinate. The men of the island, 


I confess, are not very civilized: and the old 
philosopher, who imagined that, after this life, 
men would be changed into mules, and women 
into turtle-doves, would find the metamorphosis 
in some degree anticipated at Bermuda. 

| Mountains of Sicily, upon which Daphnis, 
the first inventor of bueolie poetry, was nursed 
by the nymphs. See the lively deseription of 
these mountains in Diodorus Siculus, lib. iy. 
Ἥραια yap opy κατα τὴν Σικελιαν eotiv, ἃ φασι 
καλλει; Ky Te As : 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


But look, where, all ready, in sailing 


array, 
The bark that’s to carry these pages 


away,* 
Impatiently flutters her wing to the 
wind (behind. 


And will soon leave these islets of Ariel 
What billows, what gales is she fated to 
prove, [I love! 
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that 
Yet ‘pleasant the swell of the billows 
would be, [music to me. 
And the roar of those gales would be 
Not the tranquillest air that the winds 
ever blew, [eve dew, 
Not the sunniest tears of the summer- 
Were as sweet as the storm, or as bright 
as the foam {derer home. 
Of the surge, that would hurry your wan- 


THE STEERSMAN’S SONG, 


WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 
Q8TH APRIL.t 


Wuen freshly blows the northern gale, 
And under courses snug we fly ; 
Or when light breezes swell the sail, 
And royals proudly sweep the sky; 
’Longside the wheel, unwearied still 
I stand, and, as my watchful eye 
Doth mark the needle’s faithful thrill, 
I think of her I love, and cry, 
Port, my boy! port. 


When calms delay, or breezes blow 
Right from the point we wish to steer ; 
When by the wind close-haul’d we go, 
And strive in vain the port to near ; 
I think ’tis thus the fates defer 
My bliss with one that’s far away, 
And while remembrance springs to her, 
I watch the sails and sighing say, ὁ 
Thus, my boy! thus. 


But see, the wind draws kindly aft, 
All hands are up the yards to square, 
And now the floating stw’n-sails waft 
Our stately ship through waves and air. 


* A ship, ready to sail for England. 

+I left Bermuda in the Boston about the 
middle of April, in company with the Cambrian 
and Leander, aboard the latter of which was 
the Admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, who di- 
vides his year between Halifax and Bermuda, 
and is the very soul of society and good-fellow- 
ship to both. We separated in a few days, and 
the Boston, after a short cruise, proceeded to 
New York. 


181 


Oh! then I think that yet for me 
Some breeze of fortune thus may 
spring, 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee— 
And in that hope I smiling sing, 
Steady, boy! so. 


TO THE FIRE-FLY.+ 


AT morning, when the earth and sky 
Are glowing with the hght of spring, 
We see thee not, thou humble fly ! 
Nor think upon thy gleaming wing. 


But when the skies have lost their hue, 
And sunny lights no longer play, 

Oh then we see and bless thee too 
For sparkling o’er the dreary way. 


Thus let me hope, when lost to me 
The lights that now my life illume, 
Some milder joys may come, like thee, 

To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom ! 


TO THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES. 
FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON. 


Ir former times had never left a trace 
Of human frailty in their onward race, 
Nor o’er their pathway written, as they 
ran, 
One dark memorial of the crimes of man; 
If every age, in new unconscious prime, 
Rose like a phenix, from the fires of 
time, 
To wing its way unguided and alone, 
The future smiling and the past un- 
known: [new, 
Then ardent man would to himself be 
Earth at his foot and heaven within his 
view: [scheme 
Wellmight the novice hope, the sanguine 
Of full perfection prompt his daring 
dream, [lore, 
Ere cold experience, with her veteran 
Could tell him, fools had dreamt as much 
before. [clime, 
But, tracing as we do, through age and 


t The lively and varying illumination, with 
which these fire-flies light up the woods at 
night, gives quite an idea of enchantment. 
“ἢ Puis ces mouches se développant de l’obseur- 
ité de ces arbres et s’approchant de nous, nous 
les voyions sur les orangers yoisins, 4115 met- 
toient tout en feu, nous rendant la yue de 
leurs beaux fruits dorés que la nuit avoit ravie, ἢ 
&e. &c.—See L' Histoire des Antilles, art. 2, 
chap. 4, liy. 1. 


182 


The eek of virtue midst the deeds of 
[rage 
The thinking follies and the reasoning 
Of man, at once the idiot and the sage ; 
When still we see, through every vary- 
ing frame 
Of arts and polity, his course the same, 
And know that ancient fools but died, to 
make [take ; 
A space on earth for modern fools to 
Tis ane how quickly we the pest 
forget [ye 
That Wisdom’s self should not be tutor’ ‘i 
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous 
{earth ! 
Of pure perfection midst the sons of 


Oh! nothing but that soul which God 

has given, [heaven ; 

Could lead us thus to look on earth for 

O’er dross without to shed the light 
within, 

And dream of virtue while we see but sin. 


mac’s stream, [theme 
Might sages still pursue the flatt’ring 
Of days to come, when man shall con- 
quer fate, 
Rise o’er the level of his mortal state, 
Belie the monuments of frailty past, 
And plant perfection in this world at last! 
“Here,” might they say, “ shall power’s 
divided reign [vain. 
“ Hyince that patriots have not bled in 
“ Here godlike liberty’s herculean youth, 
“Cradled in peace, and nurtured up by 
truth 
“No full maturity of nerve and mind, 
“Shall crush the giants that bestride 
mankind. * [draught 
“ Here shall religion’s pure and balmy 


“Tn form no more from cups of state be | 
| Even now, 


quaff’d, {and sect 


“‘ But flow for all, through nation, rank, | 


“Free as that heaven its tranquil waves 
reflect. 

‘“Ayound the columns of the public shrine 

“6 Shall growing arts their gradual wreath 
intwine, 


“Tere the seiences and the 
arts of civilized life are to receive their highest 
improvements: here civil and religious liberty 
are to flourish, unchecked by the eruel hand of 
civil or ecclesiastical tyranny: here genius 
aided by all the improvements of former ages 
is to be exe rted in humaniziny 5 mankind, in ex- 

ind ¢ | ; τῶ 


pandi κα their minds with rel 


* Thus Morse : 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“ Nor breathe corruption from the flow’r- 


ing braid, 
“ Nor mine that fabric which they bloom 
to shade. [view, 


“ No longer here shall justice bound her 
“Orwrong the many, while she rights 

the few; [cial frame, 
“ But take her range through all the so- 
“ Pure and pervading as that vital flame 
“Which warms at once our best and 

meanest part, [heart !’” 
“ And thrills a hair while it expands a 


Oh golden dream ! what soul that louse 
to scan [τῇ 

The bright disk rather than the dened of 

That owns the good, while smarting with 

the ill, [still, — 

And loves the world with all its frailty. 

What ardent bosom does not spring to 

meet [enly heat, 

The generous hope, with all that heav- 


| Which makes the soul unwilling to resign 
|The thoughts of growing, even on earth, 
Even here, beside the proud Potow- | 


divine ! think 
Yes, dearest friend, I see thee glow to 


| The chain of ages yet may boast a link 
Of purer texture than the world has 


known, 
And fit to bind us to a Godhead’s throne. 


But, is it thus? doth even the glori- 
ous dream [gleam, 
Borrow from truth that dim, uncertain 
Which tempts us still to give such fan- 
cies scope, [hope ? 
As shock not reason, while they nourish 
No, no, believe me, ’tis not so—ey’n 
now, 
While yet upon Columbia’s rising brow 
The showy smile of young presumption 
plays, [cays. 
Her bloom is poison’d and her heart de- 
in dawn of life, her sickly 
breath [their death ; 
Burns with the taint of empires near 
And, like the nymphs of her own with’r- 
ing cline, 
She’s old in youth, she’s blasted in her 


prime.t 
ious and philosophical knowledge,” &e. &e.— 
P. 569. 
+‘ What will be the old age of this govern- 


ment, if it is thus early decrepit !” Such was the 
remark of Fauchet, the French minister at Phila- 
delphia, in that famous dispateh to his goyvern- 
ment, which was intereepted by one of our 
( 5. in the. year 1794. ‘This curious me- 


“a 


Ἀ 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


Already has the child of Gallia’s 
school, 
The foul Philosophy that sins by rule, 
With all her train of reasoning, damning 
arts, [hearts, 
Begot by brilliant heads on worthless 
Like things that quicken after Nilus’ 
flood, [mud,— 
The venom’d birth of sunshine and of 
Already has she pour’d her poison here 
O’er every charm that makes existence 
dear ; [trace, 
Already blighted, with her black’ning 
The op’ning bloom of every social grace, 
Andall those courtesies, that love to shoot 
ee stem, the flow’rets of her 
Tuit. 


And were these errors but the wanton 
tide [pride ; 
Of young luxuriance or unchasten’d 
The fervid follies and the faults of such 
As wrongly feel, because they feel too 
much ; [less, 
Then might experience make the feyer 
Nay, graft a virtue on each warm ex- 
cess. : 
But no; ’tis heartless, speculative ill, 
All oe transgression with all age’s 
ci ; 
The apathy of wrong, the bosom’s ice, 
A slow and cold stagnation into vice. 


~ 


Long has the love of gold, that mean- 
est rage, 
And latest folly of man’s sinking age, 
Which, rarely venturing in the van of 
life, [stnfe, 
While nobler passions wage their heated 
Comes skulking last, with selfishness 
and fear, 
And dies, collecting lumber in the rear, — 


morial may be found in Poreupine’s Works, vol. 
i. p. 279. It remains astriking monument of 
republican intrigue on one side, and republi- 
ean profligacy on the other; and I would rec- 
ommend the perusal of it to every honest poli- 
tician, who may labor under a moment’s ἀπὸ 
sion with respect to the purity of American 
patriotism. 

*** Nous voyons que, dansles pays οἱ !’on n'est 
affecté que de l'esprit de commerce, on trafique 
de toutes les actions humaines etde toutes 165 
vertus morales.”’— Montesquieu, de l Esprit des 
ois, liv. xx. chap. 2. 

tI trust I shall not be suspected of a wish to 
justify those arbitrary steps of the English goy- 
ernment which the colonies found it so neces- 
sary to resist ; my only object here is to expose 
the selfish motive of some of the leading Ameri- 
can demagogues. 


183 


Long has it palsied every grasping hand 

And greedy spirit through this bartering 
Jand ; 

Turn’d life to traffic, set the demon gold 

So loose abroad that virtue’s self is sold, 

And conscience, truth, and honesty are 
made [trade.* 

To rise and fall, like other wares of 


Already in this free, this virtuous 
state, [by fate 
Which, Frenchmen tell us, was ordain’d 
To show the world, what high perfec- 
tion springs [kings,— 

From rabble senators, and merchant 
Even here already patriots learn to steal 
Their private perquisites from public 
weal, [fire, 

And, guardians of the country’s sacred 
Like Afric’s priests, let out the flame for 
hire. [rose 
Those vaunted demagogues, who nobly 
From England’s debtors to be England’s 
foes,t [ forget, 

Who could their monarch in their purse 
And break allegiance, but to cancel 
debt,t [tempting hue, 

Have proved, at length, the mineral’s 
Which makes a patriot, can unmake him 
too.§ [cant ! 

Oh! Freedom, Freedom, how I hate thy 
Not Eastern bombast, not the savage 
rant [ber’d all 

Of purpled madmen, were they num- 
From Roman Nero down to Russian 
Paul, [base, 
Could grate upon my ear so mean, so 
As the rank jargon of that factious race, 
Who, poor of heart and prodigal of 
words, [be lords, 
Form’d to be slaves, yet struggling to 


¢ The most persevering enemy to the inter- 
ests of this country, amongst the politicians of 
the western world, has been a Virginian mer- 
chant, who, finding it easier to settle his con- 
science than his debts, was one of the first to 
yaise the standard against Great Britain, and 
has ever since endeavored to revenge upon the 
. whole country the obligations which he lies un- 
der to a few of its merchants. ι 

δϑοο Porceupine’s account of the Pennsylva- 
nia Insurrection in 1794. In short, see Poreu- 
pine’s works throughout, for ane corrobora- 
tion of every sentiment which I have ventured 
to express. In saying this, I refer less to the 
comments of that writer than to the oecurren- 
ces which he has related and the documents 
whieh he has preserved. Opinion may be sus- 
pected of bias, but facts speak for themselves. 


184 


Strut forth, as patriots, from their negro- 
marts, [their hearts. 
And shout for rights, with rapine in 


Who can, with patience, for a mo- 
ment see 
The medley mass of pride and misery, 
Of whips and charters, manacles and 
rights, [whites,* 
Of slaying blacks and democratic 
And all the piebald polity that reigns 
In free confusion o’er Columbia’s plains 7 
To think that man, thou just and gentle 
God! [rod 
Should stand before thee with a tyrant’s 
O’er creatures like himself, with souls 
from thee, 
Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty ; 
Away, away—lI’d rather hold my neck 
By doubtful tenure from a sultan’s beck, 
In climes where liberty has scarce been 
named, 
Nor any right, but that of ruling, claim’d, 
Than thus to live, where bastard Free- 
dom waves 
Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves; 
Where—motley laws admitting no de- 
gree [free— 
Betwixt the vilely slaved and madly 
Alike the bondage and the license suit, 
The brute made ruler and the man made 
brute. 


But, while I thus, my friend, in flow- 

erless song, 

So feebly paint, what yet I feel so strong, 

The ills, the vices of the land, where 
first [were nursed, 

Those rebel fiends, that rack the world, 

Where treason’s arm by royalty was 
nerved, [throne they served— 

And Frenchmen learn’d to crush the 

Thou, calmly lull’d in dreams of classic 
thought, 

By bards illumined and by sages taught, 

Pant’st to be all, upon this mortal scene, 

That bard hath fancied or that sage hath 
been. 


* In Virginia the effects of this system begin 
to be felt rather seriously, While the master 
raves of Jiberty, the slave cannot but catch the 
contagion, and accordingly there seldom elap- 
ses a month without some alarm of insurrection 
amongst the negroes. The accession of Loui- 
siana, it is feared, will increase this embarrass- 
ment; as the numerous emigrations, which are 
expected to take place, from the southern states 
to this newly-acquired territory, will consider- 
ably diminish the white population, and thus 


MOORH’S WORKS. 2 


Why should I wake thee? why severely 
chase - 

The lovely forms of virtue and of grace, 

That dwell before thee, like the pictures 
spread [bed, 

By Spartan matrons round the genial 

Moulding thy faney, and with gradual 
art [thy heart. 

Bright’ning the young conceptions of 


Forgive me, Forbes—and should the 
song destroy [joy, 
One generous hope, one throb of social 
One high pulsation of the zeal for man, 
Which few can feel, and bless that few 
who can,— [eyes 
Oh! turn to him, beneath whose kindred 
Thy talents open and thy virtues rice, 
Forget where nature has been dark or 
dim, 


| And proudly study all her lights in him. 


Yes, yes, in him the erring world forget, 
And feel that man may reach perfection 
yet. 3 


TO THOMAS HUME, ESQ., M. D. 
FROM THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, 


Διηγήσομαι διηγήματα tows απιστα- κοινωνα. 


| ov πέπονθα ουκ εχὼν, 


XENOPHONT. EPHES. Ephesiac lib. vy. 


''Trs evening now ; beneath the western 


star [cigar, 
Soft sighs the lover through his swect 
And fills the ears of some consenting she 
With puffs and vows, with smoke and 
constancy. [cils come, 
The patriot, fresh from Freedom’s coun- 
Now pleased retires to Jash his slaves at 
home ; [charms, 


| Or woo, perhaps, some black Aspasia’s 


And dream of freedom in his bondsmaid’s 
arms. t 


In faney now, beneath the twilight 
gloom, [Rome ΤῸ 
Come, let me lead thee o’er this ‘‘second 


strengthen the proportion of negroes, to a de- 
gree which must ultimately be ruinous. 

t The ‘black Aspasia” of the present * * * 
***** * of the United States, inter Aver- 
nales haud ignotissima nymphas, has given rise 


| to much pleasantry among the anti-democrat 


wits in America. 

¢ “On the original location of the ground now 
allotted for the seat of the Federal City, (says 
Mr. Weld,) the identical spot on which the 
capital now stands was called Rome, This 


+ Ταα 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 185 


Where tribunes rule, where dusky Davi 

bow, [ber now :—* 

And what was Goose-Creek once is Ti- 
This embryo capital, where Fancy sees 
Squares in morasses, obelisks in trees ; 
ich second-sighted seers, ev’n now, 

adorn 


[born | 


With shrines unbuilt and heroes yet un-_ 


Though naught but woodst and J——n 
they see, [to be. 
Where streets should run and sages ought 


And look, how calmly in yon radiant 
wave, 


Oh mighty river! oh ye banks of shade! 

Ye matchless scenes, in nature’s morn- 
ing made, 

While still, in all th’ exuberance of prime, 


She pour’d her wonders, lavishly sublime, | 


Nor yet had learn’d to stoop, with humn- 
bler care, [fair ;— 

From grand to soft, from wonderful to 

Say, were your towering hills, your 
boundless floods, 

Your rich savannas and majestic woods, 


Where bards should meditate and he- | 
[her love,— | 


roes rove, 


Like vermin gender’d on the lion’s crest? 

Were none but brutes to call that soil 
their home, 

Where none but demigods should dare to 
roam ? 

Or worse, thou wondrous world! oh! 
doubly: worse, {nurse 

Did heaven design thy lordly land to 

The motley dregs of every distant clime, 


Each blast of anarchy and taint of crime 


And woman charm, and man deserve | 
Oh say, was world so bright, but born to | 


grace 

Its own half-organized, half-minded racet 

Of weak barbarians, swarming o’er its 
breast, 


anecdote is related by many as a certain 
prognostic of the future magnificence of this 
city, which,is to be, as it were, a second 
Rome.” — Weld’s Travels, letter iv. 

* A little stream runs through the city, 
which, with intolerable affectation, they have 
styled the Tiber. It was originally called 
Goose-Creek. 

t+“ To be under the necessity of going 
through a deep wood for one or two miles, per- 
haps in order to see a next-door neighbor, and 
in the same city, is a curious, and, I believe, a 
novel cireumstance.’’— Weld, letter iv. 

The Federal City (if it must be called a city) 
has not been much increased since Mr. Weld 
visitedit. Most of the publie buildings, which 
were then in some degree of forwardness, have 
been since utterly suspended. The hotel is al- 
ready arnin; a great part of its roof is fallen 
in, and the rooms are left to be oceupied gra- 
tuitously by the miserable Scotch and Irish 
emigrants, The President's house, a very no- 
ble structure, is by no means suited to the phi- 
losophieal humility of its present possessor, who 
inhabits but a corner of the mansion himself, 
and abandons the rest to a state of uncleanly 
desolation, which those who are not philoso- 
phers cannot look at without regret. his 
grand edifice is encireled by a very rude pul- 


Which Europe shakes from her perturb- 
ed sphere, 


In full malignity to rankle here ? 
The dying sun prepares his golden grave. | 


But hold,—observe yon little mount 
of pines, [fly shines. 
Where the breeze murmurs and the fire- 


| There let thy fancy raise, in bold relief, 


The scuptured image of that veteran 
chief § 


Who lost the rebel’s in the hero’s name, 


And climb’d o’er prostrate loyalty to 


fame ; + 
Beneath whose sword Columbia’s patriot 
train 


Cast off their monarch, that their mob 
might reign. 


How shall we rank thee upon glory’s 
page? [sage ! 
Thou more than soldier and just less than 


Of peace too fond to act the conqueror’s 


part, [art, 
Too long in camps to learn a statesman’s 


ing, through which a common rustie stile intro- 
duces the visiters of the first man in America. 
With respect to all that is within the house, I 
shall imitate the prudent forbearance of Hero- 
dotus, and say, τα de ev απορῥήτῳ. 

The private buildings exhibit the same char- 
acteristic display of atrogant speculation 
and premature ruin; and the few ranges of 
houses which were begun some years ago have 
remained so long waste and unfinished, that 
they are now for the most part ¢*!apidated. 

t The picture which Buffon and De Pauw 
have drawn of the American Indian, though 
very humiliating, is, as far as I ean judge, mneh 
more correct than the flattering representations 
which Mr. Jefferson has given us. See the 
Notes on Virginia, where this gentleman en- 
deayors to disprove in general the opinion 
maintained so strongly by some philosophers, 
that nature (as Mr. Jetferson expresses it) be- 
littles her productions in the western world. M. 
de Pauw attributes the imperfections of animal 
lite in America to the ravages of a yery recent 
deluge, from whose effects upon its soil and at- 
mosphere it has not yet sutliciently recover- 


| ed. — Recherches sur les Américains, part i. 


tom. i. p. 102. ; 
§ On a small hill near the Capitol there is to 
be an equestrian statue of General Washington. 


186 


Nature design’d thee for a hero’s mould, 
But, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow 
cold. 


While loftier souls command, nay, 
make their fate, [be great. 
Thy fate made thee and forced thee to 
Yet Fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds 
Her brightest halo round the weakest 
heads, 
Found thee undazzled, tranquil as before, 
Proud to be useful, scorning to be more; 
Less moved by glory’s than by duty’s 
claim, [aim ! 
Renown the meed, but self-applause the 
All that thou wert reflects less fame on 
thee, 
Far less, than all thou didst forbear to be. 
Nor yet the patriot of one land alone,— 
For thine’s a name all nations claim 
their own ; [good and brave, 
And every shore, where breathed the 
Echo’d tke plaudits thy own country 
gave. 


Now look, my friend, where faint the 
moonlight falls [halls,— 

On yonder dome, and, in those princely 
If thou canst hate, as sure that soul must 
hate, [great, — 
Which loves the virtuous and reveres the 
If thou canst loathe and execrate with 
me [phy, 

The poisonous drug of French philoso- 
That nauseous slaver of these frantic 
times, [crimes, — 

With which false liberty dilutes her 
If thou hast got within thy free-born 
breast, [the rest, 

One pulse that beats more proudly than 
With honest scorn for that inglorious soul, 
Which creeps and winds beneath a mob’s 
control, [ble’s nod, 
Which courts the rabble’s smile, the rab- 
And makes, like Egypt, every beast its 
god, [tongue, forbear ! 
There, in those walls—but, burning 


* In the ferment which the French revolution 
excited among the democrats of america, and 
the licentious sympathy with which they shared 
in the wildest excesses of jacobinism, we may 
find one source of that vulgarity of vice, that 
hostility to all the graces of life, which distin- 
guishes the present demagogues of the United 
States, and has become indeed too generally the 
characteristic of their countrymen. But there 
is another cause of the corruption of private 
morals, which, encouraged as it is by the goy- 
ernment, and identified with the interests of 


MOORL’S WORKS. 


Rank must be reverenced, even the rank 
that’s there : {we part: 
So here I pause—and now, dear Hume, 
But oft again, in frank exchange ofheart, 
Thus let us meet, and mingle converse 
dear [here. 
By Thames at home, or by Potowmac 
O’er lake and marsh, through fevers 
and through fogs, [and frogs, 
Midst bears and yankees, democrats 
Thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and 
eyes [spise.* 
With me shall wonder, and with me de- 
While I, as oft, in fancy’s dream shall 
rove, [I love, 
With thee conversing through the land 
Where, like the air that fans her fields 
of green, [rene ; 
Her freedom spreads, unfever’d and se- 
And sovereign man can condescend to 
see [than he. 
The throne and laws more sovereign still 


LINES 


WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADELPHIA. 


—— Τηνδεὲ τὴν πολιν φιλως 
Ἑιπων" επαξια yap. 


SOPHOCL. Gdip. Colon. ν. 768. 


ALONE by the Schuylkill a wanderer 
roved, [his eye; 

And bright were its flowery banks to 
But far, very far were the friends that he 
loved, [a sigh. 

And he gazed on its flowery banks with 


Oh Nature, though blessed and bright 
are thy rays, {ingly thrown, 

O’er the brow of creation enchant- 
Yet faint are they all to the lustre that 
plays [our own. 

In a smile from the heart that is fondly 


Nor long did the soul of the stranger re- 
main [guish’d to meet ; 
Unbless’d by the smile he had lan- 


the community, seems to threaten the decay of 
all honest principle in America. TI allude to 
those fraudulent violations of neutrality to 
which they are indebted for the most lucrative 
part of their commerce, and by which they have 
solong infringed and counteracted the mari- 
time rights and advantages of this country. 
This unwarrantable trade is necessarily abet- 
ted by such a system of collusion, imposture, 
and perjury, as cannot fail to spread rapid con 
tamination around it. 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


187 


Though scarce did he hope it would 
soothe him again, 

Till the threshold of home had been 
press’d by his feet. 


But the laysof his boyhood had stol’n to 
their ear, [so humble a name ; 
And they loved what they knew of 
And they told him, with flattery wel- 
come and dear, 
That they found in his heart some- 
thing better than fame. 


Nor did woman—oh woman! whose 
form and whose soul 
Are the spell and the light of each 
path we pursue ; [at the pole, 
Whether sunn’d in the tropics or chill’< 
If woman be there, there is happiness 
too :— 


Nor did she her enamoring magic deny, — 

That magic his heart had relinquish’d 

so long,— [eye, 

Like eyes he had loved was her eloquent 

Like them did it soften and weep at 
his song. 


Oh, bless’d be the tear, and in memory 
oft {derer’s dream ; 
May its sparkle be shed o’er the wan- 


Thrice bless’d be that eye, and may pas- | 


sion as soft, [beam ! 
As free from a pang, ever mellow its 


The stranger is gone—but he will not 
forget, [toils he has known, 
When at home he shall talk of the 
To tell, with a sigh, what endearments 


he met, [Schuylkill alone. 
As he stray’d by the wave of the 
LINES 


WRITTEN AT THE COHOS, OR FALLS OF 
THE MOHAWK RIVER.* 


Gia era in loco ove s’ udia 1 rimbombo 
Dell’ acqua : DANTE. 


From rise of morn till set of sun 
I’ve seen the mighty Mohawk run ; 


* There is a dreary and savage character in 


the country immediately about these Falls, 
which is much more in harmony with the wild- 
ness of such a scene than the cultivated lands 
in the neighborhood of Niagara. See the 
drawing of them in Mr. Weld’s book. Accord- 
ing to him, the perpendicular height of the Cohos 
Fall is fifty feet; but the Marquis de Chastel- 
lux makes it seventy-six. 

The fine rainbow, which is continually form- 


| And as I mark’d the woods of pine 
_Along his mirror darkly shine, 
| Like tall and gloomy forms that pass 
Before the wizard’s midnight glass ; 
And as I view’d the hurrying pace 
With which he ran his turbid race; 
Rushing, alike untired and wild, 
| Through shades that frown’d and flow- 
| ers that smiled, 

Flying by every green recess 
| That woo’d him to its calm caress, 
| Yet, sometimes turning with the wind, 
As if to leave one look behind,— 
| Oft have I thought, and thinking sigh’d, 
How like to thee, thou restless tide, 
May be the lot, the life of him 
Who roams along thy water’s brim; 
Through what alternate wastes of wo 
And flowers of joy my path may go; 
How many a shelter’d, calm retreat 
May woo the while my weary feet, 
While still pursuing, still unbless’d, 

I wander on, nor dare to rest ; 
| But, urgent as the doom that calls 
Thy water to its destined falls, 

I feel the world’s bewild’ring force 
Hurry my heart’s devoted course 

From lapse to lapse, till life be done, 
And the spent current cease to run. 


One only prayer I dare to make, 
As onward thus my course I take ;— 
Oh, be my falls as bright as thine ! 
May heaven’s relenting rainbow shine 
Upon the mist that circles me, 

As soft as now it hangs o’er thee! 


SONG 
OF THE EVIL SPIRIT OF THE WOODS.t 


Qua via difficilis, quaque est via nulla. 
Ovip. Metam. lib. iii. y. 227. 


Now the vapor, hot and damp, 
Shed by day’s expiring lamp, 
Through the misty ether spreads 
Every ill the white man dreads; 
Fiery fever’s thirsty thrill, 

Fitful ague’s shivering chill! 


ing and dissolving, as the spray rises into the 
light of the sun, is perhaps the most interesting 
beauty which these wonderful cataracts exhibit. 

+The idea of this poem oceurred to me in 
passing through the very dreary wilderness be- 
tween Batavia, a new settlement in the midst 
of the woods, and the little village of Buffalo 
upon Lake Erie. This is the most fatiguing 
part of the route, in travelling through the 
| Genesee country to Niagara, 


188 


Hark! I hear the traveller’s song, 
As he winds the woods along ;— 
Christian, ’tis the song of fear ; 
Wolves are round thee, night is near, 
And the wild thou dar’st to roam— 
Think, ’twas once the Indian’s home !* 


Hither, sprites, who love to harm, 
Wheresoe’er you work your charm, 
By the creeks, or by the brakes, 
Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, 
And the caymant loves to creep, 
Torpid, to his wintry sleep: 

Where the bird of carrion flits, 
And the shudd’ring murderer sits,t 
Lone beneath a roof of blood ; 
While upon his poison’d food, 
From the corpse of him he slew 
Drops the chill and gory dew. 


Hither bend ye, turn ye hithcr, 
Eyes that blast and wings that wither! 
Cross the wand’ring Christian’s way, 
Lead him, ere the glimpse of day, 
Many a mile of madd’ning error, 
Through the maze of night and terror 
Till the morn behold him lying 
On the damp earth, pale and dying. 
Mock him, when his eager sight 
Seeks the cordial cottage-light ; 
Gleam then, like the lightning-bug, 
Tempt him to the den that’s dug 
For the foul and famish’d brood 
Of the she-wolf, gaunt for blood ; 

Or, unto the dangerous pass 

O’er the deep and dark morass, 
Where the trembling Indian brings 
Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, 
Tributes, to be hung in air, 

To the Fiend presiding there !§ 


Then, when night’s long labor past, 
Wilder’d, faint, he falls at last, 


* “The Five Confederated Nations (of Indi- 
ans) were settled along the banks of the Sus 
quehannah and theadjicent country, until the 
year 1779, when General Sullivan, with an 
army of 4000 men, drove them from their coun 


try to Niagara, where, being obliged to live on | 


salted provisions, to which they were unaccus- 
tomed, great numbers of them died. Two 
hundred of them, it is said, were buried in one 
graye, where they had encamped.’’—Morse’s 
American Geography. 


the alligator, who is supposed to lie in a | 
torpid state all the winter, in the bank of some | 


creek or pond, having previously swallowed a 
large number of pine-knots, which are his only 
sustenance during the time. 

{This was the mode of punishment for mur- 
der (as Charlevoix tells us) among the Hurons, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Sinking where the causeway’s edge 
Moulders in the slimy sedge, 

There let every noxious thing 

Trail its filth and fix its sting; 

Let the bull-toad taint him over, 
Round him let moschetoes hover, 

In his ears and eyeballs tingling, 
With his blood their poison mingling, 
Till, beneath the solar fires, 

Rankling all, the wretch expires ! 


TO THE HONORABLE W. R. 
SPENCER. 


FROM BUFFALO, UPON LAKE ERIE. 


Nee venit ad duros musa voeata Getas. 
Ovib. ex Ponto, lib. i. ep. 5. 


THOU oft hast told me of the happy hours 
Enjoy’d by thee in fair Italia’s bowers, 
Where, ling’ring yet, the ghost of an- 
cient wit [ flit, 
_’Midst modern monks profanely dares to 
And pagan spirits, by the pope unlaid, 
Haunt every stream and sing through 
every shade. [be 
There still the bard who (if his numbers 
His tongue’s light echo) must have talk’d 
like thee, — [has caught 
The courtly bard, from whom thy mind 
Those playful, sunshine holidays of 
thought, 
In which the spirit baskingly reclines, 
Bright without effort, resting while it 
shines,— ‘ [to see 
There still he roves, and laughing loves 
_How modern priests with ancient rakes 
| agree ; [land shines, 
| How, ’neath theecowl, the festal gar- 
| And Love still finds a niche in Christian 
| shrines. 

“They laid the dead body upon poles at the top 
"οὗ a cubin, and the murderer was obliged to re- 
main several days together, and to receive all 
that dropped from the eareass, not only on 
himself but on his food.” 

δ We find also collars of porcelain, tobae- 
co, ears of maize, skins, &e., by the side of 
difficult and dangerous ways, on rocks, or by the 
side of the falls; and these are so many offer- 
ines made to the spirits which preside in these 
places.""—See Charlevoia’s Letter on the Tradi- 
tions and the Religion of the Savages of Canada. 

Father Hennepin too mentions this ceremony; 
he also says, ‘* We took notice of one barba- 
rian, who made a kind of sacrifice upon an oak 
at the Caseade of St. Antony of Padua, ΝῊ 
the river Mississippi.’”’—See Hennepin’s Voy- 
| age into North America, 


= 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


There still, too, roam those other souls 

of song, [long, 

With whom thy spirit hath communed so 

That, quick as light, their rarest gems 

of thought, [brought. 

By Memory’s magic to thy lip are 
But here, alas! by Erie’s stormy lake, 

As, far from such bright haunts my 

course I take, [plays, 


No proud remembrance o’er the fancy | 


No classic dream, no star of other days 

Hath left that visionary light behind, 

That ling’ring radiance of immortal 
mind, [scene, 


Which gilds and hallows even the rudest | 


The humblest shed, where genius once 
has been! 


All that creation’s varying mass as- 
sumes [blooms ; 

Of grand or lovely, here aspires and 
Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens 
glow, [ers flow ; 
Bright lakes expand, and conquering* riv- 
But mind, immortal mind, without whose 
ray, [clay, 


This world’s a wilderness and man but | 


Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose, 
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor 
flows. [and all 
Take Christians, Mohawks, democrats, 
From the rude wigwam to the congress- 
hall, {or free, 
From man the savage, whether slaved 
Toman the civilized, less tame than he, 
’Tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife 
oo half-polish’d and half-barbarous 
ife ; 


Ts mix’d with every grossness of the new ; 

Where all corrupts, though little can en- 
tice, 

And naught is known of luxury, but its 
vice! 


* This epithet was suggested by Charlevoix’s 
striking description of the confluence of the 
Missouri with the Mississippi. ‘‘ I believe this 
is the finest confluence in the world. The two 
rivers are much of the same breadth, each 
about half a league; but the Missouri is by far 
the most rapid, and seems to enter the Missis- 
sippi like a conqueror, through which it carries 
its white waves to the opposite shore, without 
mixing them: afterwards it gives its color to 
the Mississippi, which it never loses again, 
but carries quite down to the sea.”’—Letter 
XXVii. 

+ Alluding to the fanciful notion of ‘ words 


congealed in northern air.” 


t In the society of Mr. Dennie and his friends 


[brew | 
Where every ill the ancient world could | 


189 


Is this the region then, is this the clime 

For soaring fancies? for those dreams 

sublime, 

| Which all their miracles of light reveal 

To ae that meditate and hearts that. 
eel? 

Alas! not so—the Muse of Nature lights 

Her glories round ; she scales the moun- 
tain heights, 


And reams the forests; every wondrous 


spot 
Burns with her step, yet man regards it 
not. [air, 


She whispers round, her words are in the 

But lost, unheard, they linger freezing 
there, t 

Without one breath of soul, divinely 
strong, 

One ray of mind to thaw them into song. 


| Yet, yet forgive me, oh ye sacred few, 
Whom late by Delaware’s green banks I 
knew ; [a social eve, 
| Whom, known and loved through many 
’T was bliss to live with, and ’twas pain 
to leave. ἢ [seann’d 
Not with more joy the lonely exile 
The writing traced upon the desert’s 
sand, [find 
Where his lone heart but little hoped to 
One trace of life, one stamp of human 
| kind, [zeal, 
Than did I hail the pure, th’ enlighten’d 
|The strength to reason and the warmth 
to feel, 
|The manly polish and theilluminedtaste, 
Which,— mid the melancholy, heartless 
waste [few ! 
My foot has traversed,—oh you sacred 
I found by Delaware’s green banks with 
you. 


Long may you loathe the Gallic dross 
that runs 


at Philadelphia, I passed the few agreedble 
moments which my tour through the States af- 
forded me. Mr. Dennie has succeeded in dif- 
fusing through this cultivated little circle that 
love for good literature and sound polities, 
which he feels so zealously himself, and which 
is so very rarely the characteristic of his coun- 
/trymen. They will not, I trust, accuse me of 
| illiberality for the picture which I have given 
of the ignorance and corruption that surround .. 
them. If Idid not hate. as Lpught, the rabble 
| to which they are opposed, T could not value, as 
| I do, the spirit with which they defy it; and in 
| learning from them what Americans can be, Γ 
| but see with the more indignation what Amer- 
' jeans are. 


190 


Through your fair country and corrupts 
its sons ; 
Long love the arts, the glories which 
adorn [sires were born. 
‘Those fields of freedom, where your 
Oh! if America can yet be great, 
If neither chain’d by choice, nor doom’d 
by fate [now, 
To the mob-mania which imbrutes her 
She yet can raise the crown’d, yet civic 
brow 
Of single majesty,—can add the grace 
Of Rank’s rich capital to Freedom’s base, 
Nor fear the mighty shaft will feebler 
prove [above ;— 
For the fair ornament that flowers 
If yet released from all that pedant 
throng, [wrong, 


So vain of error and so pledged to | 


Who hourly teach her, like themselves, 
to hide [pride, 
‘Weakness in vaunt, and barrenness in 
She yet can rise, can wreathe the Attic 
charms [arms, 
Of soft refinement round the pomp of 
And see her poets flash the fires of song, 
‘To light her warriors’ thunderbolts along; 
Itis to you, to souls that favoring heaven 
Has made like yours, the glorious task is 
given :— [done ; 
Oh! but for such, Columbia’s days were 
Rank without ripeness, quicken’d with- 
out sun, 
‘Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, 
Her fruits would fall, before her spring 
were o’cr. 


Believe me, Spencer, while I wing’d 
the hours [banks of flowers, 
‘Where Schuylkill winds his way through 
Though few the days, the happy even- 
ings few, [they flew, 
80 warm with heart, so rich with mind 
That my charm’d soul forgot its wish to 
* roam, 
And rested there, as in a dream of home. 
And looks I met, like looks Τ᾽ ἃ loved 
before, [o’er 
And voices too, which, as they trembled 
‘The chord of memory, found full many 
a tone [own. 
Of kindness there in concord with their 
Yes,—we had nights of that communion 
free, [with thee 
That flow of heart, which I have known 
So oft, so warmly; nights of mirth and 
mind, 


| 
] 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Of whims that taught, and follies that 
refined. 

When shall we both renew them? when, 
restored 

To the gay feast and intellectual board, 

Shall I once more enjoy with thee and 
thine [that refine ? 


|Those whims that teach, those follies 


Even now, as wand’ring upon Hrie’s 
shore, 
: hear Niagara’s distant cataract roar, 
I sigh for home,—alas ! these weary feet 
Have many a mile to journey, ere we 
meet. 


Q ean ὩΣ ΣΟΥ KAPTA ΝΥΝ MNEIAN 
EX EURIPIDES. 


BALLAD STANZAS. 


I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully 
οὐ] ἃ [was near, 
Above the green elms, that a cottage 
And I said, ‘‘ If there’s peace to be 
found in the world, [for it here !” 

“<A heart that was humble might hope 


It was noon, and on flowers that Jan- 
cuished around 

In silence reposed the voluptuous bee ; 

Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not 

a sound [low beech-tree. 

But the woodpecker tapping the hol- 


And, ‘Here in this lone little wood,” 
1 exclaim’d, [and to eye, 
“‘ With a maid who was lovely to soul 
““Who would blush when I praised her, 
and weep if I blamed, 
“How blest could I live, and how 
calm could I die ! 


‘‘By the shade of yon sumach, whose 
red berry dips [sweet to recline, 

“Τὴ the gush of the fountain, how 

“ And to know that I sigh’d upon inno- 
cent lips, [any but mine !” 
‘‘Which had never been yao on by 


A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 


WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE. * 


Et remigem cantus hortatur. 
QUINTILIAN. 
Farntty as tolls the evening chime 
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep 
time. 


ἜΤ wrote these words to an air which our 
boatmen sung to us frequently. The wind was 


᾿ 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 

We'll sing at St. Ann’s our parting 

ὦ hymn. * 

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 

The Rapids are near and the daylight’s 
past. 


Why should we yet our sail unfurl? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to 
curl ; 
But when the wind blows off the shore, 
‘Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight’s 
past. 


Utawas’ tide! this trembling moon 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers, 
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring 

airs. 
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, 
The Rapids are near and the daylight’s 
past. 


TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE 
RAWDON. 


FROM THE BANKS OF THE 8ST. LAWRENCE, 


Nor many months have now been 
dream’d away [ing ray 
Since yonder sun, beneath whose even- 
Our boat glides swiftly past these wood- 
ed shores, [pours, 
Saw me where Trent his mazy current 


so unfavorable that they were obliged to row 
all the way, and we were five days in descend- 
ing the river from Kingston to Montreal, ex- 
posed to an intense sun during the day, and at 
night foreed to take shelter from the dews in 
any miserable hut upon the banks that would re- 
evive us. But the magnificent scenery of the 
St. Lawrence repays all such difficulties. 

Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung per- 
fectly in tune together. ‘he original words of 
the air, to which I adapted these stanzas, ap- 

eared to be a long, incoherent story, of which 

could understand but little, from the barbar- 
ous pronunciation of the Canadians. It begins, 


Dans mon chemin j’ai reneontré 
Deux cayaliers trés-bien montés; 


And the refrain to every verse was, 


A lombre d'un bois je m’en vais jouer, 
A lombre d'un bois je m’en vais danser. 

1 yentured to harmonize this air, and have 
published it. Without that charm which asso- 
ciation gives to every little memorial of scenes 
or feelings that are past, the melody may, per- 
haps, be thought common and trifling; but I 
remember when we have entered, at sunset, 
upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the 


191 


And Donington’s old oaks, to every 
breeze, 
Whisper the tale of bygone centuries ;— 
Those oaks, to’ me as sacred as the 
groves, [roves, 
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian 
And hears the spirit-voice of sire, or 
chief, 
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf: t 
There, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath 
sun [hung 
My own unpolish’d lays, how proud I’ve 
On every tuneful accent! proud to feel 
That notes like mine should have the fate: 
to steal [along, 
As o’er thy hallowing lip they sigh’d 
Such breath of passion and such soul of 
song. [boy 
Yes, —I have wonder’d, like some peasant 
Who sings, on Sabbath-eve, his strains 
of joy, [note 
And when he hears the wild, untutor’d 
Back to his ear on softening echoes float, 
Believes it still some answering spirit’s 
tone, [own! 
And thinks it all too sweet to be his 


I dreamt not then that, ere the roll- 
ing year [here 
Had fill’d its circle, I should wander 
In musing awe; should tread this won- 
drous world, 
See all its store of inland waters hurl’d 
In one vast volume down Niagara’s 
steep, 
St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly 
opens, I have heard this simple air with a plea- 
sure which the finest compositions of the finest 
masters have never given me ; and now there 
is not a note of it which does not recall to my 
memory the dip of our oars in the St. Law- 
rence, the flight of our boat down the Rapids, 
and all these new and fanciful impressions to 
which my heart was alive during the whole of 
this very interesting voyage. 

‘The above stanzas are supposed to be sung 
by those voyageurs who go to the Grand Port- 
age by the Utawas River. For an account of 
this wonderful undertaking, see Sir Alexander 
Mackenzie’s General History of the Fur Trade, 
prefixed to his Journal. 

*** At the Rapid of St. Ann they are obliged 
to take out part, if not the whole, of their lad- 
ing. It is from this spot the Canadians con- 
sider they take their departure, as it possesses 
the last church on the island, which is dedi- 
eated to the tutelar saint of voyagers.”—Mac- 
kenzie, General History of the Fur Trade. 

t «* Avendo essi per costume di avere in yen- 
erazione gli alberi grandi et antichi, quasi che 
siano spesso ricettaccoli di anime beate.”— 
Pietro della Valle, part. second., lettera 16 dai 
giardini di Sciraz. 


; os 
2M 
192 MOORE’S WORKS. : 
Se 
Or calm behold them, in transparent | Fancy, with all the scene’s enchantment 
sleep, warm, . 
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed | Hears in the murmur of the nightly . 
Their evening shadows o’er Ontario’s breeze er 
bed ; [glide |Some Indian Spirit warble words like — 
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and these :— ἊΝ 
Down the white rapids of his lordly tide “ 
Through massy woods, mid islets flow- | From the land beyond the sea, 
ering fair [ful pair) Whither happy spirits flee ; ; 
And blooming glades,where the first sin- | Where, transform’d to sacred doves,t 
For consolation might have weeping trod, | Many a blessed Indian roves 
When banish’d from the garden of their | Through the air on wing, as white 
God. [man, | As those wondrous stones of light,§ 
Oh, Lady! these are miracles, which Which the eye of morning counts F 
Caged in the bounds of Europe’s pigmy | On the Apallachian mounts, — 
span, [must see | Hither oft my flight I take 
Can scarcely dream of,—which his eye | Over Huron’s lucid lake, 4 
To know how wonderful this world can Where the wave, as clear as dew, 
; be! Sleeps beneath the light canoe, Ἷ 
But lo,—the last tints of the west de- ae τε τας oe 
cline, [of pine. 
And night falls dewy o’er these banks | Then, when I have stray’d awhile 
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat | Through the Manataulin isle, { 
15 rock’d to rest, the wind’s complaining Breathing all its holy bloom, 4 
note [flutes ; Swift I mount me on the plume 
Dies like a half-breathed whispering of Of my Wakon-Bird,** and fly 
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise | Where, beneath a burning sky, 
shoots, O’er the bed of Erie’s lake 
And Tecan trace him, like a watery star,* | Slumbers many a water-snake, 
Down the steep current, till he fades afar | Wrapt within the web of leaves, 
Amid the foaming breakers’ silvery light, | Which the water-lily weaves. tt ; 
Where yon rough rapids sparkle through | Next I chase the flow’ret-king 
the night. [stray, | Through his rosy realm of spring; ν᾿ 
Here, as along this shadowy bank I | See him now, while diamond hues 
And the smooth glass-snake,t gliding | Soft his neck and wings suffuse, 
o’er my way, [scaly form, | In the leafy chalice sink, 
Shows the dim moonlight through his | Thirsting for his balmy drink; 
* Anburey, in his Travels, has noticed this | hung suspended in that element. It was im- 
shooting illumination which porpoises diffuse at | possible to look attentively through this limpid 
night through the river St. Lawrence.—Vol.i. | medium, at the rocks below, without finding, 


», 29. 

+ The glass-snake is brittle and transparent. 

} ‘*The departed spirit goes into the Coun- 
try of Souls, where, according to some, it is 
transformed into a dove.”—Charlevoix, upon 
the Traditions and the Religion of the Savages 
of Canada. See tie curious fable of the Amer- 
ican Orpheus in Lafitau, tom. i. p. 402. 

δ The mountains appeared to be sprinkled 
with white stones, which glistenet in the sun, 
and were called by the Indians manetoe asen- 
iah or spirit-stones.”—Mackenzie’s Journal. 

|| These lines were suggested by Carver’s de- 
scription of one of the American lakes. ‘‘Whenit 
was calm,” he says, ‘‘ and the sun shone bright, 
I could sit in my canoe, where the depth was 
upward of six fathoms, and plainly see huge 
piles of stone at the bottom, of different shapes, 
some of which appeared as if they had been 
hewn; the water was at this time as pure and 
transparent as air, my ganoe scemed as if it 


before many minutes were elapsed, your head 
swim and your eyesno longer able to behold 
the dazzling scene.” 

4] Aprés avoir traversé plusieurs isles peu 
considérables, nous en trouvémes le quatriéme 
jour une fameuse nommée I’Isle de Manitoua- 
lin.—Voyages du Baron de Luhontan, tom. 1. 
let. 15. Manotaulin signifies » Place of Spir- 
its, and this island in Lake Huron is held sa- 
ered by the Indians. 

»*«« The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the 
same species with the Bird of Paradise, re- 
ceives its name from the ideas the Indians 
have of its superior excellence; the Wakon- 
Bird being, in their language, the Bird of the 
Great Spirit.” —Morse. 

it The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded 
to a considerable distance by the large pond- 
lily, whose leaves spread thiekly over the sur- 
fuce of the luke, and form a kind of bed for the 
water-snakes in summer. 


“ὡς αν 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. ‘ 


193 


—— 0 ee 


Now behold him all on fire, 
Lovely in his looks of ire, 
Breaking every infant stem, 
Seatt’ring every velvet gem, 
Where his little tyrant lip 
Had not found enough to sip. 


Then my playful hand T steep 
Where the gold-thread“ loves to creep, 
Cull from thence a tangled wreath, 
Words of magic round it breathe, 
And the sunny chaplet spread 
O’er the sleeping fly-bird’s head,t 
Till, with dreams of honey blest, 
Haunted, in his downy nest, 

By the garden’s fairest spells, 
Dewy buds and fragrant bells, 
Fancy all his soul embowers 

In the fly-bird’s heaven of flowers. 


Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes 
Melt along the ruffled Jakes, 
When the gray moose sheds his horns, 
When the track, at evening, warns 
Weary hunters of the way 
To the wigwam’s cheering ray, 
Then, aloft through freezing air, 
With the snow-bird | soft and fair 
As the fleece that heaven flings 
O’er his little pearly wings, 
Light above the rocks I play, 
Where Niagara’s starry spray, 
Frozen on the cliff, appears 
Like a giant’s starting tears. 
There, amid the island-sedge, 
Just upon the cataract’s edge, 
Where the foot of living man 
Never trod since time began, 
Lone 1 sit, at close of day, 
While, beneath the golden ray, 
Tey columns gleam below, 
Featherd round with falling snow, 
And an arch of glory springs, 
Sparkling as the chain of rings 
Round the neck of virgins hung, — 


*“The gold thread is of the vine kind, and 
rows inswamps. The roots spread themselves 
just under the surface of the morasses, and are 
easily drawn out by handfuls. They resemble 


a large entangled skein of silk, and are of a | 


bright yellow.”—Morse. 

| “L’oiseau mouche, gros comme un hanneton, 
est de toutes couleurs, vives et changeantes: 
il tire sa subsistence des fleurs comme les abeil- 
Jes ; son nid est fait d'un cotton trés-fin suspen- 
dua une branche d’arbre.”’— Voyages aux Indes 
Occidentales, par M. Bossu, seconde part. lett. xx. 

} Emberiza hyemalis.—See Jmlay’s Kentue- 
Ay, p. 280. 


Virgins,§ who have wander’d young 
O’er the waters of the west 
To the land where spirits rest ! 


Thus have I charm’d, with visionary 

lay, 

The lonely moments of the night away : 

And now, fresh daylight o’er the water 
beams ! [streams, 

Once more embark’d upon the glittring 

Our boat flies light along the leaty shore, 

Shooting the falls, without a dip of oar 

Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark 

The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark, 

Borne, without sails, along the dusky 
flood, || 

While on its deck a pilot angel stood, 

And, with his wings of living hght un- 
furl’d, 

Coasted the dim shores of another world ! 


Yet, oh! believe me, mid this min- 
gled maze [strays 
Of nature’s beauties, where the fancy 
From charm to charm, where every flow- 
ret’s hue [is new,— 
Hath something strange, and every leaf 
I never feel a joy so pure and still, 
So inly feit, as when some brook or hill, 
Or veteran oak, like those remember’d 
well, [flower’s smell, 
Some mountain echo, or some wild- 
(For, who can say by what small fairy 
ties, 
The mem’ry clings to pleasure as it flies?) 
Reminds my heart of many a sylvan 
dream [stream ; 
I once indulged by Trent’s inspiring 
Of all my sunny morns and moonlight 
nights [breezy heights. 
On Donnington’s green lawns and 


Whether I trace the tranquil moments 
o’er [lore, 
When I have seen thee cull the fruits of 
With him, the polish’d warrior by thy side, 


§ Lafitan supposes thatthere was an order of 
vestals established among the Iroquois Indians. 


| —Meeurs des Sauvages Americains, &c., tom. 


i. p. 173: 


|| Vedi che sdegna gli argomenti umani; 
Si che remo non yuol, ne altro velo, 
Che I’ ale sue tra liti si lontani. 


Vedi come I’ ha dritte verso Ἶ cielo 

Trattande I aere con l’ eterne penne; 

Che non si mutan, come mortal pelo. 
Danvk, Purgator., cant. ii. 


194 ‘ 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


----------.---.-...-ὥὄ ----------- Ἐ Ἐ ----᾿- -ςἘςἘς-ς-ς-- ὁ“ -- Πρ ͵.͵͵͵ς 


A sister’s idol and a nation’s pride! 

When thou hast read of heroes, trophied 
high ere [eye 

In ancient fame, and I have seen thine 

Turn to the living hero, while it read, 

For pure and bright’ning comments on 
the dead ;— 

Or whether memory to my mind recalls 

The festal grandeur of those lordly halls, 

When guests have met around the spark- 
ling board, 

And welcome warm’d the cup that Jux- 


ury pour’d; 

When the bright future star of England’s 
throne, 

With magic smile, hath o’er the banquet 
shone, 

Winning respect, nor claiming what he 
won, [sun 


But tempering greatness like an evening 


Whose light the eye can tranquilly ad- | 


mire, [fire ;— 
Radiant, but mild, all softness, yet all 
Whatever hue my recollections take, 
Even the regret, the very pain they wake 
Is mix’d with happiness ;—but, ah! no 

more— [o’er 
Lady! adieu—my heart has linger’d 
Those vanish’d times, till all that round 

me lies, [on my eyes! 
Streams, banks and bowers have faded 


IMPROMPTU, 


AFTER A VISIT TO MRS. 
MONTREAL. 


’Twas but for a moment—and yet in 
that time [an hour: 

She crowded th’ impressions of many 
Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her 
clime, [into flower. 
Which waked every feeling at once 


—, OF 


Oh! could we have borrow’d from Time 
but a day, [again, 

To renew such impressions again and 
The things we should look and imagine 
and say [wasted till then. 


Would be worth all the life we had | 


* This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, 
singularly enough, is the property of Sir Isaac 
Coffin. The above lines were suggested by a 
Ἰνδοί very common among sailors, who 
eall this ghost-ship, [ think, ‘ the flying Duteh- 
man.” 

We were thirteen days on our passage from 


What we had not the leisure or language 
to speak, 
We should find some more spiritual 
mode of revealing, 
And, between us, should feel just as 
much in a week [in feeling. 
As others would take a millennium 


WRITTEN ON PASSING DEAD- 
MAN’S ISLAND,* 


IN THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE, LATE 
IN THE EVENING, SEPTEMBER, 1804. 


SEE you, beneath yon cloud so dark, 

Fast gliding along a gloomy bark? 

Her sails are full,—though the wind is 
still, [to fill! 

And there blows not a breath her sails 


Say what doth that vessel of darkness 
bear? 
The silent calm of the grave is there, 


| Save now and again a death-knell rung, 


And the flap of the sails with night-fog 
hung. 


There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore 

Of cold and pitiless Labrador ; 

Where, under the moon, upon mounts 
of frost, 

Full many a mariner’s bones are toss’d. 


Yon shadowy bark hath been to that 
wreck, [deck, 
And the dim blue. fire that lights her 
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew 
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew. 


To Deadman’s Isle, in the eye of the 
blast, 

To Deadman’s Isle, she speeds her fast; 

By skeleton shapes her sails are furl’d, 

And the hand that steers is not of this 
world ! 


Oh! hurry thee on—oh! hurry thee on, 

Thou terrible bark, ere the night be 
gone, 

Nor let morning look on so foul a sight 

As would blanch forever her rosy light! 


by the truly splendid hospitality of my friends 
of the Phaeton and Boston, that I was but ill- 
prepared for the miseries of a Canadian vessel. 
The weather, however, was pleasant, and the 
scenery along the river delightful. Our pas- 
sage through the Gut of Canso, with a bright 
sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking 


Quebee to Halifax, and I had been so spoiled | and romantie. 


‘ " 
"3 
γ- ὧν 
ae ee. ee 


»ῪὋ 


POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA. 


195 


TO THE BOSTON FRIGATE,* 


ON LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAND, 
OCTOBER, 1804, 


Noorov mpopacts γλυκερον 
Pinpar. Pyth. 4. 


Wirth triumph this morning, oh Boston! 
T hail [thy sail, 
The stir of thy deck and the spread of 
For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, 
in thee, [the free, 
To the flourishing isle of the brave and 
And that chill Nova Scotia’s unpromising 
strandt 
Is the last I shall tread of American land. 
Well—peace to the land! may her sons 
know, at length, [strength, 
That in high-minded honor hes liberty’s 
That though man be as [ree as the fet- 
terless wind, {unbind, 
As the wantonest air that the north can 
Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten 
the blast, [it pass’d, 
If no harvest of mind ever sprung where 
Then unblest is such freedom, and bale- 
fulits might, — [blight ! 
Free ouly to ruin, and strong but to 


Farewell to the few I have left with 
regret ; {not forget, 
May they sometimes recall what I can- 
The delight of those evenings, —too brief 
a delight! 
When in converse and song we have 
stolen on the night; 
When they’ve asked me the manners, the 
mind, or the mien [1 had scen, 
Of some bard I had known or some chief 
Whose glory, though distant, they long 
had adored, 
Whose name had oft hallow’d the wine- 
cup they pour’d ; 
And still as, with sympathy humble but 
true, [I knew, 
T have told of each bright son of fame all 
They have listen’d, and sigh’d that the 
powerful stream [dream, 
Of America’s empire should pass, like a 
* Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with 
whom [returned to England, and to whom Iam 
indebted for many, many kindnesses. In truth, 
Τ should but offend the delicacy of my friend 
Douglas, and, at the same time, do injustice to 
my own feelings of gratitude, did I attempt to 
ee, how much I owe to mm. 

Sir John Wentworth, the Governor of Nova 
Seotia, very kindly allowed me to accompany 
him on his visit to the College, which they have 
lately established at Windsor, about forty miles 


Without leaving one relic of genius, to 
say [vanish’d away ! 
How sublime was the tide which had 
Farewell to the few—though we never 
may meet [sweet 
On this planet again, it is soothing and 
To think that, whenever my song or my 
name [the same 
Shall recur to their ear, they’ll recall me 
I have been to them now, young, un- 
thoughtful, and blest, — [press’d. 
Ere hope had deceived me or sorrow de- 


But, Douglas! while thus I recall to 
my mind [behind, 
The elect of the land we shall soon leave 
1 can read in the weather-wise glance of 
thine eye, {sky, 
As it follows the rack flitting over the 
That the faint coming breeze will be fair 
for our flight, {of mght. 
And shall steal us away, ere the falling 
Dear Douglas! thou knowest, with thee 
by my side, [courage to guide, 
With thy friendship to soothe me, thy 
There 1s not a bleak isle in those sum- 
merless seas, 
Where the day comes in darkness, or 
shines but to freeze, [shore, 
Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous 
That I could not with patience, with 
pleasure explore ! [now, 
Oh think then how gladly I follow thee 
When Hope smooths the billowy path 
of our prow, [springing wind 
And each prosperous sigh of the west- 
Takes me nearer the home where my 
heart is enshrined ; [me again, 
Where the smile of a father shall meet 
And the tears of a mother turn bliss nto 
pain ; [steal to my heart, 
Where the kind voice of sisters shall 
And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could 
part ?— 


But see !—the bent top-sails are ready 
to swell— [farewell ! 
To the boat—I am with thee—Columbia, 


from Halifax, and I was indeed most pleasantly 
surprised by the beanty and fertility of the coun- 
try which opened upon us after the bleak and 
rocky wilderness by which Halifax is sur- 
rounded.—I was told that, in travelling on- 
wards, we should find the soil and the scenery 
improve, and it gave me much pleasure to know 
that the worthy Governor has by no meanssueh 
an “inamabile regnum” as I was, at first sight, 
inelined to believe, 


196 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


CORRUPTION, AND INTOLERANCE: 


TWO POEMS: 


ADDRESSED TO AN ENGLISHMAN BY AN IRISHMAN, 


1808. 


PREFACE. 


THE practice which has been lately in- 
troduced into literature, of writing very 
long notes upon very indifferent verses, 
appears to me rather a happy invention ; 
as it supplies us with a mode of turning 
dull poetry to account; and as horses 
too heavy for the saddle may yet serve 
well enough to draw lumber, so Poems 
of this kind make excellent beasts of 
burden, and will bear notes, though 
they may not bear reading. Besides, 
the comments in such cases are so httle 
under the necessity of paying any ser- 
vile deference to the text, that they may 
even adopt that Socratic dogma, ‘‘ Quod 
supra nos nihil ad nos.” 

In the first of the two following 
Poems, I have ventured to speak of the 
Revolution of 1688 in language which 
has sometimes been employed by Tory 
writers, and which is therefore neither 
very new nor popular. But however an 
Englishman might be reproached with 
ingratitude, for depreciating the merits 
and results of a measure which he is 
taught to regard as the source of his 
liberties—however ungrateful it might 
appear in Alderman B—rch to question 
for a moment the purity of that glorious 
era to which he is indebted for the sea- 
soning of so many orations—yet an Irish- 
man, who has none of these obligations 
to acknowledge ; to whose country the 
Reyolution brought nothing but injury 
and insult, and who recollects that the 
book of Molyneux was burned, by order 


of William’s Whig Parliament, for dar- 
ing to extend to unfortunate Ireland 
those principles on which the Revolution 
was professedly founded—an Irishman 
may be allowed to criticise freely the 
measures of that period, without expos- 
ing himself either to the imputation of 
ingratitude, or to the suspicion of being 
influenced by any Popish remains of 
Jacobitism. No nation, it is true, was 
ever blessed with a more golden oppor- 
tunity of establishing and securing its 
liberties forever than the conjuncture of 
Kighty-eight presented to the people of 
Great Britain. But the disgraceful 
reigns of Charles and James had weak- 
ened and degraded the national char- 
acter. The bold notions of popular right, 
which had arisen out of the struggles be- 
tween Charles the First and his Parlia- 
ment, were gradually supplanted by 
those slavish doctrines for which Lord 
H—kesb—ry eulogizes the churchmen 
of that period ; and as the Reformation 
had happened too soon for the purity of 
religion, so the Revolution came too 
late for the spirit of liberty. Its advan- 
tages, accordingly, were for the most 
part specious and transitory, while the 
evils which it entailed are still felt and 
still increasing. By rendering unneces- 
sary the frequent exercise of Preroga- 
tive,—that unwieldy power which can- 
not move astep without alarm,—it di- 
minished the only interference of the 
Crown, which is singly and independ- 
ently exposed before the people, and 
whose abuses therefore are obvious te 


mean 


their senses and capacities. Like the 
myrtle over a celebrated statue in Min- 
erva’s temple at Athens, it skilfully 
veiled from the public eye the only ob- 
trusive feature of royalty. At the same 
time, however, that the Revolution 
abridged this unpopular attribute, it 
amply compensated by the substitution 
of a new power, as much more potent in 
its effect as it is more secret in its opera- 
tions. In the disposal of an immense 
revenue and the extensive patronage an- 
nexed to it, the first foundations of this 
power of the Crown were laid; the inno- 
vation of a standing army at once in- 
creased and strengthenedit, and the few 
slight barriers which the Act of Settle- 
ment opposed to its progress have all 
been gradually removed during the 
whiggish reigns that succeeded ; till at 
length this spirit of influence has be- 
come the vital principle of the state, - 
an agency, subtle and unseen, which 
persis every part of the Constitution, 
urks under all its forms and regulates 
all its movements, and, like the invisible 
sylph or grace which presides over the 
motions of beauty, 

“Tilam, quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit, 

Componit furtim subsequiturque.” 

The cause of Liberty and the Revolution 
are so habitually associated in the minds 
of Englishmen, that probably in object- 
ing to the latter I may be thought hos- 
tile or indifferent to the former. But 
assuredly nothing could be more unjust 
than such a suspicion. The very object, 
indeed, which my humble animadver- 
sions would attain is, that in the crisis 
to which 1 think England is now hasten- 
ing, and between which and foreign 
subjugation she may soon be compelled 
to choose, the errors and omissions of | 
1688 should be remedied ; and, as it was 
then her fate to experience a Revolution 
without Reform, so she may now en- 
deavor to accomplish a Reform without 
Revolution. 

In speaking of the parties which have 
so long agitated England, it will be ob- 
served that I lean as little to the Whigs 
as to their adversaries. Both factions 


* Angli suos ac sua omnia impense mirantur ; 
cxteras nationes despectui habent.—Barcle ἡ, 
(as quoted in one of Dryden’s prefaces.) ᾿ 

1 England began very early to feel the effects 


CORRUPTION; A POETIC EPISTLE. 


of eruelty towards her dependencies. “ ‘Che 


197 


have been equally cruel to Ireland, and 
perhaps equally insincere in their efforts 
for the liberties of England. ‘There is 
one name, indeed, connected with 
whiggism of which I can never think 
but with veneration and tenderness. As 
justly, however, might the light of the 
sun be claimed by any particular nation, 
as the sanction of that name be monop- 
olized by any party whatsoever. Mr. 
Fox belonged to mankind, and they 
have lost in him their ablest friend. 
With respect to the few lines upon 
Intolerance, which I have subjoined, 
they are but the imperfect beginning of 
a long series of Essays, with which I 
here menace my readers, upon the same 
important subject. I shall look to no 
higher merit in the task, than that of 
giving a new form to claims and remon- 
strances, which have often been much 
more eloquently urged, and which 
would long ere now have produced their 
effect, but that the minds of some of our 
statesmen, like the pupil of the human 
eye, contract themselves the more, the 
stronger light there is shed upon them. 


- - CORRUPTION. 


AN EPISTLE. 


Nuv δ᾽ amav@’ womep εξ ayopas εκπεπραται 
ταυτα" αντεισηκται δε αντι TOUTWY, ὑφ᾽ ὧν απολ- 
ὡλε και νενοσῆκεν ἡ Ἕλλας. Tauta δ᾽ ἐστιτι; 
ζηλος, εἰ τις εἰληφε τι" γέλως αν ὁμολογὴ" συγ- 


᾿ γνωμῇ τοῖς ελεγχομενοις" μισος, αν TOUTOLS τις 


ἐπιτιμα' ταλλα παντα, ὅσα εκ Tov δωροδοκειν 
ρτῆηται. ΤΈΜΟΒΤΗ. Philipp. iii. 


Boast on, my friend—though stripp’d 
of all beside, [pride ;* 
Thy struggling nation still retains her 
That pride, which once in genuine glory 
woke [St. John spoke ; 
When Marlborough fought, and brilliant 
That pride which still, by time and 
shame unstung, 
Outlives even Wh-tel-cke’s sword and 
H-wk-sb’ry’s tongue ! [islet 
Boast on, my friend, while in this humbled 
severity of her government (says Macpherson) 
contributed more to deprive her of the conti- 
nental dominions of the family of Plantagenet 
than the arms of France.”—See his History, 
vol. i. 


198 ᾿ 


Where Honor mourns and Freedom fears 
to smile, [15 known 
Where the bright light of England’s fame 
But by the shadow o’er our fortunes 
thrown; [wrongs and slights,* 
Where, doom’d ourselves to naught but 
We hear you boast of Britain’s glorious 
rights, [lie, 
As wretched slaves, that under hatches 
Hear those on deck extol the sun and 
sky! [native haunts, 
Boast on, while wandering through my 
I coldly listen to thy patriot vaunts ; 
And feel, though close our wedded coun- 
tries twine, [from thine. 
More sorrow for my own than pride 
Yet pause a moment—and if truths 
severe 
Can find an inlet to that courtly ear, 
Which hears no news but W—rd’s ga- 
zetted lies, [ Pye’s, — 
And loves no politics in rhyme but 


If aught can please thee but the good | 


old saws 
Of ‘ Church and State,” and ‘‘ William’s 
matchless laws,” jeight,”— 
And“Acts and Rights of glorious Nighty- 
Mhings, which though now a century 
out of date, [ words, 
Still serve to ballast, with convenient 


* ** By the total reduction of the kingdom of 
Treland in 1691, (says Burke,) the ruin of the 
native Irish, and in a great measure, too, of the 
first races of the English, was completely ac- 
complished. The new English interest was 
settled with as solid a stability as any thing in 
human affairs ean look for. All the penal 


laws of that unparalleled code of oppression, | 
which were made after the last event, were | 


manifestly the effects of national hatred and | 


scorn towards a conquered people, whom the 
victors delighted to trample upon, and were not 
atall afraid to provoke.” Yet this is the era to 
which the wise Common Council of Dublin 
refer us for ‘‘ invaluable blessings,” &e. 

| It never seems to occur to those orators 
and addressers who round off so many senten- 
ces and paragraphs with the Bill of Rights, the 
Act of Settlement, &e., that most of the provis- 
ions which these Acts contained for the preser- 
vation of parliamentary independence have 
been long laid aside as romantic and trouble- 
some. Inever meet, I confess, with a politi- 
cian who quotes seriously the Declaration of 
Rights, &e., to prove the actual existence of 
English liberty, that I do not think of that mar- 


quis whom Montesquieu mentions,* who set | 


about looking for mines in the Pyrenees, on the 
strength of authorities which he had read in 
some ancient authors, The poor marquis toiled 


*Liv. xxi chap. 2. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


A few crank arguments for speeching 


lords, —t 
Turn, while I tell how England’s free- 
dom found, [deadliest wound ; 


Where most she look’d for life, her 
How brave she struggled, while her foe 

was seen, [a screen ; 
How faint since Influence lent that foe 
How strong o’er James and Popery she 

prevail’d, [assail’d.t 
How weakly fell, when Whigs and gold 


While kings were poor, and all those 
schemes unknown [throne ; 
Which drain the people to enrich the 
Ere yet a yielding Commons had supplied 
Those chains of gold by which them- 
selves are tied ; [creep 
Then proud Prerogative, untaught to 
With bribery’s silent foot on Freedom’s 
sleep, 
Frankly avow’d his bold enslaving plan, 
That claim’d a right from God to tram- 
ple man ! [roused mankind 
But Lucther’s schism had too much 
For Hampden’s truths to linger long be- 
hind; [fallen so low, 
Nor then, when king-like popes had 
Could pope-like kings) escape the level- 
ling blow. [we bow 
That ponderous sceptre, (in whose place 


and searched in vain. He quoted his authori- 


| ties to the last, but found no mines after all. 


+The chief, perhaps the only advantage which 
has resulted from the system of influence, is 
that tranquil course of uninterrupted action 
which it has given to the administration of goy- 
ernment. If kings must be paramount in the 
state, (and their ministers for the time being 
always think so,) the country is indebted to the 
Reyolution for enabling them to become so 
quietly, and for removing skilfully the danger 
of those shocks and collisions which the alarm- 
ing efforts of prerogative never failed to pro- 
duce. 

Instead of vain and disturbing efforts to es- 
tablish that speculative balance of the constitu- 
tion, which, perhaps, has never existed but in 
the pages of Montesquieu and De Lolme, a pre- 
pondematae is now silently yielded to one of the 
three estates, which carries the other two al- 
most insensibly, but still effectually, along with 
it; and even though the path may lesd even- 
tually to destruction, yet its specious and gild- 
ed smoothness almost atones for the danger; 
and, like Milton’s bridge over Chaos, it may be 


| said to lead, 


‘“Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to ——.” 

§The drivelling correspondence between 
James I. and his ὁ dog Steenie.” (the Duke of 
suckingham,) which we find among the Hard- 
wicke Papers, sufliciently shows, if we wanted 


" CORRUPTION; A 


To the light talisman of influence now, ) 

Too gross, too visible to work the spell 

Which modern power performs, in frag- 
ments fell : [ed o’er 

In fragments lay, till, patch’d and paint- 

With fleur-de-lys, it shone and scourged 
once more. 


’Twas then, my friend, thy kneeling 
nation πῆ ἃ [opiate draught 
Long, long and deep, the churchman’s 
Of passive, prone obedience—then took 
flight 
Allsense of man’s true digmity and right ; 
And Britons slept so sluggish m their 
chain, [most in vain. 


That Freedom’s wateh-voice ecall’d al- 


Oh England! England! what a chance 
was thine, {line 
When the last tyrant of that il-starr’d 


any such illustration, into what doting, idiotic 
brains the plan of arbitrary power may enter. 
“Tacitus has expressed his opinion in a pas- 
sage very frequently quoted, that such a distri- 
bution of power as the theory of the British 
constitution exhibits is merely a subject of 
bright speculation, ‘‘a system more easily 
praised than practised, and which, even could 
it happen to exist, would certainly not prove 
permanent; and, in truth, areview of Ene- 
land’s annals would dispose us to agree with 
the great historian’s remark. Tor we find that 
at no period whatever has this balance of the 
three estates existed; that the nobles preteuy 
uted till the policy of Henry VIT. and his sue- 
cessor reduced their weight by breaking up the 
fendalsystem of property; that the power of 
the Crown became thensupreme and absolute, 
till the bold encroachments of the Commons 
subverted the fabrie altogether; that the alter- 
nate ascendeney of prerogative and privilege 
distracted the period which followed the Res- 
toration; and that, lastly, the Acts of 1688, by 
laying the foundation of an unbounded court-in- 
fiuence, have seeured a preponderance to the 
Throne, whieh every ἘΠΗ͂Ν year increases. 
So that the vaunted British constitution has 
never perhaps existed but in mere theory. 
{The monarehs of Great Britain can never 
he snfticiently grateful for that accommodating 
spirit which led the Revolutionary Whigs to 
sive away the crown, without imposing any of 
those restraints or stipulations which other 
en might have taken advantage of so fayora- 
hle a moment to enforce, and in the framing of 
which they hadso good a model to follow as the 
limitations proposed by the Lords Essex and 
Halifax, in the debate upon the Exclusion Bill. 
They not only eondescended, however, to ac- 
cept of places, but took care that these digni- 
tiesshould be no impediment to their ‘ voice 
potential” in affairs of legislation; and al- 
though sn Act was after many years suffered to 
pass, which by one of its articles disqualified 
lacemen from serving as members of the 
ouse of Commons, αὖ was yet not allowed to 


POETIC EPISTLE. 199 


Fled oe his sullied crown, and left thee 
ree 

To found thy own eternal liberty ! 

How nobly high, in that propitious hour, 

Might patriot hands have raised the 
triple tower* 

Of British freedom, on a rock divine 

Which neither foree could storm nor 
treachery mine ! 

But, no—the luminous, the lofty plan, 

Like mighty Babel, seem’d too bold for 
man ; 

The curse of jarrmg tongues again was 
given 

To thwart a work which raised men 
nearer heaven. 

While Tories marr’d what Whigs had 
scarce begun, 

While Whigs undid what Whigs them- 
selves had done,t 


interfere with the influence of the reigning 
monareh, nor with that of his suecessor Anne. 
The purifying clause, indeed, was not to take 
effeet till after the decease of the latter sove- 
reign, and she very considerately repealed it 
altogether. So that, as represeutation las con- 
tinued ever since, if the king were simple 
enough to send to foreign courts ambassadors 
who were most of them in the payof those 
courts, he would be just as honestly and faith- 
fully represented as are his people. It would 
be endless to enumerate all the favors which 
were conferred upon William by those ‘ apos- 
tate Whigs.”’ They complimented him with the 
first Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act which 
had been hazarded since the confirmation of 
that privilege; and this example of our Deliy- 
erer’s reign hasnot been lost upon any of his 
successors. They promoted the establishment 
ofa standing army, and cireulated in its de- 
fence the celebrated “ Balancing Letter,” in 
which it is insinuated that England, even then, 
in her boasted hour of regeneration, was ar- 
rived at such a pitch of faction and corruption 
that nothing could keep her in order but a 
Whig ministry and a standing army. They 
refused, as long as they could, to shorten the 
duration of parhaments; and though, in the 
Declaration of Rights, the necessity of sach a 
reform was acknowledged, they were able, by 
arts not unknown to modern ministers, to 
brand those as traitors and republicans who 
urged it. But the grand and distinguishing 
trait of their measures was the power they he- 
stowed on the Crown of almost annihilating the 
freedom of elections,;—of turning from its 
course and forever defiling that great stream 
of Representation, which had, even in the most 
agitated periods, reflected some features of the 
people, but which, from theneeforth, became 
the Pactolus, the * anrifer amnis,” of the court 

*See a pamphlet published in 1693, upon the ἘΠΒΕΙΒ 
refusing to sign the Triennial Bill, called‘ A Dis- 
course between a Yeoman of Kent and a Knight ofa 
Shire. ’—** Hereupon feaxe the Yeoman) the gentle- 
man grew angry, and said thatI talked like a base 
commons-wealth man.” 


900 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


The hour was lost, and William, with a 
smile, [ish’d pile ! 
Saw Freedom weeping o’er the unfin- 


Hence all the ills you suffer,—hence 
remain [chain, * 

Such galling fragments of that feudal 
Whose links, around you by the Norman 
flung, [have clung. 
Though loosed and broke so often, still 
Hence sly Prerogative, like Jove of old, 
Has turn’d his thunder into showers of 
gold, [joys,t 
Whose silent courtship wins securer 


and served as a mirror of the national will 
and popular feeling no longer. Weneed but 
consult the writings of the time to understand 
the astonishment then excited by measures, 
which the practice of a century has rendered 
not only familiar but necessary. See a pam. 
hlet called ‘The Danger of Mercenary Par- 
iaments,”’ 1698; State Tracts, Will. IIL. vol. 
li.; see also ‘Some Paradoxes presented as a 
New Year's Gift.” (State Poems, vol. 111.) 

* The last great wound given to the feudal 
system was the Act of the 12th of Charles IL, 
which abolished the tenure of knight's service 
in capite, and which Blackstone compares, for 
its salutary influence upon property, to the 
boasted provisions of Magna Charta itself. Yet 
even in this Act wesee the effects of that coun- 
teracting spirit which has contrived to weaken 
every effort of the English nation towards lib- 
erty. The exclusion of copyholders from their 
share of elective rights was permitted to re- 
main as a brand of feudal servitude, and as an 
obstacle to the rise of that strong counterbal- 
ance which an equal representation of property 
would oppose to the weight of the Crown. If 
the managers of the Revolution had been sin- 
cere in their wishes for reform, they would not 
only have taken this fetter off the mghts of 
election, but would have renewed the mode 
adopted in Cromwell's time, of increasing the 
number of knights of the shire, to the exclusion 
of those rotten insignificant boroughs, which 
have tainted the whole mass of the constitu- 
tion. Lord Clarendon ealls this measure of 
Cromwell's ‘‘an alteration fit to be more war- 
rantable made, and in a better time.’ It formed 
part of Mr. Pitt’s plan in 1783, but Pitt’s plan 
of reform was a kind of announced dramatic 

iece, about as likely to be ever acted as Mr. 
Sheridan's ‘‘ Foresters.” 
fore enim tutum iter et patens 


. Converso in pretium Deo. 
Aurum per medios ire satellites, &c. 
HORaArT. 


It would be a task not uninstructive to trace 
the history of Prerogative from the date of its 
strength under the Tudor princes, when Henry 
VII and his successors * taught the people (as 
Nathaniel Bacon says*) to dance to the tune of 
Allegiance,” to the period of the Revolution. 
when the Throne, in its attaeks upon liberty, be- 


* Historic and Politic, Discourse, ke , part il. p. 114, 


Taints by degrees, and ruins without 
noise. [cred things 
While parliaments, no more those sa- 
Which make and rule the destiny of 
kings, [thrown, 
Like loaded dice by ministers are 
And each new set of sharpers cog their 
own. [ury steals, 
Hence the rich oil, that from the Treas- 
Drips smooth o’er all the Constitution’s 
wheels, [play,t 
Giving the old machine such pliant 
That Court and Commons jog one jolt- 
less way, 


gan to exchange the noisy explosions of Prerowa- 
tive for the silent and effectual air-gun of Influ- 
ence. In following its course, tuo. since that 
memorable era, we shall find that, while the roy- 
al power has beenabridged in branches where it 
might be made conducive to theinterests of the 
people, it has been left in full and unshackled 
vigor against almost every point where the in- 
tegrity of the constitution is vulnerable. For 
instance, the power of chartering boroughs, to 
whose capricious abuse in the hands of the 
Stuarts we are indebted for most of the present 
anomahes of representation, might, if suffered 
to remain, have in some degree atoned for its 
mischief, by restoring the old unebartered 
boroughs to their rights, and widening more 
equally the basis of the legislature. But, by the 
Act of Union with Scotland, this part of the 
prerogative was removed, lest Freedom should 
have a chance of being healed, even by the 
rust of the spear which had formerly wounded 
her. The dangerous power, however, of ere- 
ating peers, which has been so often exercised 
Jor the government against the constitution, is 
still left in free and unqualified activity ; not- 
withstanding the example of that celebrated 
Bill for the limitation of this ever-budding 
branch of prerogative, which was proposed in 
the reign of George I., under the peculiar sune- 
tion and reeommendation of the Crown, but 
which the Whigs thought right to rejeet with 
all that characteristie delicacy, which, in gen- 
eral, prevents them, when enjoying the sweets 
of office themselves, from taking any wneourtly 
advantage of the Throne. It will be noe 
lected, however, that the creation of the twelve 
peers by the Tories in Anne’s reign (a measure 
which Swift, like a true party man, defends) 
gave these upright Whigs all possible alarm for 
their liberties. 

With regard to the generous fit about his 
rerogative which seized so unroyally the good 
cing George L., historians have hinted that the 
paroxysm originated far more in hatred to his 
son than in love to the constitution.| This. of 
course, however, is a calumny: no loyal person, 
acquainted with the annals of the three Georges, 
could possibly suspect any one of those gracious 
monarchs either of ill-will to his heir, or indiffer 
ence for the constitution. 

{ * Lhey drove so fast, (says Welwood of the 


t Coxe says that this ΒΠῚ was projected by Sunder- 
and. 


CORRUPTION; A 


While Wisdom trembles for the crazy car, 
So gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far; 
And the duped people, hourly doom’d to 
ay [away,—* 

The sums that bribe their liberties 
Like a young eagle, who has lent his 
lume [his doom, 

To fledge the shaft by which he meets 
See their own feathers pluck’d, to wing 
the dart [heart ! 
Which rank corruption destines for their 


But soft! methinks I hear thee proudly | 


say 

‘What ! shall I listen to the impious lay, 
“That dares, with Tory license, to 

profane [glorious reign ἢ 
“The bright bequests of William’s 
“‘ Shall the great wisdom of our patriot 

sires, [savory B—rch admires, 
““Whom H—wks—b—y quotes and 


ministers of Charles I.,) that it was no wonder 
that the wheels and chariot broke.” (Memoirs, 
p. 35.)—But this fatal accident, if we may 
judge from experience, is to be imputed far less 
to the folly and impetuosity of the drivers, than 
to the want of that supplying oil from the 
Treasury which has been found so necessary to 
make a government like that of England run 
smoothly. Had Charles been as well provided 
With this article as his successors have been 
since the happy Revolution, his Commons would 
never have merited from him the harsh appel- 
lation of ‘seditious vipers,” but would have 
been (as they now are, and I trust always will 
be) ‘“dutifuJ Commons,” ‘ loyal Commons,” 
&e., &e., and would have given him ship- 
money, or any other sort of money he might 
have fancied. 

ὁ Among those auxiliaries which the Revolu- 
tion of 1688 marshalled on the side of the 
Throne, the bugbear of Popery has ποῦ been 
the least convenient and serviceable. Those 
unskilful tyrants, Charles and James, instead 


of profiting by that useful subservienecy which | 


has always distinguished the ministers of our 
religious establishment, were so infatuated as to 
plan the ruin of this best bulwark of their 
power, and, moreover, connected their designs 
upon the church so undisguisedly with their at- 
tucks upon the Constitution, that they identified 
in the minds of the people the interests of their 
religion and their liberties. During those 
times, therefore, ‘‘ No Popery” was the wateh- 


word of freedom, and served to keep the public | 


spirit awake against the invasions of bigotry 
and prerogative. The Revolution, however, by 


removing this object of deeerey: has produced | 


a reliance on the orthodoxy of the Throne, of 
which the Throne has not failed to take advan- 
tage ; and the ery of ‘‘ No Popery ” having thus 
lost its power of alarming the people against 
the inroads of the Crown, has ΠΕ δὰ ever since 


the very different purpose of strengthening the | 


Crown, against the pretensions and struggles of 
the people. ‘The danger of the Church from 
Papists and Pretenders was the chief pretext 


POETIC EPISTLE. 201 


“ Be slander’dthus? Shall honest St—le 
agree [free, 
“With virtuous R—se to call us pure and 
‘Yet fail to prove it? Shall our patent 
pair [in air, 
“Of wise state-poets waste their words 
“And P—e unheeded breathe his pros- 
perous strain, {in vain ?”’t 
“And C—nn—ng take the people’s sense 


The people !—ah, that Freedom’s form 
should stay 
Where Freedowm’s spirit long hath pass’d 


away! 
That a false smile should play around the 
dead, [fled "Ὁ 


And flush the features when the soul hath 
- When Rome had lost her virtue with her 
rights, {heights§ 
When her foul tyrant sat on Capree’s 


for the repeal of the Triennial Bill. for the 
adoption of a standing army, for the numerous 
suspensions of the Habeas Corpus Act, and, in 
short, for all those spirited infractions of the 
constitution by which the reigns of the last 


| 
| 


| century were so eminently distinguished. We 


have seen very lately, too, how the Throne has 
been enabled, by the same scarecrow sort of 
| alarm, to select its ministers from among men 
whose servility is their only elaim to elevation, 
and who are pledged (if such an alternative 
could arise) to take part with the scruples of 
the King against the salvation of the empire. 
| Somebody has said, *‘ Quand tous les poétes 
seraient noyés, ce ne serait pas grand dom- 
mage,” but lam aware that thisis not fit lan- 
guage to be held at a time when our birth-day 
odes and state-papers are written by such prett 
poets as Mr. P—e and Mr. C—nn—n¢g. ‘ALLY 
wish is, that the latter gentleman would change 
places with his brother P—e, by which means 
we should have somewhat less prose in ourodes 
and certainly less poetry in our politics. 

{It 1s a scandal (said Sir Charles Sedley in 
| William's reign) that a government so sick at 
| heart as ours is should look so well in the face ;” 

and Edmnnd Burke has said, in the present 
reign, ‘ When the people conceive that laws 
and tribunals, and even popular assemblies, are 
| perverted from the ends of their institution, they 
| find in these names of degenerated establish- 
| ments only new motives to discontent. Those 
bodies which, when full of life and beauty, lay 
in their arms and were their joy and comfort, 
when dead and putrid become more loathsome 
from remembrance of former endearments.”’— 
Thoughts on the present Discontents, 1770. 

ἡ Tutor haberi 
Principis, Augusta Caprearum in rupe sedentis 
Cum grege Chaldzo. 

JUVENAL. Sat. x. v. 92. 
| The senate still continued, during the reign of 
Tiberius, to manage all the business of the pub- 
lic; the money was then and long after coined 
by their authority, and every other public affair 
received their sanction. 


202 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Amid his ruffian spies, and doom’d to 
death [their breath,— 
Each noble name they blasted with 
Even then, (in mockery of that golden 
time, 
When the Republic rose revered, sublime, 
And her proud sons, diffused from zone 
to zone, [own, ) 
Gave kings to every nation but their 
Even then the senate and the tribune 
stood, [flood 
Insulting marks, to show how high the 
Of Freedom flow’d, in glory’s bygone 


day, 
And how it ebb’d,—forever ebb’d away!* 


Look but around—though yet a 
tyrant’s sword [board, 
Nor haunts our sleep nor glitters o’er our 
Though blood be better drawn, by 
modern quacks, [or axe ; 
With Treasury leeches than with sword 
Yet say, could even a prostrate tribune’s 
power, [hour, 
Or a mock senate, in Rome’s servile 
Insult so much the claims, the rights of 
man, [van, 
As doth that fetter’d mob, that free di- 
Of noble tools and honorable knaves, 
Of pension’d patriots and privileged 
slaves ;— [can warm 
That party-color’d mass, which naught 
But rank corruption’s heat—whose 
quicken’d swarm _ [golden sky, 
Spread their light wings in Bribery’s 
Buzz for a period, lay their eggs, and 
die ;— [dom’s tomb 


That greedy vampire, which from free- | 


Comes forth, with all the mimicry of 
bloom 


We are told by Tacitus of a certain race of 
men, who made themselves particularly useful 
to the Roman emperors, and were therefore 
ealled “instrumenta regni,” or ‘‘ court tools.” 
From this it appears that my Lords M : 
C— &e., &e., are by no means things of 
modern invention 

* There is something very touching in what 
Tacitus tells us of the hopes that revived in 
a few patriot bosoms, when the death of Angus- 
tus was near approaching, and the fond ex- 
pectation with which they already began “bona 
libertatis inecassum disserere.’ 

According to Ferguson, Ceesar’s interference 
with the rights of election ‘‘made the subver- 
sion of the republic more felt than any of the 
former acts of his power.”—oman Iepublic, 
book v. chap. i. 

1 Andrew Marvell, the honest opposer of the 
court during the reign of Charles the Second, 
aud the last member of parliament who, ac. 


Upon his lifeless cheek, and sucks and 
drains 
A people’s blood to feed its putrid veins! 


Thou start’st, my.friend, at picture 
drawn so dark— 
“Ts there no light?” thou ask’st—‘‘no 
ling’ring spark [there none, 
“Of ancient fire to warm us? Lives 
“To act a Marvell’s part?” t—alas! not 
one. [tends, 
To place and power all public spirit 
In place and power all public spirit | 
ends 5t [sky, 
Like hardy plants, that love the air and 
When out, twill thrive—but taken in, 
’twill die ! 


Not bolder truths of sacred Freedom 
hung [tongue, 
From Sidney’s pen or burn’d on Fox’s 
Than upstart Whigs produce each market 
_ hight, [is light ; 
While yet their conscience, as their purse, 
While debts at home excite their care 
for those 
Which, dire to tell, their much-loved 
country owes, 
And loud and upright, till their prize be 
known, [their own. 
They thwart the King’s supplies to raise 
But bees, on flowers alighting, cease 
their huam— Cdwnb. 
So, settling upon places, Whigs grow 
And, though most base is he who, ‘neath 
the shade [ trade, 
| Of Freedom’s ensign plies corruption’s 
| And makes the sacred flag he dares to 
show 
His passport to the market of her foe, 
| Yet, yet, I own, so venerably dear 
cording to the ancient mode, took wages from 
his constituents. The Commons have, sinee 
| then, much changed their pay masters.—See 
the State Poems for some rude but spirited ef- 
| fusions of Andrew Marvell. 

{ The following artless speech of Sir Francis 
Winnington, in the reign of Charles the See- 
ond, will amuse those who are fully aware of 
the perfection we have since attained in that 
| system of government whose humble begin- 
nings so much astonished the worthy baronet. 
“T did observe (says he) that all those who 
had pensions, and most of those who had of- 
fices, voted all of a side, as they were directed 
by some great officer, exactly as if their 
| business in this House had been to preserve 
| their pensions and offices, and not to make 
jlaws for the good of them who sent them, 
| here.” He alludes to that parliament whieh 
was called, par excellence, the Pensionary Par- 
liament. 


CORRUPTION; A POETIC EPISTLE. 


203 


Are Freedom’s grave old anthems to my 
ear, [sung, 

That I enjoy them, though by traitors 

And reverence Scripture even from Sa- 
tan’s tongue, 

Nay, when the constitution has expired, 

ΤΊ] have such men, like Trish wakers, 


hired 
To chant old ‘‘ Habeas Corpus” by its 
side, [died ? 


And ask, in purchased ditties, why it 


See yon smooth lord, whom nature’s 

plastic pains 

Would seem to’ve fashion’d for those 
Eastern reigns 

When eunuchs flourish’d, 
nerveless things 

As men rejected were the chosen of 
Kings;—* 

Eyen he, forsooth, (oh fraud, of all the 
worst !) [first— 

Dared to assume the patriot’s name at 

Thus Pitt began, and thus begin his 
apes; 

Thus devils, when first raised, take 
pleasing shapes. 


and such 


* According to Xenophon, the chief cireum- 
stance which recommended these creatures to 
the services of Eastern princes was the igno- 
minious station they held in society, and the 
probability of their being, upon this account, 
more devoted to the will and caprice of ἃ mas- 
ter, from whose notice alone they derived con- 
sideration, and in whose favor they might seek 
refuge from the general contempt of mankind.— 
Αδοξοι οντες οἱ evvovyxot mapa τοις ἀλλοις avOpw- 
ποις και δια tovto δεσποτου επικουρου προσδεον- 
ται.---Ῥ α I doubt whether even an Eastern 
prinee would have chosen an entire administra- 
tion upon this principle. 


ἘΠ And in the eup an Union shall be thrown.” 
Hamlet. 


t Among the many measures, which, since 
the Revolution, have contributed to increase 
the influence of the throne, and to feed up this 
“ Aaron’s serpent” of the constitution to its 
present health and respectable magnitude, 
there have been few more nutritive than the 
Scotch and Irish Unions. Sir John Packer 
said, in a debate upon the former question, 
that ‘‘ He would submit it to the House, wheth- 
er men who had basely betrayed their trust, 
by giving up their independent constitution, 
were fit to be admitted into the English House 
of Commons.”’ But Sir John would have known, 
if he had not been out of place at the time, that 
the plianey of such materials was not among 
the least of their recommendations. Indeed, 
the promoters of the Scotch Union were by no 
means disappointed in the leading object of 
their measure, for the triumphant majorities of 
the court-party in parliament may be dated 


But oh, poor Ireland! if revenge be 
sweet 

For centuries of wrong, for dark deceit 

And with’ring insult—for the Union 
thrown 

Into thy bitter cup,t when that alone 

Of slavery’s draught was wanting{—if 
for this 

Revenge be sweet, thou hast that de- 
mon’s bliss ; 

For, sure, ’tis more than hell’s revenge 
to see 

That England trusts the men who’ye 
ruin’d thee ;— 

That, in these awful days, when every 
hour 

Creates some new or blasts some an- 
cient power, 

When proud Napoleon, like th’ enchant- 
ed shield$ 

Whose light compell’d each wond’ring 
foe to yield, 

With peletut lustre blinds the brave and 
ree, 

And dazzles Europe into slavery,— 

That, in this hour, when patriot zeal 
should guide, 


from the admission of the 45and the 16. Once 
or twice, upon the alteration of their law of 
treason and the imposition of the malt-tax, 
(measures which were in direct violation of the 
Act of Union,) these worthy North Britons 
arrayed themselves in opposition to the court ; 
but finding this effort for their country unavail- 
ing, they prudently determined to think thence- 
forward of themselves, and few men have ever 
kept to a laudable resolution more firmly. The 
effect of Irish representation on the liberties of 
England will be no less perceptible and perma- 
nent. 


OvS’ oye Tavpov 

Λείπεται avteAAovtos.* 
The infusion of such gheep aud useful ingredi- 
ents as my Lord L., Mr. Ὁ. B., &c¢., &ce., into 
the legislature, cannot but act as a powerful 
alterative on the constitution, and clear it by 
degrees of all troublesome humors of honesty. 


§ The magician’s shield in Ariosto: 
E tolto per verti dello splendore 
La libertate a loro. Cant. 2. 


We are told that Ceesar’s code of morality was 
contained in the following lines of Euripides, 
which that great man frequently repeated :— 


Eurep yap αδικειν χρὴ τυραννιδὸς περι 
Καλλιστον αδικειν᾽ τάλλα δ᾽ ευσεβειν χρεων. 


This is also, as it appears, the moral code of 
Napoleon. 


* From Aratus, (v. 116.) a poet who wrote upon as- 
tronomy, though, as Cicero assures us, he knew noth 
ing whatever about the subject : Just as the great Har 
vey wrote ‘: De Generatione,” though he had as little 


! to do with the matter as my Lerd Viseount Ὁ. 


204 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


When Mind should rule, and—Fox 
should not have died, 

All that devoted England can oppose 

To enemies made fiends and friends 
made foes, 

Is the rank refuse, the despised re- 
mains 

Of that unpitying power, whose whips 
and chains 


Towards other shores, and woo th’ em- 
brace of France ;— [fit 


Those hack’d and tainted tools, so foully | 


For the grand artisan of mischief, P—tt, 

So useless ever but in vile employ, 

So weak to save, so vigorous to destroy— 

Such are the men that guard thy threat- 
en’d shore, [no more. 

Oh England! sinking England!* boast 


* The following prophetic remarks occur in a 
letter written by Sir Robert Talbot, who at- 
tended the Duke of Bedford to Paris in 1762. 
Talking of states which have grown powerful 
in commerce, he says, ‘‘According to the na- 
ture and common course of things, there is a 
confederacy against them, and consequently in 
the same proportion as they increase in riches, 
they approach to destruction. The address of 
our King William, in making all Europe take 
the alarm at Franee, has brought that country 
before us near that inevitable period. We 
must necessarily have our turn, and Great Bri- 
tain will attain it as soon as France shall have 
a declaimer with organs as proper for that po- 
litical purpose as were those of our William the 
Third Without doubt, my Lord, 
Great Britain must lower her flight. Europe 
will remind us of the balance of commerce. as 
she has reminded France of the balance of 
power. Theaddressof our statesmen will im- 
mortalize them by contriviny for us a descent 
which shall not be a fall, by making us rather 
resemble Holland than Carthage and Venice.” — 
Letters on the French Nation. 

t The king-deposing doctrine, notwithstand- 
ing its many mischievous absurdities, was of 
no little service to the canse of political liberty, 
by inculeating the right of resistance to tyrants, 
and asserting the will of the people to be the 
only true fountain of power. Bellarmine, the 
most powerful of the advocates for papal an- 
thority, was one of the first to maintain (De 
Pontiff. lib. i, cap. 7) ‘'that kings have not 
their authority or office immediately from God 
nor his law; But only from the law of nations ;’ 
and in King James’s ‘‘Defence of the Rights 
of Kings against Cardinal Perron,” we find his 
Majesty expressing strong indignation against 
the Cardinal for having asserted ‘‘that to the 
deposing of a king the consent of the people 
must be obtained ’’—“ for by these words (says 
James) the people are exalted above the king, 
and made the judges of the king’s deposing,” 
p. 421—Eyvyen in Muriana's celebrated book, 
where the nonsense of bigotry does not inter- 
fere, there may be found many liberal and en- 


[glance, | 
Drove Ireland first to turn, with harlot. 


INTOLERANCE; 


A SATIRE. 


‘ This clamor, which pretends to be raised 
for the safety of religion, has almost worn out 
| the very appearance of it, and rendered us not 
only the most divided but the most immoral 
| people upon the face of the earth.” 
| ADDvISON, Freeholder, No. 37. 


STarT not, my friend, nor think the 
muse will stain 

Her classic fingers with the dust profane 

Of Bulls, Decrees, and all those thun- 
(ring scrolls, 

Which took such freedom once with 
royal souls,t 

When heaven was yet the pope’s ex- 
clusive trade, [they’re made. 

And kings were damn’d as fast as now 


lightened views of the principles of govern- 
ment, of the restraints which should be imposed 
upon royal power, of the subordination of the 


| Throne to the interests of the people, &e. &c. 


(De Rege et Regis Institutione. See partien 
larly lib. i. cap. 6, 8, and 9.)—It is rather re- 
markable, too, that England should be indebted 
to another Jesuit for the earliest defence of 
that principle upon which the Revolution was 
founded, namely, the right of the people to 
change the succession.—(See Doleman’'s “ Con- 
ferences,’ written in support of the title of the 
Infanta of Spain ageinst that of James I.)— 
When Englishmen, therefore, say that Popery 
is the religion of slavery, they should not only 
recollect that their own boasted constitution is 
the work and bequest of popish ancestors: 
they should not only remember the laws of Ed 
ward IIT., ‘‘under whom (says Bolingbroke) 
the constitution of our parliaments, and the 
whole form of onr government, became reduced 
into better form; but they should know that 
even the errors charged on Popery have leaned 
to the cause of hberty, and that Papists were 
the first promulgators of the doctrines which 
led to the Revolution.—In general, however, 
the political principles of the Roman Catholics 
have been described as happened to suit the 
temporary convenience of their oppressors, and 
have been represented alternately as slavish or 
refractory, according as a pretext for torment- 
ing them was wanting. he same inconsist- 
ency has marked every other imputation against 
them. - They are charged with laxity in the 
observance of oaths, though an oath has been 
found. sufficient to shut them out from all 
worldly advantages. If they reject certain de 
cisions of their church, they are said to be 


skeptics and bad Christians; if they admit 
those very decisions, they are branded as bigots 
and bad subjects. Weare told that confidence 
and kindness will make them enemies to the 
government, though we know that exclusion 
and injuries have bardly prevented them from 
being its friends. In short, nothing can better 
illustrate the misery of those shifts and evasions 
by which a long course of cowardly injustice 


INTOLERANCE; A SATIRE. 


205 


No, no—let D—gen—n search the papal 
chair* [there ; 
For fragrant treasures long forgotten 
And, as the witch of sunless Lapland 
thinks [stinks, 
That little swarthy gnomes delight in 
Let sallow P—re—y—l1 snuff up the gale 
Which wizard D—gen—n’s gathered 
sweets exhale. [to scorn 
Enough for me, whose heart has learn’d 
Bigots alike in Rome or England born, 
Who loathe the venom whencesoe’er it 
springs, [kings,— 
From popes or lawyers, pastry-cooks or 
Enough for me to laugh and weep by 
turns, 


As mirth provokes, or indignation burns, | 


As C—nn—ng vapors, or as France suc- 
ceeds, 
As H—wk—sb'ry proses, or as Ireland 


And thou, my friend, if, in these 
headlong days, [plays 
When bigot Zeal her drunken antics 
So near a precipice, that men the while 
Look breathless on and shudder while 
they smile— [look 

Tf, in such fearful days, thou’lt dare to 
To hapless Ireland, to this rankling nook 


Which Heayen hath freed from poison- | 


ous things in yain, 

While G—ff—rd’s tongue and M—s- 
gr—ve’s pen remain— 

If thou hast yet no golden blinkers got 

To shade thine eyes from this devoted 
spot, [the world they be, 


Whose wrongs, though blazon’d o’er | 


Placemen alone are privileged not to 
see— [shamrock wreathes 

Oh! turn awhile, and, though the 

My homely harp, yet shall the song it 
breathes 


must be supported, than the whole history of | 


Great Britain’s conduct towards the Catholic 
part of her empire. 

*The ‘Stella Stercoraria” of the popes.— 
The Right Honorable and learned Doctor will 
find an engraving of this chair in eo 
“Disquisitio Historica de Papé Femina,” 
(p. 118) ; and I recommend it as a model for the 


to take in the privy-council of Ireland. 

*When Innocent X. was entreated to decide 
the controversy between the Jesuits and the 
Jansenists, he answered that ‘‘he had been 
bred a lawyer, and had therefore nothing to do 
with divinity.”—It were to be wished that 
some of our English pettifoggers knew their 
own fit element as well as Pope Innocent X. 

τ Notthe C—md—n whospeaks thus of Ireland: 

“To wind up all, whether we regard the 


[bleeds ! | 


Of Ireland’s slavery, and of Ireland’s 


woes, 
Live, when the memory of her tyrant 
foes [warn, 


Shall but exist, all future knayes to 

Embalm’d in hate and canonized by 
scorn ; [profound 

When C—stl—r—gh, in sleep still more 

Than his own opiate tongue now deals 
around, [day 

Shall wait th’ impeachment of that awful 

Which even his practised hand can’t 
bribe away. 


Yes, my dear friend, wert thou but 
near me now, [brow 

To see how Spring lights up on Erin’s 
Smiles that shine out, unconquerably 
fair, [C—md—nf there,— 

Even through the blood-marks left by 
Couldst thou but see what verdure paints 
the sod, [have trod, 
Which none but tyrants and their slaves 


| And didst thou know the spirit, kind and 


brave, [slave, 
That warms the soul of each insulted 
Who, tired with struggling, sinks be- 
neath his lot, [forgot$— 
And seems by all but watchful France 
Thy heart would burn—yes, even thy 
Pittite heart [blooming part 


| Would burn, to think, that such a 


Of the world’s garden, rich in nature’s 
charms, [arms, 
And fill’d with social souls and vigorous 


/Should be the victim of that canting 


crew, 


_Sosmooth, so godly,—yet so devilish too; 
| Who, arm’d at once with prayer-books 


and with whips, || 
Blood on their hands, and Scripture on 
their lips, 


fruitfulness of the soil, the advantage of the 
sea, with so many commodious havens, or the 
natives themselves, who are warlike, ingenious, 
handsome, and well-complexioned, soft-skinned 
and yery nimble, by reason of the pliantness of 
their muscles, this Island isin many respects so 
happy, that Giraldus might very well say, 

c 


᾿ | ‘Nature had regarded with more favorab 
fashion of that seat which the Doctor is about | 


eyes than ordinary this Kingdom of Zephyr.’ ” 

§The example of toleration, which Bonaparte 
has held forth, will, I fear, produce no other ef- 
fect than that of determining the British gov- 
ernment to persist, from the very spiritof opposi- 
tion, in their own old system of intolerance and 
injustice; just asthe Siamese blacken their teeth, 
“Hecause,’’ they say, ‘‘the devil has white ones.”* 

|One of the unhappy results of the contro- 


*See Histoire Naturelle et Polit, du Royaume de 
Siam, Ac. 


206 


Tyrants by creed, and torturers by text, 
Make this life hell, in honor of the next / 
Your R—desd—les, P—re—vy—ls,— 

great, glorious Heaven, [given, 
If I’m presumptuous, be my tongue for- 
When here I swear, by my soul’s hope 

of rest, [blest 
I’d rather have been born, ere man was 


yersy between Protestants and Catholies, is the 
mutual exposure which their eriminations and 
recriminations have produced. In vain do the 
Protestants charge the Papists with closing the 
door of salvation upon others, while many of 
their own writings and articles breathe the 
same uncharitable spirit. No canon of Con- 
stance or Lateran ever damned heretics more 
effectually than the eighth of the Thirty-nine 
Articles consiens to perdition every single mem- 
ber of the Greek church; and. doubt whether 
a more sweeping clause of damnation was ever 
proposed in the most bigoted council, than that 
which the Calvinistic theory of predestination 
in the seventeenth of these Articles exhibits. 
It is true that no liberal Protestant avows such 
exclusive opinions; that every honest clergy- 
man must feel a pang while te subscribes to 
them; that some even assert the Athanasian 
Creed to be the forgery of one Vigilius Tapsen- 
sis, in the beginning of the sixth century, and 
that eminent divines, like Jortin, have not hesi- 
tated to say, ‘* There are propositions contained 
in our Liturgy and Articles which no man of 
common sense amongst us believes.”* But 
while all this is freely conceded to Protestants ; 
while nobody doubts their sincerity, when they 
declare that their articles are not essentials of 
faith, but a collection of opinions which have 
been promulgated by fallible men, and from 
many of which they feel themselves justified in 
dissenting,—while so much liberty of retracta- 
tion is allowed to Protestants upon their own 
declared and subseribed Articles of religion, is 
it not strange that a similar indulgence showd 
be so obstinately refused to the Catholies upon 
tenets which their church has uniformly re- 
sisted and condemned, in every country where 
it has independently flourished ? When the 
Catholics say, “The Decree of the Couneil of 
Lateran, which you object to us, has no claim 
whatever upon either our faith or our reason ; 
it did not even profess to contain any doctrinal 
decision, but was merely a judicial proceeding 
of that assembly; and it would be as fair for us 
to impute a wife-killing doctrine to the Protes- 
tants, beeause their first pope, Henry VIIL., 
was sanctioned in an indulgence of that pro- 

ensity, as for you to conclude that we have in- 
ἔπε ρα a king-deposing taste from the acts of 


the Conneil of Lateran, or the secular preten- | 


sions of our popes. With respect, too, to the 
Decree of the Couneil of Constance, upon the 
strength of which you accuse us of breaking 


faith with heretics, we do not hesitate to pro- | 


nounece thut Decree a calumnious forgery, a 
forgery. too, so obvious and ill-fabrieated, that 
none but our enemies haye ever ventured to 
give it the slightest credit for authenticity.” 


* Strictures on the Articles, Subscriptions, te, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


With the pure dawn of Revelation’s 
light, ({night, 

Yes,—rather plunge me back in Pagan 

And take my chance with Socrates for 
bliss, ἢ 

Than be the Christian of a faith like this, 

Which builds on heavenly cant its earth- 
ly sway, 


When the Catholics make these declarations, 
(and they are almost weary with making them,) 
when they show, too, by their conduct, that 
these declarations are sincere, aud that their 
faith and morals are no more regulated by the 
absurd decrees of old councils and’popes, than 
their science is influenced by the papal ana- 
thema against that Irishmant who first found 
out the Antipodes,—is it not strange that so 
many still wilfully distrust what every good 
man is so much interested in believing? That 
so many should prefer the dark-lantern of the 
15th century to the sunshine of intellect which 
has since overspread the world ? and that every 
dabbler in theology, from Mr. Le Mesurier 
down to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
should dare to oppose the rubbish of Constance 
and Lateran to the bright and triumphant. 
progress of justice, generosity, and truth? 

*In a singular work, written by one Francis- 
cus Collius, ‘“‘uponthe Souls of the Pagans,” 
the author discusses, with much coolness and 
erudition, all the probable chances of salvation 
upon which a heathen philosopher might caleu- 
late. Consigning to perdition, without much 
difficulty, Plato, Socrates, &e., the only sage at 
whose fate he seems to hesitate is Pythagoras, 
in consideration of his golden thigh, and the 
many miracles which he performed. But, hav- 
ing balanced a little his claims, and finding rea- 
son to father all these miracles on the devil, he 
at length, in the twenty-fifth chapter, decides 
upon damning him also. (De Animabus Pa- 
ganorum, lib.iv. cap. 20 and 25.)—The poet 

Jante compromises the matter with the Pa- 
gans, and gives them a neutral territory or lim- 
bo of their own, where their employment, it 
must be owned, is not very enviable.—‘ Senza 


/speme yvivemo in desio.”—Cant. iv.—Among 


the numerous errors imputed to Origen, he is 
accused of Having denied the eternity of future 
punishment; and, if he never advanced a more 
irrational doctrine, we may venture, I think, to 
forgive him. He went so far, however, as to 
include the devil himself in the general hell- 
delivery which he supposed would one day or 
other take place, and in this St. Augustin 
thinks him rather too mereiful—‘‘ Miserecor- 
dior profecto fuit Origenes, a et ipsum diabo- 
lum,” &e, (De Civitat. Dei, lib. xxi. eap. 17.)— 
According to St. Jerom, it was Origen’s opin- 


‘ion that “the devil himself, after a certain 


time, will be as well off asthe Angel Gabriel!” 
—‘TIdipsum fore Gabrielem quod diabolum.” 
(See his Hpistle to Pammachius.) But Halloix, 


+Virgilins, surnamed Solivagus, a native of Ireland, 
who maintained, in the 8th century, the doctrine of 
the Antipodes, and was anathematized accordingly by 
the Pope. John Scotus Erigena, another Irishman, 
was the first that ever wrote against transubstantla- 
tion, 


-- 


INTOLERANCE; A SATIRE. 


And in a convert mourns to lose a prey; 


Which grasping human hearts with dou- 
ble hold,— 

Like Daniie’s lover mixing God and 
gold,*— 


Corrupts both state and church, and 
makes an oath [both ; 

The knave and atheist’s passport into 

Which, while it dooms dissenting souls 
to know 

Nor bliss above nor liberty below, 


in his Defence of Origen, denies strongly that 
his learned father had any such misplaced ten- 
derness for the devil. 

*Mr. Fox, in his Speech on the Repeal of the 
Test Act, (1790,) thus condemns the intermix- 
ture of religion with the political constitution 
ofa state:—‘‘ What purpose (he asks) can it 
serve, except the baleful purpose of communi- 
cating and receiving contamination? Under 
such an alliance corruption must alight upon 
the one, and slavery overwhelm the other.” 

Locke, too, says of the connection between 
church and state, ‘‘The boundaries on both 
sides are fixed and immoveable. He jumbles 
heaven and earth together, the things most re- 
mote and opposite, who mixes these two soci- 
eties, which are in their original, end, business, 
andin everything, perfectly distinct and infi- 
nitely different from each other.”—First Let- 
ter on Toleration. 

The corruptions introduced into Christianity 
may be dated from the period of its establish- 
ment under Constantine, nor could all the 
splendor which it then acquired atone for the 
peace and purity which it lost. 

tThere has been, after all, quite as much 
intolerance among Protestants as among Pa- 
pists. According to the hackneyed quotation— 


Tliacos intra muros pecatur et extra. 


Even the great champion of the Reformation, 
Melanehthon, whom Jortin calls *‘ a divine of 
much milduess and good-nature,” thus express- 
es hisapprobation on the burning of Serve- 
tus: ‘‘ Legi(he says to Bullinger) que de Ser- 
yeti blasphemiis respondistis, et pietatem ac 
judicia vestra probo. Judicio etiam senatum 
Genevyensem recté fecisse, quod hominem per- 
tinacem et non omissurum ‘Ginephemial sustu- 
lit; ac miratus sum esse qui severitatem illam 
improbent.” I have great pleasure in contrast- 
ing with these “ mild and good-natured” senti- 
ments the following words of the Papist Bal- 
uze, in addressing his friend Conringius: ‘‘ In- 
terim amemus, mi Conringi, et tametsi diver- 
sas opiniones tuemur in causé religionis, mori- 
bus tamen diversi non simus, qui eadem litera- 
rum studia sectamur.’—Herman. Conring. 
Epistol. par. seeund. p. 56. 

Hume tells us that the Commons, in the be- 
ginning of Charles the First’s reign, ‘‘ attacked 
Montague, one of the King’s chaplains, on ac- 
count of a moderate book which he had lately 
composed, and which, to their great disgust, 
saved virtuous Catholics, as well as other Chris- 

*Sir John Bourne, Principal Secretary of State to 
Queen Mary, 


207 


Adds the slave’s suffering to the sinner’s 
fear, 

And, lest he ’scape hereafter, racks him 
here !f 

But no—far other faith, far milder beams 

Of heavenly justice warm the Christian’s 
dreams ; 

His creed is writ on Mercy’s page 
above, . 

By the pure hands of all-atoning Love ; 

He weeps to see abused Religion twine 


tians, from eternal torments.’’—In the same 
manner a complaint was lodged before the 
Lords of the Council against that excellent wri- 
ter Hooker, for having, in a Sermon against 
Popery, attempted to save many of his Popish 
ancestors from ignorance.—To these examples 
of Protestant toleration I shall beg leave to op- 
pose the following extract from a letter of old 
Roger Ascham, (the tutor of Queen Elizabeth,) 
which is preserved among the Harrington Pa- 
pers, and was written in 1566, to the Earl of 
Leicester, complaining of the Archbishop 
Young, who had taken away his prebend in 
the echureh of York: ‘Master Bourne* did 
never grieve me half so moche in offering me 
wrong, as Mr. Dudley and the Byshopp ot York 
doe, in taking away my right. No byshopp in 
Q. Mary’s time would have so deult with me: 
nor Mr. Bourne hymself, when Winchester 
lived, durst have so dealt with me. For suche 
good estimation in those dayes even the learn- 
edst and wysest men, as Gardener and Cardi- 
nal Poole, made of my poore service, that al- 
though they knewe perfectly that in religion, 
both by open wrytinge and pryvie talke, I 
was contrarye unto them; yea, when Sir Fran- 
cis Englefield by name did’ note me speciallye 
at the Council-board, Gardener would not suf- 
fer me to be called thither, nor touched ells- 
wheare, saiinge suche words of me in a lettre, 
as, though lettres cannot, I blushe to write 
them to your lordshipp. Winehester’s good- 
willstoode not in speaking faire and wishing 
well, but he did in deeds that for met whereby’ 
my wife and childrenshall live the better when I 
am gone.” (See Nugw Antique, vol. i. pp. 98, 
99.) —Ifmen who acted thus were bigots, what 
shall we eall Mr. P—re—y—1? 

In Suteliffe’s “Survey of Popery”’ there oe- 
curs the following assertion :—‘ Papists that 
positively hold the heretical and false doe- 
trines ofthe modern church of Rome, cannot 
possibly be saved.”’-—As a coutrast to this and 
other specimens of Protestant liberality, which 
it would be much more easy than pleasant to 
collect, I refer my reader to the Declaration of 
La Pére Courayer ;—doubting not that, whilehe 
reads the sentiments of this pious man upon 
toleration, he will feel inclined to exclaim with 
Belsham: ‘‘ Blush, ye Protestant bigots! and 
be confounded at the comparison of your own 
wretched and malignant prejudices with the 
generous and enlarged ideas, the noble and ani- 
mated language of this Popish priest.”"—2Lssays, 
XXVii. p. 86. 

+By Gardener’s favor Ascham long held his fellow- 
ship, though not resident, 


208 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Round Tyranny’s coarse brow her wreath 
divine ; [raise 
And he, while round him sects and nations 
To the one God their varying notes of 
praise, [be, 
Blesses each voice, whate’er its tone may 
That serves to swell the general har- 
mony. ἢ 
Such was the spirit, gently, grandly 
bright, [with light ; 
That fill’d, oh Fox! thy peaceful soul 
While free and spacious as that ambient 
air [care, 
Which folds our planet in its circling 
The mighty sphere of thy transparent 
mind {all mankind. 
Embraced the world, and breathed for 
Last of the great, farewell !—yet not the 


last— [thee be past, 
Though Britain’s sunshine hour with 
Terne still one ray of glory gives, 
And feels but half thy loss while Grat- 
tan lives. 


APPENDIX. 


To the foregoing Poem, as first pub- 
lished, were subjoined, in the shape ofa 
Note, or Appendix, the following re- 
marks on the History and Music of Ire- 
land. This fragment was originally in- 
tended to form part of a Preface to the 
Trish Melodies ; but afterwards, for some 
reason which I do not now recollect, was 
thrown aside. 

* * * 

Our history, for many centuries past, 
is creditable neither to our neighbors nor 
ourselves, and ought not to be read by 
any Irishman who wishes either to love 
England or to feel proud of Ireland. 
The loss of independence very early de- 
based our character; and our feuds and 
rebellions, though frequent and ferocious, 
but seldom displayed that generous spirit 
of enterprise with which the pride of an 
independent monarchy so long dignified 
the struggles of Scotland. It is true 
this island has given birth to heroes who, 


* * 


*“Tia tolérance est la chose du monde la 
plus propre & ramener le siecle d’or, et ἃ faire 
un concert et une harmonie de plusieurs voix et 
instruments de différents tons et notes, aussi 


agréable pour le moins que l’uniformité dune 
seulevoix.” Bayle, Cominentaire Philosophique, 
&c., part ii, chap, yi—DBoth Bayle and Locke 


under more favorable circumstances, 
might have left in the hearts of their 
countrymen recollections as dear as 
those of a Bruce ora Wallace; but success 
was wanting to consecrate resistance, 
their cause was branded with the dis- 
heartening name of treason, and their 
oppressed country was such a blank 
among nations, that, like the adventures 
of those woods which Rinaldo wished to 
explore, the fame of their actions was 
lost in the obscurity of the place where 
they achieved them. 
Errando in quelli bosehi 

Trovar potria strane avventure e molte, 

Macomei luoghi i fatti ancor son fosehi, 

Che non se π᾿ ha notizia le piivolte.4 

Hence it is that the annals of Ireland, 

through a lapse of six hundred years, 
exhibit not one of those shining names, 
not one of those themes of national 
pride, from which poetry borrows her 
noblest inspiration; and that. history, 
which ought to be the richest garden of 
the Muse, yields no growth to her in this 
hapless island but cypress and weeds. In 
truth, the poet who would embellish his 
song with allusions to Drish names and 
events, must becontented toseek them in 
those early periods when our character 
was yet unalloyed and original, before 
the impolitic craft of our conquerors had 
divided, weakened, and disgraced us. 
The sole traits of heroism, indeed, 
which he can venture at this day to 
commemorate, either with safety to him- 
self, or honor to his country, are to be 
looked for in those ancient times when 
the native monarchs of Ireland display- 
ed and fostered virtues worthy of a 
better age; when our Malachies wore 
around their necks collars of gold which 
they had won in single combat from the 
invader,f and our Briens deserved and 
won the warm affections of a people by 
exhibiting all the most estimable quali- 
ties of a king. It may be said that the 
magic of tradition has shed a charm over 
this remote period, to which it is in re- 
ality but little entitled, and that most of 
the pictures, which we dwell on so fond- 


would have treated the subject of Toleration ina 
manner much more worthy of themselves and 
of the cause if they had written in an age less 
distracted by religious prejudices. 

| Ariosto, eanto iv. 

¢See Warner’s History of Ireland, vol. i. 
book ix. 


INTOLERANCE; A SATIRE. 


209 


ly, of days when this island was distin- 
guished amidst the gloom of Europe, by 
the sanctity of her morals, the spirit of 
her knighthood, and the polish of her 
schools, are little more than the inven- 
tions of national partiality, —that bright 
but spurious offspring which vanity en- 
genders upon ignorance, and with which 
the first records of eyery people abound. 
But the skeptic is scarcely to be envied 
who would pause for stronger proofs 
than we already possess of the early 
glories of Ireland; and were even the 
veracity of all these proofs surrendered, 
yet who would not fly to such flattering 
fictions from the sad degrading truths 
which the history of later times presents 
tous? 

The language of sorrow, however, is, 
in general, best suited to our Music, and 

«with themes of this nature the poet may 
be amply supplied. There is scarcely a 
page of our annals that will not furnish 
hhn a subject, and while the national 
Muse of other countries adorns her tem- 
ple proudly with trophies of the past, in 
Ireland her melancholy altar, like the 
shrine of Pity at Athens, is to be known 
only by the tears that are shed upon it; 
“ laerymis altaria sudant.’’* 

There is a well-known story, related 
of the Antiochians under the reign of 
Theodosius, which is not only honorable 
to the powers of music in general, but 
which applies so peculiarly to the mourn- 
ful melodies of Ireland, that I cannot resist 
the temptation of introducing it here.— 
The piety of Theodosius would have been 
admirable, had it not been stained with 


* Statius, Thebaid. lib. xii. 

“ΠΑ sort of civil excommunication, (says 
Gibbon,) which separated them from their fel- 
low-citizens by a peculiar brand of infamy; and 
this declaration of the supreme magistrate 
tended to justify, or at least to excuse, the in- 
sults of a fanatic populace. The sectaries 
were gradually disqualified for the possession 
of honorable or lucrative imployments, and 
Theodosius was satisfied with his own justice 
when he decreed, that, as the Eunomians dis- 
tinguished the nature of the Son from that of 
the Father, they should be incapable of making 
their wills, or of receiving any advantage from 
testamentary donations.” 


intolerance ; but under his reign was, I 
believe, first set the example of a disquali- 
fying penal code enacted by Christians 
against Christians.t Whether his inter- 
ference with the religion of the Antioch- 
jans had any share in the alienation of 
their loyalty is not expressly ascertained 
by historans; but several edicts, heavy 
taxation, and the rapacity and insolence 
of the men whom he sent to govern 
them, sufficiently account for the dis- 
contents of a warm and susceptible peo- 
ple. Repentance soon followed the 
crimes into which their impatience had 
hurried them ; but the vengeance of the 
Emperor was implacable, and punish- 
ments of the most dreadful nature hung 
over the city of Antioch, whose devoted 
inhabitants, totally resigned to despond- 
ence, wandered through the streets and 
public assemblies, giving utterance to 
their grief in dirges of the most touching 
lamentation.t At length Flavianus, their 
bishop, whom they had sent to inter- 
cede with Theodosius, finding all his 
entreaties coldly rejected, adopted the 
expedient of teaching these songs of 
sorrow which he had heard from the 
lips of his unfortunate countrymen to 
the miustrels who performed for the 
Emperor at table. The heart of Theo- 
dosius could not resist this appeal ; tears 
fell fast into his cup while he listened, 
and the Antiochians were forgiven.— 
Surely, if music ever spoke the misfor- 
tunes of a people, or could ever concili- 
ate forgiveness of their errors, the -mu- 
sic of Ireland ought to possess those 
powers. 

{ MeAn τινα ολοφυρμου πλήρη και συμπαθειας 
συνθεμενοι, Tats μελωδιαις επῃδον.--- Nicephor. 
lib. xii. cap. 48, This story is told also in So- 
zomen, lib. vii. cap. 23; but unfortunately Chry- 
sostom says nothing whatever about it, and he 
not only had the best opportunities of informa- 
tion, but was too fond of music, as appears by 
his praises of psalmody, Mga tity m Psalm 
xli.,) to omit such a flattering illustration of its 
powers. He imputes their reconciliation to the 
interference of the Antiochian solitaries, while 
Zozimus attributes it to the remonstrances of 


the sophist Libanius.—Gibbon, Ithink, does not 
even allude to this story of the musicians. 


210 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


THE SKEPTIC; 


A PHILOSOPHICAL SATIRE: 


1808. 


Νομον παντων βασιλεα. 
PINDAR, ap. Herodot. lib. iii. 


PREFACE, 


THE Skeptical Philosophy of the An- 
cients has been no less misrepresented 
than the Epicurean. Pyrrho may per- 
haps have carried it to rather an irra- 
tional excess ;—but we must not believe, 
with Beattie, all the absurdities imputed 
to this philosopher; and it appears to 
me that the doctrines of the school, as 
explained by Sextus Empiricus,* are 
far more suited to the wants and infirmi- 
ties of human reason, as well as more 
conducive to the mild virtues of humility 
and patience, than any of those systems 
of parlouophy which preceded the intro- 
duction of Christianity. The Skeptics 
may be said to haye held a middle path 
between the Dogmatists and Academi- 
cians; the former of whom boasted that 
they had attained the truth, while the 
latter denied that any attainable truth 
existed. The Skeptics, however, with- 
out either asserting or denying its exist- 
ence, professed to be modestly and anx~ 
iously in search of it; or, as St. Augus- 
tine expresses it, in his liberal tract 
against the Manicheeans, ‘‘nemo nostrum 
dicat jam se inyenisse veritatem; sic 
eam queeramus quasi ab utrisque nesci- 
atur.t” From this habit of impartial 
investigation, and the necessity which 


only every system of philosophy, but 
every art and science .which professed 
to lay its basis in truth, they necessarily 
took a wider range of erudition, and 
were far more travelled in the regions of 
philosophy than those whom conviction 
or bigotry had domesticated in any par- 
ticular system. It required all the 
learning of dogmatism to overthrow the 
dogmatism of learning; and the Skep- 
tics may be said to resemble, in this re- 
spect, that ancient incendiary who stole 
from the altar the fire with which he de- 
stroyed the temple. This advantage 
over all the other sects is allowed to 
them even by Lipsius, whose treatise on 
the miracles of the Virgo Hallensis will 
sufficiently save him from all suspicion 
of skepticism. ‘‘ Labore, Ingenio, me- 
moria,” he says, ‘‘supra omnes pene 
philosophos fuisse.—Quid nonne omnia 
aliorum secta.tenere debuerunt et inqui- 
rere, si poterunt refellere? res dicit. 
Nonne orationes varias, raras, subtiles 
inveniri ad tam receptas, claras, certas 
(ur videbatur) sententias evertendas ?” 
&e. &e.t—Manuduet. ad Philosoph. Sto- 
ic. Dissert. 4. 

Between the skepticism of the ancients 
and the moderns the great difference is, 
that the former doubted for the purpose 
of investigating, as may be exemplified 


it imposed upon them, of studying not | by the third book of Aristotle’s Meta- 


* Pyrrh. Hypoth.—The reader may find a | f Lib. contra Epist. Manichei quam yocant 
tolerably clear abstract of this work of Sextus | Fundamenti, Op. Paris. tom. vi. 


Empiricus in La Vérité des,Sciences, by Mer- 
senne, liv. 1., chap. ii., &o. 


} See Martin, Schoockius de Scepticismo, who 
endeayors,—weakly, Ithink,—to refute this 
opinion of Lipsius. 


THE SKEPTIC; A SATIRE. 


physics,” while the latter investigate for 
the purpose of doubting, as may be seen 
through most of the philosophical works 
of Hume. { Indeed, the Pyrrhonism of 
latter days is not only more subtle than 
that of antiquity, but, it must be con- 
fessed, more dangerous in its tendency. 
The happiness of a Christian depends so 
essentially upon his belief, that it is but 
natural that he should feel alarm at the 
aig of doubt, lest it should steal by 
egrees into that region from which he 
is most interested in excluding it, and 
poison at last the very spring of his con- 
solation and hope. Still, however, the 
abuses of doubting ought not to deter a 
hilosophical mind from indulging mild- 
y and rationally in its use; and there 
is nothing, surely, more consistent with 
the meek spirit of Christianity, than that 
humble skepticism which professes not 
to extend its distrust beyond the circle 
of human pursuits, and the pretensions 
’ ofhuman knowledge. A follower of this 
school may be among the readiest to ad- 
mit the claims of a superintending In- 
telligence upon his faith and adoration : 
it is only to the wisdom of this weak 
world that he refuses, or at least delays, 
his assent;—it is only in passing through 
the shadow of earth that his mind un- 
dergoes the eclipse of skepticism. No 
follower of Pyrrho has ever spoken 
more strongly against the dogmatists 
than St. Paul himself, in the First Epis- 
tle to the Corinthians; and there are 
passages in Ecclesiastes and other parts 
of Scripture, which justify our utmost 
diffidence in all that human reason 
originates. Even the Skeptics of an- 
tiquity refrained carefully from the mys- 
teries of theology, and, in entering the 
temples of religion, laid aside their phi- 
losophy at the porch. Sextus Empiri- 


ἜΈστι δε τοις evropnaat βουλομενοις mpovpyou 
το διαπορησαι kaAws.—Metaphys. lib. iii., cap. 1. 

1 Neither Hume, however, nor Berkeley, are 
to be judged by the misrepresentations of Beat- 
tie, whose book, however amiably intended, 
puts forth a most unphilosophical appeal to 
popular feelings and prejudices, and is ἃ con- 
tinued petitio principii throughout. 

+ Lib. ili. cap. 1. 

§ “The particular bulk, number, figure, and 
motion of the parts of fire or snow are really in 
them, whether any one perceive them or not, 
and therefore they may be called real qualities, 
because they really exist in those bodies; but 
light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more 


211 


cus thus declares the acquiescence of 
his sect in the general belief of a divine 


and fore-knowing Power: Tw μεν βιῳ κατ- 


ακολουθουντες αδοξαστως φαμεν εἰναι geous, και 
σεβομεν ϑεους και προνοειν αὐτοὺς φαμεν. 
In short, it appears to me, that this ra- 
tional and well regulated skepticism is 
the only daughter of the Schools that 
can safely be selected as a handmaid 
for Piety. He who distrusts the light 
of reason, will be the first to follow a 
more luminous guide; and if, with an 
ardent love for truth, he has sought her 
in vain through the ways of this life, he 
will but turn with the more hope to that 
better world, where all is simple, true, 
and everlasting: for there is no paral- 
lax at the zenith ;—it is only near our 
troubled horizon that objects deceive us 
into vague and erroneous calculations. 


THE SKEPTIC. 


As the gay tint, that decks the vernal 
rose, § 

Not in the flower, butin our vision glows; 

As the ripe flavor of Falernian tides 


Not in the wine, but in our taste resides ; 


So when, with heartfelt tribute, we de- 
clare [ fair, 
That Marco’s honest and that Susan’s 
’Tis in our minds, and not in Susan’s eyes 
Or Marco’s life, the worth or beauty lies: 
For she, in flat-nosed China, would ap- 
pear 
As plain a thing as Lady Anne is here ; 
And one light joke at rich Loretto’s dome 
Would rank good Marco with the damn’d 
at Rome 


There’s no deformity so vile, so base, 
That ’tis not somewhere thought a 
charm, ἃ grace ; [beam 

No foul reproach, that may not steal a 


really in them than sickness or pain is in man- 
na. Take away the sensation of them ; letnot 
the eye see light or colors, nor the ears hear 
sounds; let the palate not taste, nor the nose 
smell, and all BA fers tastes, odors, and sounds, 
as they are such particular ideas, vanish and 
cease.’’—Locke, book ii., chap. 8. 

Bishop Berkeley, it is well known, extended 
this doctrine even to primary qualities, and 
supposed that matter itself has but an ideal 
existence. But, how are we to apply his the- 
ory to that period whieh preceded the forma- 


tion of man, when our system of sensible things 
| was produced, and the sun shone, and the wa- 


ters flowed, without any-sentient being to 


212 


From other suns, to bleach it to esteem. ἢ 
Ask, who is wise ?7—youw’ll find the self- 
same man 
A sage in France, a madman in Japan; 
And here some head beneath a mitre 
swells, [bells : 
Which there had tingled to a cap and 
Nay, there may yet some monstrous re- 
gion be, [free, 
Unknown to Cook, and from Napoleon 
Where C—stl—r—gh would for a pat- 
riot pass, [an ass. 
And mouthing M——ve scarce be deem’d 


“List not to resaon, (Hpicurus cries, ) 
““ But trust the senses, there conviction 
lies :—’t 
Alas! they judge not by a purer light, 
Nor keep their fountains more untinged 
and bright : [swain 
Habit so mars them, that the Russian 


witness them? The spectator, whom Whiston 
supplies, will scarcely solve the difficulty; “ΤῸ 
speak my mind freely,’’says he, ** Lbelieve that 
the Messias was there actually present.’—See 
Whiston, of the Mosaic Creation. 

* Boetius employs this argument of the Skep- 
tics among his consolatory reflections upon the 
emptiness of fame. ‘“‘ Quid quod diversarnm 
gentium mores inter se atque instituta discord- 
ant, ut quod apud alios lunde, apud alios sup- 

licio dignum judicetur?’—Lib. ii. prosa 7. 

{any amusing instances of diversity, in the 
tastes, manners, and morals of different na- 
tions, may be found throughont the works of 
that amusing Skeptic, Le Mothe le Vayer.— 
See his Opuscule Sceptique, his ‘Treatise “ De 
la Secte Sceptique,” and, above all, those Dia- 
logues, not to be found in his works, which he 
pemuehed under the name of Horatius Tubero.— 

he chief objection to these writings of Le 
Vayer, (and it is a blemish which may be felt 
also in the Esprit des Loix,) is the suspicious 
obscurity of the sources from whence he fre- 
quently draws his instances, and the indiserim- 
inate use made by him of the lowest populace 
of the library,—those lying travellers and won- 
der-mongers of whom Shaftesbury, in his Ad- 
vice to an Author, complains, as having tend- 
ed in his own time to the diffusion of a very 
shallow and yicious sort of skepticism.—Vol. 1. 
p. 352. The Pyrrhonism of Le Vayer, how- 
ever, is of the most innocent and playful kind; 
and Villemandy, the author of Seepticismus 
Debellatus, exempts him specially in the decla- 
ration of war which he denounces against the 
other armed neutrals of the sect, in considera- 
tion of the orthodox limits within which he 
confines his ineredulity. 

+ This was the creed also of those modern 
Epicureans, whom Ninon de I'Enelos collected 
around her in the Rue des Tournelles, and 
whose object seems to have been to deery the 
faculty of reason, as tending only to embarrass 
our wholesome use of pleasures, without ena- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Will sigh for train-oil, while he sips 
champagne ; 

And health so rules them, that a fever’s 
heat [water sweet. 

Would make even Sh—r—d—n think 


Just as the mind the erring sensef be- 
lieves, [ceives; 
The erring mind, in turn, the sense de- 
And cold disgust can find but wrinkles 
there, [and fair. 
Where passion fancies all that’s smooth 
Pp * * * * who sees, upon his pillow laid, 
A face for which ten thousand pounds 
were paid, 
Can tell, how quick before a jury flies 
The spell that mock’d the warm sedu- 


cer’s eyes. 
Self is the medium through which 
Judgment’s ray [astray. 


Can seldom pass without being turn’d 


bling us,in any degree, to avoid their abuse. 
Madame des Houiliéres, the fair pupil of Des 
Barreaux in the arts of poetry und gallantry, 
has devoted most of her verses to this laudable 
purpose, and is even such a determined foe to 
reason, that, in one of her pastorals, she con- 
gratulates her sheep on the want of it. St. 
Evremont speaks thus upon the subjeet :— 


‘““Un mélange incertain d’esprit et de matiére 
Nous fait vivre avec trop ou trop peu de lu- 
mniére. 


Nature, éléve-nous ἃ la clarté des anges, 
Ou nous abaisse au sens des simples animaux.” 
Which may be thus paraphrased :— 
Had man been made, at nature’s birth, 
Of only flame or only earth, 
Had he been eer | a perfect whole 
Of purely that, or grossly this, 
Then sense would ne’er have clouded soul, 
Nor soul restrain’d the sense’s bliss. 
Oh happy, had his light been strong, 
Or had he never shared a light, 
Which shines enough to show he’s wrong, 
But not enough to Jead him right. 


t See, among the fragments of Petronius, 
those verses beginning ‘‘Fallunt nos oculi,”’ 
&e. The most skeptical of the ancient poets 
was Euripides; and it would, I think, puzzle 
the whole school of Pyrrho to produce a doubt 
more startling than the following — 

Tes δ᾽ ovdev εἰ ζην Tov’ ὁ κεκληται gaverv, 

To ζην δὲ grnoke ἐστι. 

See Laert. in Pyrrh. 

Socrates and Platowere the grand sourees of 
ancient skepticism. According to Cicero, (de 
Orator. lib. 1ii.,) they supplied Arcesilas with the 
doctrines of the Middle Academy; and how 
closely these resembled the tenets of the Skep- 
tics, may be seenevenin Sextus Empirieus, (lib. 
i. cap. 33,) who, with all his distinctions, can 
scarcely prove any difference. Itappears strange 


THE SKEPTIC; A SATIRE, 


The smith of Ephesus* thought Dian’s 
shrine, [divine ; 

By which his craft most throve, the most 

And ev’n the true faith seems not half 
so true, [two. 

When link’d with one good living as with 

Had W—lc—t first been pensioned by 
the throne, 

Kings would have suffer’d by his praise 
alone ; 

And P—ine perhaps, for something snug 
per ann., [Rights of Man. 

Had laugh’d, like W—ll—sley, at all 


But ’tis not only individual minds, — 

Whole nations, too, the same delusion 
blinds. 

Thus England, hot from Denmark’ssmok- 
ing meads, 

Turns up her eyes at Gallia’s guilty 
deeds ; 

Thus, self-pleased still, the same dis- 

She binds in Ireland, she would break 
in Spain ; {forbid, 

While praised at distance, but at home 

Rebels in Cork are patriots at Madrid. 


If Grotius be thy guide, shut, shut the | 


book,—— 
In force alone for Laws of Nations look. 
Let shipless Danes and whining Yankees 
dwell [tel, 
On naval rights, with Grotius and Vat- 
While C—bh—t’s pirate code alone ap- 
pears [giers. 
Sound moral sense to England and Al- 


that Epicurus should have been adogmatist; and 
his natural temper would most probably have 
ledhim to therepose of skepticism, had not the 
Stoics, by their violent opposition to his doe- 
trines, compelled him to be as obstinate as 
themselves. Plutarch, indeed, in reporting 
some of his opinions, represents him as hay- 
ing delivered them with considerable hesi- 
tation.—Emixovpos οὐδὲν απογινωσκέι TovTwr, 
ἐχόμενος Tov evdexonevov.— De Placit. Philosoph. 
lib. li. cap. 13. See also the 2lstand 22d chapters. 
But that the leading characteristies of the sect 


were self-sufficiency and dogmatism, appears | 


from what Cicero says of Velleius, De Natur. 
Deor.—‘‘ Tum Velleius, fidenter sané, ut solent 


isti, nihiltam verens quam ne dubitare aliqua 


de re videretur.” 

* Acts, chap. xix. ‘For a certain man 
named Demetrius, a silversmith, which made 
silver shrines for Diana, brought no small 
gain unto the craftsmen.” 

ἐπ These two thieves,” says Ralph, ‘‘ between 
whom the nation is crueified.’’— Use and Abuse 
of Parliaments. 

1 The agitation of the ship is one of the 
chief difficulties which impede the discovery of 


[honoring chain | 


213 


Wo to the Skeptic, in these party days, 
Who wafts to neither shrine his puffs of 
praise ! [fruits, 
|For him no pension pours its annual 
No fertile sinecure spontaneous shoots ; 
Not histhe meed that crown’d Don H—k- 
h—m’s rhyme, {time, 
'Nor sees he e’er, in dreams of future 
‘Those shadowy forms of sleek rever- 
| sions rise, [eyes. 
So dear to Scotchmen’s seeond-sighted 
' Yet who, that looks to History’s damn- 
ing leaf, (to thief, 
Where Whig and Tory, thief opposed 
On either side in lofty shame are seen,f 
While Freedom’s form hangs crucified 
between— [can see, 
Who, B—rd—tt, who such rival rogues 
But flies from both to Honesty and thee ἢ 


If, weary of the world’s bewild’ring 

maze,t [ways, 
_ Hopeless of finding, through its weedy 
| One flower of truth, the busy crowd we 
| shun, {run, 
/And to the shades of tranquil learning 
How many a doubt pursues!§ how ott 
we sigh, [histories lie! 
| When histories charm, to think that 
That all are grave romances, at the best, 
And M—sgr—ve’s|| but more clumsy 
| than the rest. [guiled, 
ΒΥ Tory Hume’s seductive page be- 
| We fancy Charles was just, and Straf- 
| ford mild ;{] [draws 
And Fox himself, with party pencil, 


the longitude at sea; and the tumult and hurry 
_ of life are equally unfavorable to that calm level 

of mind which is necessary to an inquirer after 
| truth. 

In the mean time, our modest Skeptic, in the 
absence of truth, contents himself with proba- 
| bilities, resembling in this respect those suitors 

of Penelope, who, on finding that they could 
| not possess the mistress herself, very wisely re- 

solved to put up with her maids; τῇ Πηνελοπῃ 
| πλησιάζειν μὴ δυνάμενοι, Tats TavTNS ἐμιγνυντοὸ 
gepatraivats.— Plutarch, Tepe Παιδὼν Aywyns. 

§See a curious work, entitled ‘* Reflections 
| upon Learning,” written on the plan of Agrip- 
pu’s ©“ De Vanitate Scientiarum,” but much 
more honestly and skilfully executed. 

||Lhis historian of the Irish rebellion has out- 
Tun even his predecessor in the same task, Sir 
John Temple, for whose character with respect 
to veracity the reader may consult Carte’s 
“Collection of Ormond’s Original Papers,” p. 
207. See also Dr. Nulson’s account of him, in 
' the introduction to the second volume of his 
| ** Historie Collect.” 

J He defends Strafford’s conductias ‘innocent 
and eyen laudable.” In the same spirit, speak- 


214 


Monmouth a hero “for the good old 
cause !’”* [are defeats, 
Then, rights are wrongs, and victories 
As French or English pride the tale re- 
peats ; [o’er, 
And, when they tell Corunna’s story 
They’ll disagree in all, but honoring 
Moore: 
Nay, future pens, to flatter future courts, 
May cite perhaps the Park-guns’ gay 
reports, {morn 
To prove that England triumph’d on the 
Which found her Junot’s jest and Eu- 
rope’s scorn. 


In Science, too—how many asystem, 
raised [blazed 

Like Neva’s icy domes, awhile hath 
With lights of fancy and with forms of 
pride, [livious tide ! 

Then melting, mingled with the ob- 
Now Harth usurps the centre of the sky, 
Now Newton puts the paltry planet by; 
Now whims revive beneath Descartes’st 
pen, [again. 
Which now, assail’d by Locke’s, expire 
And when, perhaps, in pride of chemic 
powers, [ours, 

We think the keys of Nature’s kingdom 


ing of the arbitrary sentences of the Star 
Chamber, he says,—‘‘ The severity of the Star 
Chamber, which was generally ascribed to 
Laud’s passionate disposition, was, perhaps, in 
itself, somewhat blameable.” 

*That flexibility of temper and opinion, 
which the habits of skepticism are so calculated 
to produce, are thus pleaded for by Mr. Fox, in 
the very sketch of Monmouth to which I allude; 
and this part of the picture the historian may 
be thought to have drawnfrom himself. ‘One 
of the most conspicuous features in his charac- 
ter seems to have been a remarkable, and, as 
some think, a culpable degree of flexibility. 
That such a disposition is preferable to its op- 
posite extreme, will be admitted by all who 
think that modesty, even in excess, is more 
nearly allied to wisdom than conceit and self- 

yen ἢ . . 
sufficiency. Hewho has attentively considered 
the political, or indeed the general concerns of 
life, may possibly go still further, and may rank 
a willingness to be convinced, or, in some 
cases, eyen without conviction, to concede our 
own opinion to that of other men, among the 
principal ingredients in the composition of 
practical wisdom.”—It is right to observe, how- 
ever, that the skeptic’s readiness of concession 
arises rather from uncertainty than conviction, 
more from a suspicion that his own opinion may 
be wrong, than from any persuasion that the 
opinion of his adversary is right. ‘It may be 
so,” was the courteous and skeptical formula 
with which the Dutch were accustomed to re- 
ply to the statements of ambassadors. See 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Some Davy’s magic touch the dream un- 
settles, 

And turns at once our alkalis to metals. 

Or, should we roam, in metaphysic maze, 

Through fair-built theories of former 
days, 

Some Dr—mm—dt from the north, 
more ably skill’d, 

Like other Goths, to ruin than to build, 

Tramples triumphant through our fanes 
o’erthrown, [own. 

Nor leaves one grace, one glory of his 


Oh Learning, whatsoe’er thy pomp 
and boast, 
Unletter’d minds have taught and 
charm’d men most. 
The rude, unread Columbus was our 
guide [had denied ; 
To worlds, which learn’d Lactantius 
And one wild Shakspeare, following 
Nature’s lights, [Stagyrites. 
Is worth whole planets fill’d with 


See grave Theology, when once she 
strays [plays ; 
From Revelation’s path, what tricks she 
What various heay’ns,—all fit for bards 
to sing,— [down to King ἢ} 

Have churchmen dream’d, from Papias§ 
Lloyd's State Worthies, art. Sir Thomas 
Wyat. 

| Descartes, who is considered as the parent 
of modern skepticism, says, that there is noth- 
ing in the whole range of philosophy which 
does not adinit of two opposite opinions, and 
which is not involved in doubt and uncertainty. 
“In Philosophia nihil adhue reperiri, de quo non 
in utramque partem disputatur, hoe est, quod 
non sit incertum et dubium.’’ Gassendi is like- 
wise to be added to the list of modern Skeptics, 
and Wedderkopff, in his Dissertation ‘De 
Scepticismo profano et sacro,” (Argentorat. 
1666,) has denounced Erasmus also as a follower 
of Pyrrho, for his opinions upon the Trinity, and 
some other subjects. To these, if we add the 
names of Bayle, Mallebranche, Dryden, Locke, 
&e., &e., 1 think there is no one who need be 
ashamed of doubting in such company. 

{See this gentleman's Academie Questions. 

ὃ Papias lived about the time of the apostles, 
andis supposed tohave given birth to the heresy 
of the Chilliaste, whose heaven was by no 
means Of a spiritual nature, but rather an an- 
ticipation of the Prophet of Hera’s elysium. 
See Eusebius, Hist. Ecclesiast. lib. iii. eap. 33, 
and Hieronym. de Seriptor. Eecclesiast. From 
all ITean find in these authors concerning 
Papias, it seems hardly fair to impute to him 
those gross imaginations in which the believers 
of the sensual millennium indulged. 

|| King, in his Morsels of Criticism, vol i., sup- 
poses the sun to be the receptacle of blessed 
spirits. 


TWOPENNY POST-BAG. 


215 


While hell itself, in India naught but 
smoke, * [joke 
In Spain’s a furnace, and in France—a 


Hail, modest Ignorance, thou goal 
and prize, [wise ! 
Thou last, best knowledge of the simply 
Hail, humble Doubt, when error’s waves 
are past, 
How sweet to reach thy shelter’d portt 
at last, 
And, there, by changing skies nor lured 
nor awed, [abroad. 
Smile at the battling winds that roar 
There gentle Charity, who knows how 
frail [gale, 
The bark of Virtue, even in summer’s 


TWOPENNY 


Sits by the nightly fire, whose beacon 
glows 
For ee wander, whether friends or 
eS ; 
There Faith retires, and keeps her 
white sail furl’d, 
Till call’d to spread it for a better world ; 
While Patience, watchingon the weedy 
shore, 
And mutely waiting till the storm be o’er, 
Oft turns to Hope, who still directs her 
eye [sky ! 
To some blue spot, just breaking in the 
Such are the mild, the bless’d asso- 
ciates given [naught but Heaven ! 
To him who doubts,—and trusts in 


POST-BAG. 


BY THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 


1814. 


Elaps# manibus cecidére tabelle. 


TO STEPHEN WOOLRICHE, ESQ. 
My DEAR WOOLRICHE, 

It is now about seven years since I 
promised (and I grieve to think it is al- 
most as long since we met) to dedicate 
to you the very first Book, of whatever 
size or kind, I should publish. Who 
could have thought that so many years 
would elapse, without my giving the 
least signs of life upon the subject of 
this important promise? Who could 
haveimagined that a volume of doggerel, 
after all, would be the first offering that 
Gratitude would lay upon the shrine of 
Friendship ? 


* The Indians eall hell ‘the House of Smoke.” 
See Picart upon the Religion of the Banians. 
The reader who is curious about infernal mat- 
ters, may be edified hy consulting Rusea de In- 
ferno, particularly lib. ii. eap.7, 8, where he 
will find the precise sort of fire ascertained in 


OvIp. 


If you continue, however, to be as 
much interested aout me and my pur- 
suits as formerly, you will be happy to 
hear that doggerel is not my only occu- 
pation; but that I am preparing to 
throw myname to the Swans of the 
Temple of Inmortality,t leaving it, of 
course, to the said Swans to determine, 
whether they ever will take the trouble 
of picking it from the stream. 

In the mean time, my dear Wool- 
riche, like an orthodox Lutheran, you 
must judge me rather by my faith than 
my works ; and however trifling the trib- 
ute which I here offer, never doubt the 


which wicked spirits are to be burned here- 
after. 

+ * Chére Sceptique, douce pature de mon 
ame, et l'unique port de salut & une esprit qui 
aime le repos !'"—La Mothe le Vayer. 

| Ariosto, canto 35, 


216 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


fidelity with which I am, and always 
shall be, 

Your sincere and attached Friend, 
March 4, 1813. THE AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


THE Bag, from which the following 
Letters are selected, was dropped by a 
Twopenny Postman about two months 
since, and picked up by an emissary of 
the Society for the Suppression of Vice, 
who, supposing it might materially as- 
sist the private researches of that Insti- 
tution, immediately took it to his em- 
ployers, and was rewarded handsomely 
for his trouble. Such a treasury of se- 
crets was worth a whole host of inform- 
ers; and accordingly, like the Cupids of 
the poet (if I may use so profane a sim- 
ile) who ‘fell at odds about the sweet- 
bag of a bee,” * those venerable Suppres- 
sors almost fought with each other for 
the honor and delight of first ransacking 
the Post-Bug. Unluckily, however, it 
turned out, upon examination, that the 
discoveries of profligacy which it ena- 
bled them to make, lay chiefly in those 
upper regions of society, which their 
well-bred regulations forbid them to mo- 
lest or meddle with.—In consequence, 
they gained but very few victims by 
their prize, and, after lying for a week or 
two under Mr. Hatchard’s counter, the 
Bag, with its violated contents, was sold 
for a trifle to a friend of mine. 

It happened that I had been just then 
seized with an ambition (having never 
tried the strength of my wing but in a 
Newspaper) to publish something or 
other in the shape of a Book; and it 
occurred to me that, the present being 
such a letter-writing era, a few of these 
Twopenny-post Epistles, turned into 
easv verse, would be as light and popu- 
lar a task as I could possibly select for 
acommencement. I did not, however, 
think it prudent to give too many Let- 
ters at first, and accordingly, have been 
obliged (in order to eke out a sufficient 
number of pages) to reprint some of 
those trifles which had already appeared 
in the public journals. As in the bat- 
tles of ancient times, the shades of the 
departed were sometimes seen among 
the combatants, so I thought I might 

* Herrick. 


manage to remedy the thinness of my 
ranks by conjuring up afew dead and 
forgotten ephemerons to fill them. 

Such are the motives and accidents 
that led to the present publication ; and 
as this is the first time my Muse has 
ever ventured out of the go-cart of a 
Newspaper, though I feel all a parent’s 
delight at seemg little Miss go alone, I 


/am also not without a parent’s anxiety, 


lest an unlucky fall should be the conse- 
quence of the experiment; and I need 
not point how many living instances 
might be found, of Muses that have suf- 
fered very severely in their heads, from 
taking rather too early and rashly to 
their feet. Besides, a Book is so very 
different a thing from a Newspaper !— | 
in the former, your doggerel, without 
either company or shelter, must stand 
shivering in the middle of a bleak page 
by itself; whereas, in the latter, it is 
comfortably backed by advertisements, 
and has sometimes even aspeech of Mr. 
St—ph—n’s, orsomething equally warm, 
for a chatffé-pié—so that, in general, 
the very reverse of *‘ laudatur et alget ἢ 
is its destiny. 

Ambition, however, must run some 
risks, and I shall be very well satisfied 
if the reception of these few Letters 


| should have the effect of sending me to 


the Post-Bag for more. 


PREFACE TO THE FOURTEENTH 
EDITION. 


BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 


In the absence of Mr. Brown, who is 
at present on a tour through ἐ 
I feel myself called upon, as his friend, 
to notice certain misconceptions and 
misrepresentations, to which this little 
volume of Trifles has given rise. 

In the first place, it 1s not true that 
Mr. Brown has had any accomplices in 
the work. A note, indeed, which has 
hitherto accompanied his Preface, may 
very naturally have been the origin of 
such a supposition; but that note, 
which was merely the coquetry of an 
author, I have, in the present edition, 
taken upon myself to remove, and Mr. 
Brown must therefore be considered 
(like the mother of that unique produc- 


TWOPENNY 


tion, the Centaur, μονα και μονον"}) as alone | 
responsible for the whole contents of the | 
volume. 

In the next place it has been said, 
that in consequence of this graceless 
little book, a certain distinguished Per- 
sonage prevailed upon another distin- 
guished Personage to withdraw from the 
author that notice and kindness with 
which he had so long and so liberally 
honored him. In this story there is not 
one syllable of truth. For the magna- 
nimity of the former of these persons I 
would, indeed, in no case answer too 
rashly : but of the conduct of the latter 
towards my friend, I have a proup grat- 
ification in declaring, that it has never 
ceased to be such as he must remember 
with indelible gratitude ;—a gratitude 
the more cheerfully and warmly paid, 
from its not being a debt incurred solely 
on his own account, but for kindness 
shared with those nearest and dearest to 
him. 

To the charge of being an Lrishman, 
poor Mr. Brown pleads guilty ; and I 
believe it must also be acknowledged 
that he comes of a Roman Catholic 
family: an avowal which I am aware is 
decisive of his utter reprobation, in the 
eyes of those exclusive patentees of. 
Christianity, so worthy to have been the 
followers of a certain enlightened Bi- 
shop, Donatus,t who held “that God is 
in Africa and not elsewhere.” But from 
all this it does not necessarily follow 
that Mr. Brown is a Papist ; and, indeed, 
1 have the strongest reasons for suspect- 
ing that they, who say so, are somewhat 
mistaken. Not that I presume to have 
ascertained his opinions wpon such sub- 
jects. All Iprofess to know of his or- 
thodoxy is, that he has a Protestant wife 
and two or three little Protestant chil- 
dren, and that he has been seen at 
church every Sunday, for a whole year 
together, listening to the sermons of his 
truly reverend and amiable friend, 
Dr. —-———,, and behaving there as 


* Pindar, Pyth. 2.—My friend certainly ean- 
not add ovr’ ev ανδρασι λερασφορον. 

1 Bishop of Casw Nigrie, in the fourth cen- 
tury. 

; Anew reading has been suggested in the 
original of the Ode of Horace, freely translated 
by Lord Eld—n, pave 16%. In the line “Sive 
per Syrteis iter gstuosas,” it is proposed, by a 
yery trifling alteration, to read * Surtees,”’ in- 


POST-BAG. 217 
well and as orderly as 
ple. 

There are yet a few other mistakes 
and falsehoods about Mr. Brown, to 
which I had intended, with all becom- 
ing gravity, to advert; but I begin to 
think the task is quite as useless as it is 
tiresome. Misrepresentations and cal- 
umnies of this sort are, like the argu- 
ments and statements of Dr. Dugenan, 
—not at all the less vivacious or less 
serviceable to their fabricators, for hay- 
ing been refuted and disproved a thon- 
sand times over. They are brought for- 
ward again, as good as new, whenever 
malice or stupidity may be in. want of 
them; and are quite as useful as the old 
broken lantern, in Fielding’s Amelia, 
which the watchinan always keeps ready 
by him, to produce, in proof of riotous 
conduct, against his victims. I shall 
therefore give up the fruitless toil of yin- 
dication, and would even draw my pen 
over what I have already written, had 
1 not promised to furnish my publisher 
with a Preface, and know not how else 
I could contrive to eke it out. 

I have added two or three more tri- 
fles to this edition, which I found in the 
Morning Chronicle, and knew to be from 
the pen of my friend. The rest of the 
volume remainst in its original state. 

April 20, 1814. 


most peo- 


IN TERCEPTED LETTERS, 
ται 


LETTER I. 


FROM THE PR—NC—SS CH—RL—E OF 
W—L—S TO THE LADY B—RB—A 
ASHL—Y.$ 


My dear Lady Bab, you’ll be shock’d, 
I’m afraid, [Ponies have made ; 
When you hear the sad rumpus your 
Since the time of horse consuls, (now 
long out of date, ) [state. 
No nags ever made such a stir in the 


stead of “ Syrteis,”’ which brings the Ode, it is 
said, more home to the noble translator, and 
gives a peculiar force and aptness to the epi- 
thet ‘“estuosas.” LL merely throw out this 
emendation for the learned, being unable my- 
self to decide upon its merits. 

§This young Lady, who is a Roman Catholic, 
had lately made a present of some beautiful 
Ponies to the Pr—ne—ss, 


218 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Lord Eld—n first heard—and as instant- 
ly pray’d he [young Lady 

To ‘God and his King”—that a Popish 

(For though you’ve bright eyes and 
twelve thousand a year, 

It is still but too true you’re a Papist, 
my dear,) 

Had insidiously sent, by a tall Irish 
groom, [from Rome, 

Two priest-ridden Ponies, just landed 

And so full, little rogues, of pontifical 
tricks, {safe from their kicks. 

That the dome of St. Paul’s was scarce 


Off at once to Papa, m a flurry he 
flhes — [men advise, 
For Papa always does what these states- 
On condition that they'll be, in turn, so 
polite Lright — 
As in no case whate’er to advise him too 
“Pretty doings are here, Sir, (he angrily 
cries, [strives to look wise )— 
While by dmt of dark eyebrows he 
“’Tis a scheme of the Romanists, so 
help me God ! 
“‘To ride over your most Royal High- 
ness rough-shod— 
“‘Bxcuse, Sir, my tears—they’re from 
loyalty’s source— 
“Bad enough ’twas for Troy to be 
sack’d by a Horse, [worse !” 
“But for us to be ruin’d by Ponies still 
Quick a Council is call’d—the whole Cab- 
inet sits— [οἵ their wits, 
The Archbishops declare, frighten’d out 
That if once Popish Ponies should eat at 
my manger, [in danger! 
From that awful moment the Church is 
As, give them but stabling, and shortly 
no stalls [at St. Paul’s. 
Will suit their proud stomachs but those 


The Doctor,* and he, the devout man 
of Leather, t {heads together, 
V—ns—tt—t, now laying their Saint- 
Declare that these skittish young a-bom- 
inations [tions — 

Are clearly foretold in Chap. vi. Revela- 
Nay, they verily think they cod point 
out the one [canter upon. 
Which the Doctor’s friend Death was to 


Lord H—rr—by, hoping that no one 
imputes Lbrutes, 
To the Court any fancy to persecute 


* Mr. Addington, so nicknamed. 

+ Alluding to a tax lately Jaid upon leather. 

tThe question whether a Veto was to be al- 
lowed to the Crown in the appointment of 


Protests, on the word of himself and his 
cronies, [Asses, not Ponies, 
That had these said creatures been 
The Court would have started no sort of 
objection, [protection. 
As Asses were, there, always sure of 


“Tf the Pr—nc—ss will keep them, 

(says Lord C—stl—r—gh, ) 

“To make them quite harmless, the 
only true way [their wives) 

“Ts (as certain Chief Justices do with 

“To flog them within half an inch of 
their lives. [about, 

‘Tf they’ve any bad Irish blood lurking 

“This (he knew by experience) would 
soon draw it out.” [ship proposes 

Should this be thought eruel, his Lerd- 

“The new Veto snatlet to bind down 
their noses— [chains, 

‘« A pretty contrivance, made out of old 

“Which appears to indulge, while it 
doubly restrains ; 

‘“‘Which, however high-mettled, their 

amesomeness checks 

“(Adds his Lordship humanely, ) or else 

breaks their necks !” 


This proposal received pretty general 
applause [neck-breaking clause 
From the statesmen around—and the 
Had a vigor about it which soon recon- 
ciled {mild. 
Even Eld—n himself to a measure so 
So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to, 
mem. CON., [often shone 
And my Lord C—stl—r—gh, having so 
In the fettering line, is to buckle them 
on. 


T shall drive to your door in these 

Vetos some day, [away 

But, at present, adieu !—I must hurry 

To go see my Mamma, as I’m suffer’d 

to meet her [best repeater. 

For just half an hour by the Qu—n’s 
CH—RL—TTE. 


LETTER 11. 


FROM COLONEL M’M—H—N TO G—LD 
FR—NC—S L—CKIE, ESQ. 


DEAR Sir, I’ve just had time to look 
into your very learned Book,§ 


Trish Catholic Bishops was, at this time, very 
generally and actively agitated 

§For an account of this extraordinary work of 
Mr. Leckie, see the ‘Edinburgh Review,’ vol. xx. 


= 5 aad 


Wherein—as en as man can speak, 
Whose English is half modern Greek— 
You prove that we can ne’er intrench 
Our happy isles against the French, 

Till Royalty in England’s made 

A much more independent trade ;— 

Tn short, until the House of Guelph 
Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf, 
And boldly sets up for itself. 


All, that can well be understood 
In this said Book, is vastly good ; 
And, as to what’s incomprehensible, 
I dare be sworn ’tis full as sensible. 


But, to your work’s immortaf credit, 
The Pr—n—e, good Sir, the Pr—n—e 
has read it 
(Lhe only Book, himself remarks, 
Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke’s.) 
Last levee-morn he look’d it through, 
Dwing that awful hour of two 
Of grave tonsorial preparation, 
Which, to a fond, admiring nation, 
Sends forth, announced by trump and 
druin, [dom. 
The best wigg’d Pr—n—e in Christen- 
He thinks with you, th’ imagination 
Of partnership in legislation 
Could only enter in the noddles 
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles, 
Whose heads on firms are running so, 
They ey’n must have a King and Uo., 
And hence, most eloquently show forth 
On checks and balances, and so forth. 


But now, he trusts, we’re coming | 


near a 

Far more royal, loyal era; 

When England’s monarch need but say, 

“Whip me those scoundrels, C—stl— 
r—gh !” 

Or, “‘ Hang meup those Papists, Eld—n,” 

And ’twill be done, ay faith, and well 
done. 


With view to which, I’ve his com- 
mand 
To beg, Sir, from your travell’d hand, 
(Round which the foreign graces 
swarm* ) 
A Plan of radical Reform ; 


* “The truth indeed seems to be, that hay- 
ing livedso long abroad as evidently to have 
lust, ina great degree, the use of his native 
language, Mr. Leckie has gradually come not 
only to speak, but to feel, like a foreigner.” 
Edinburgh Review. 

| The learned Colonel must allude here to a 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 


219 


Compiled and chosen as best you can, 
In Turkey or at Ispahan, 

And quite upturning, branch and root, 
Lords, Commons, and Burdétt to boot. 


But, pray, whate’er you may impart, 
write {wr—ght: 
Somewhat more brief than Major C —rt- 
Else, though the Pr——ce be long in 
rigging, [ging,— 
’T would take, at least, a fortnight’s wig- 
Two wigs to every paragraph— 
| Before he well could get through half. 


Youw’ll send it also speedily— 

As, truth to say, ’twixt you and me, 

His Highness, heated by your work, 

Already thinks himself Grand Turk ! 

And you'd have laugh’d, had you seen 
how 

He seared the Ch—nce—ll—r just now, 

When (on his Lordship’s entering puti’d) 
he [‘* Mufti!” 

Slapp’d his back and eall’d him 


The tailors too have got commands, 
To put directly into hands 
All sorts of Dulimans and Pouches, 
| With Sashes, Turbans and Paboutches, 
(While Y—rm—th’s sketching out a 

plan 

Of new Moustaches a V Ottomane,) 
And all things fitting and expedient 
To turkify our gracious R—g—nt! 


You, therefore, have no time to 
waste— 
So, send your System.— 
Yours, in haste. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


| BerorE I send this scrawl away, 

I seize ἃ moment, just to say, 

_There’s some parts of the Turkish system 

So vulgar, ’twere as well you miss’d ’em. 

Por instance—in Seraglio matters— 

Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flat- 
ters, 

Would fill his Harem (tasteless fool !) 

| With tittering, red-cheek’d things from 
school. 

But here (as in that fairy land, [hand ;t 

Where Loye and Age went hand in 

description of the Mysverious Isle, in the His- 

tory of Abdalla, son of Hanif, where such in- 

versions of the order of nature are said to have 

taken place—‘‘ A seore of old women and the 

sume number of old men played here and there 

| in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at 

| tip-cat or at cockles.”"—And again, ‘* There is 


220 


Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, 
And Grandams were worth any money, ) 
Our Sultan has much riper notions— 
So, let your list of she-promotions 
Include those only, plump and sage, 
Who've reach’d the regulation-age ; 
That is, (as near as one can fix 

From Peerage dates,) full fifty-six. 


This rule’s for fav’rites—nothing 
more— 
For, as to wives, a Grand Signor, 
Though not decidedly without them, 
Need never care one curse about them. 


LETTER III. 


FROM G—GE PR—CE R—G—T TO THE 
E—— OF Y itis 


WE miss’d you last night at the “hoary 
old sinner’s,” [good dinners ; 
Who gave us, as usual, the cream of 
His soups scientific—his fishes quite 
prime— [sublime ! 
His patés superb—and his cutlets 
In short, ’twas the snug sort of dinner 
to stir a rh 
Stomachic orgasm in my Lord El—b— 
Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous 
force, [ He-Cook of course !— 
And exclaimed, between mouthfuls, ‘a 
‘While you live—(what’s there under 
that cover? pray look)— 
“While you live—(Vll just taste it) 
ne’er keep a She-Cook. 
<OMis a sound Salie Law—(a small bit 
of that toast)— 
“Which ordains that a female shall 
ne’er rule the roast ; 
“Por Cookery’s a secret—(this turtle’s 
uncommon )— {woman !” 
“Like Masonry, never found out by a 


The dinner, you know, was in gay 
celebration [condemnation ; 

Of my brilliant triumph and H—nt’s 
A compliment, too, to his Lordship the 
Judge [who would grudge 

For his Speech to the Jury—and zounds ! 
Turtle soup, though it came to five 
guineas a bowl, [soul ? 

To reward such a loyal and complaisant 


nothing, believe me, more engaging than those 
lovely wrinkles,” &e.. &¢e.—See Tales of the 
Hast, vol. 111. pp. 607, 608. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


. Se ΞΟ ν» Ξε, 55 ἘΞ 


We were all in high gig—Roman Punch. 
and Tokay [just the same way 
Travell’d round, till our heads travell’d 
And we cared not for Juries or Libels— 
no—damme! nor [aminer ! 
Ev’n for the threats of last Sunday’s Ex- 


More good things were eaten than 
said—but Tom T—rrh—t 
In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has 
some merit ; 
And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chief 
Say—sated with turtle—“Tll now try 
the beef?’ — 
Tommy-whisper’d him (giving his Lord- 
ship a sly hit) [you try it!” 
(1 fear ’twill be hung-beef, my Lord, if 


And C—md—n was there, who, that 

morning, had gone 

To fit his new Marquis’s coronet on ; 

And the dish set before him—oh dish 
well-devised !— 

Was, what old Mother Glasse calls, “a 
calf’s head surprised !” 

The brains were near Sh—ry, and once 
had been fine, [ing in wine, 

But, of late, they had lain so long soak- 

That though we, from courtesy, still 
chose to call [brains at all. 

These brains very fine, they were no 


When the dinner was over, we drank 
every one (Crim. Con.;” 

In a bumper, “the venial delights of 
At which H—df—t with warm reminis- 
cences gloated, quoted. 

And E—)b’r—h chuckled to hear himself 


Our next round of toasts was a fancy 
quite new, [benevolent too— 
For we drank—and yow'll own ’twas 
To those well-meaning husbands, cits, 
parsons, or peers, 
Whom we’ve, any time, honor’d by 
courting their dears: 
This museum of wittols was comical 
rather ; [gave your f—th—r. 
Old H—df—t gave M—ss—y, and I 


In short, not a soul till this morning 
would budge— [the J——e 

We were all fun and frolic,—and even 
Laid aside, for the time, his juridical 
fashion, {once in a passion! 

And through the whole night wasn’t 
* This letter, as the reader will perceive, was 


written the day after a dinner given by the 
M—rq—s of H—d—t. 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 


I write this in bed, while my whiskers 
are airing, [paring 

And M—c* has a sly dose of jalap pre- 
For poor T—mmy T—1rr—t at breakfast 
to quaff— [a laugh, 

As I feel I want something to give me 
And there’s nothing so good as old 
T—mmy, kept close [dose. 

To his Cornwall accounts, after taking a 


LETTER IV. 


FROM THE RIGHT HON. P—TR—CK 
D—GEN—N TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR 
J—HN N—CH—L. 


Dublin. t 


LAST week, dear N—ch—l, making 
At dinner with our Secretary, [merry 
When all were drunk, or pretty near, 
(The time for doing business here, ) 
Says he to me, ‘‘ Sweet Bully Bottom! 
“These Papist dogs—hiccup—’od rot 

?em !— 
“Deserve to be bespatter’d—hiccup— 


“With all the dirt ey’n you can pick up. | 


‘But, as the Pr—ce (here’s to him— 
fill— : 

“ΤῊΡ, hip, hurrah!)—is trying still 

“To humbug them with kind profes- 
sions, [sions— 

“And, as you dealin strong expres- 

“© Rogue’—‘ traitor’— hiccup— and all 
that— 

“You must be muzzled, Doctor Pat !— 

“« You mustindeed—hiccup—that’s flat.” 


Yes—‘‘ muzzled” was the word, Sir 
John— 

These fools have clapp’d a muzzle on 
The boldest mouth that e’er ran o’er 
With slaver of the times of yore !—f 
Was it for this that back I went 
As far as Lateran and Trent, 
To prove that they, who damn’d us then, 
Ought now, in turn, be damn’d again ?— 
The silent victim still to sit 
Of Gr—tt—w’s fire and C—nn—g’s wit, 

* Colonel Μ᾿ Mahon. 

+ This letter, which contained some very 
heavy 
London by a private hand, and then put into 
the Twopenny Post-Office, to save trouble. See 
the Appendix. 

¢t Insending this sheet to the Press, however, 
I learn that the 5 muzzle” has been taken off, 
and the Right Hon. Doctor again let loose ! 


enclosures, seems to have been sent to | 


221 


To hear ev’n noisy M—th—w gabble on, 

Nor mention once the W—e of Babylon! 

Oh! ’tis too much—who now will be 

The Nightman of No-Popery? 

What Courtier, Saint, or even Bishop, 

Such learned filth will ever fish up? 

If there among our ranks be one 

To take my place, ’tis thou, Sir John ; 

Thou, who, like me, art dubb’d Right 
Hon., 

Like me, too, art a Lawyer Civil, 

That wishes Papists at the devil. 


To whom then but to thee, my friend, 
Should Patrick§ his Port-folio send ? 
Take it—'tis thine—his learn’d Port-folio, 
With all his theologie olio 
Of Bulls, half Irish and half Roman— 
Of Doctrines, now believed by no man— 
| Of Councils, held for men’s salvation, 
Yet always ending in damnation— 
(Which shows that, since the world’s 

creation, [shamming, 
Your Priests, whate’er their gentle 
Have always had a taste for damning, ) 
And many more such pious scraps, 
To prove, (what we’ve long proved, per- 
haps, ) 
| That, mad as Christians used to be 
About the Thirteenth Century, 
There stil! are Christians to be had 
| In this, the Nineteenth, just as mad! 


Farewell—I send with this, dear 
N—ch—], 
A rod or two |’ve had in pickle — [et.— 


Wherewith to trim old Gr—tt—n’s jack- 
The rest shall go by Monday’s packet. 
Pep: 


Among the Enclosures in the foregoing 
Letter was the following ‘* Unanswer- 
able Argument against the Papists.” 

* 


* * 


* 


Wwe told the ancient Roman nation 
Made use of spittle in lustration ;]| 
(Vide Lactantium ap. Galleum—{ 

2. ὁ. you need not read but see ’em ;) 
Now, Irish Papists, fact surprising, 
Make use of spittle in baptizing; 


§ A bad name for poetry; but D—gen—n is 
still worse.—As Prudentius says upon a very 
different subjeet— 
Torquetur Apollo 
Nomine pereussus. 
fl ——— Lustralibus ante salivis 
Expiat. PERS. sat. 2. 

{41 have taken the trouble of examining the 

| Doctor's reference here, and find him, for onee, 


222 MOORE’S 


Which proves them all, 0’Finns, 0’Fa- 
gans, [gans. 
Connors, and Tooles, all downright Pa- 
This fact’s enough ;—let no one tell us 
To free such sad, salivous fellows. — 
No, no—the man, baptized with spittle, 
Hath no truth in him—not a tittle! 


* * * * 
LETTER Υ. 
FROM THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF 
C—RK TO LADY ———. 


My dear Lady ! [ve been just 
sending out [little Rout— 
About five hundred cards for a snug 
(By the by, you’ve seen Rokeby ?—this 
moment got mine— [fine ;) 
The Mail-Coach Edition*—prodigiously 
But I can’t conceive how, in this very 
cold weather, 
I’m ever to bring my five hundred to- 
As, unless the thermometer’s near boil- 
ing heat, [to meet. 
One can never get half of one’s hundreds 
(Apropos—you’d have laugh’d to see 
Townsend last night, [polite, 
Escort to their chairs, with his staff, so 
The ‘‘three maiden Miseries,”’ all in a 
fright ; [two posts, 
Poor Townsend, like Mercury, filling 
Supervisor of thieves, and chief-usher of 
ghosts /) 


But, my dear Lady , can’t you 
hit on some notion, [motion ?— 
At least for one mght to set London in 
As to having the R—g—nt, that show 
is gone by— [you and 1) 
Besides, I’ve remark’d that (between 
The Marchesa and he, meonyenient in 
more ways, [in doorways ; 
Have taken much lately to whispering 
Which—consid’ring, you know, dear, 
the size of the two— 
Makes a block that one’s company can- 
not get through; [ways sosmall, 
And ἃ house such as mine is, with door- 
Has no room for such cumbersome love- 
work at all.— [heard it, I hope, 
(Apropos, though, of love-work—yow’ve 


correct. The following are the words of his 
indignant referee, Galleus:—‘' Asserere non 
veremur sacrum baptismum a Papistis profa- 
nari, et sputi usum in peeccatorum expiatione a 
Paganis non a Christianis mandsse.” 


[gether ; | 


WORKS 


That Napoleon’s old mother’s to marry 
the Pope,— [my Rout, 
What a comical pair !)—but, to stick to 
*T will be hard if some novelty can’t be 
struck out. [arrived ? 
Is there no Algerine, no Kamchatkan 
No Plenipo Pacha, three-tail’d and ten- 
wived ? [name 
No Russian, whose dissonant consonant 
Almost rattles to fragments the trumpet 
of fame ? 


I remember the time, three or four 
winters back, [cently black— 
When—provided their wigs were but de- 
A few Patriot monsters, from Spain, 
were a sight [night after night. 

That would people one’s house for one, 
But—whether the Ministers paw’d them 
too much— [ever they touch) 

(And you know how they spoil whatso- 
Or, whether Lord G—rge (the young 
man about town) [them down, 

Has, by dint of bad poetry, written 
One has certainly lost one’s peninsular 
rage, [age 

And the only stray Patriot seen for an 
Has been at such places (think, how the 
fit cools !) [L—v—rp—l’s. 

As. old Mrs. V—gh—n’s or Lord 


But, in short, my dear, names like 

Wintztschitstopschinzoudhoft 

Are the only things now make an ey’n- 
ing go smooth off; 

So, get me a Russian—till death I’m 
your debtor— 

If he brings the whole Alphabet, so 
much the better. [ acter, sup 

And—Lord! if he would but, in char- 

Off his fish-oil and candles, he’d quite 
set me up! 


Au revoir, my sweet girl—I must 
leave youin haste— 
Little Gunter has brought me _ the 
Liqueurs to taste. 


POSTSCRIPT. 


By the by, have you found any friend 
that can construe [Monster ?t 
That Latin account, t’other day, of a 


* See Mr. Murray's Advertisement about the 
Mail-Coach copies of Rokeby. ; 
Ε Alluding, I suppose, to the Latin A dyertise- 


|ment of a Lusus Nature in the Newspapers 


lately. 


fs 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 


If we can’t get a Russian, and that thing 
in Latin {that in. 
Be not too improper, I think I’ll bring 


LETTER VI. 


FROM ABDALLAH,* IN LONDON, TO 
MOHASSAN, IN ISPAHAN. 


WuitsT thou, Mohassan (happy thou!) 

Dost daily bend thy loyal brow 

Before our King—our Asia’s treasure ! 

Nutmeg of Comfort ; Rose of Pleasure !— 

And bear’st as many kicks and bruises 

As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses; 

Thy head still near the bowstring’s bor- 
ders, 

And but left on till further orders— 

- Through London streets with turban 
fair, 

And caftan, floating to the air, 

I saunter on, the admiration 

Of this short-coated population— 

This sew’d up race—this button’d na- 
tion— 

Who, while they boast their laws so free, 

Leave not one limb at liberty, 

But live, with all their lordly speeches, 

The slaves of buttons and tight breeches. 


Yet, though they thus their knee-pans 


fetter . 

(They’re Christians, and they know no 
bettert) 

In some things they’re a thinking na- 
tion; 


And, on Religious Toleration, 

I own [ like their notions quite, 

They are so Persian and so right: [dogs, 
You know our Sunnites,t— hateful 


ἘΠ have made many inquiries about this Per- 
sian gentleman, but cannot satisfactorily ascer- 
tain who he is. From his notions of Religious 
Liberty, however, I conelude that he is an im- 
portation of Ministers; and he has arrived just 
in time to assist the P——e and Mr. L—ck—e 
in their new Oriental Plan of Reform.—See the 
second of these Letters. How <Abdallah’s 
epistle to Jspahan found its way into the ‘lwo- 
penny Post-Bag is more than I can pretend to 
account for. 

t*Cest un honnéte homme,” said a ‘Turkish 
governor of De Ruyter; ‘‘c’est grand dommage 
qu il soit Chrétien.” 

tSunnites and Shiites are the two leading 
sects into which the Mahometan world is 
divided; and they have gone on cursing and 
persecuting each other, without any intermis- 
sion, for about eleven hundred years. The 
Sunni is the established sect in Turkey, and 
the Shia in Persia ; and the differences between 
them turn chiefly upon those important points, 


223 


Whom every pious Shiite flogs 

Or longs to flog§—tis true, they pray 

To God, but in an ill-bred way ; 

With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces 

Stuck in their right, canonic places. || 

’Tis true, they worship Ali’s name —{ 

Their heaven and ours are just the 
same— 

(A Persian’s Heay’n is easily made, 

’Tis but black eyes and lemonade.) 

Yet, though we’ve tried for centuries 
back— 

We can’t persuade this stubborn pack, 

By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers, 

To wear th’ establish’d pea-green slip- 
pers.” * 

Then, only think, the libertines! 

They wash their toes—they comb their 
chins, t t 

With many more such deadly sins; 

And what’s the worst, (though last I 
rank it, ) 

Believe the Chapter of the Blanket ! 


Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, 
(Which must, at bottom, be 
tious ; 


sedi- 


| Since no man living would refuse 


Green slippers, but from treasonous 
views ; 


| Nor wash his toes, but with intent 


To overturn the government, )— 

Such is our mild and tolerant way, 

We only curse them twice a day 
(According to a form that’s set,) 

And, far from torturing, only let 

All orthodox believers beat ’em, 

And twitch their beards, where’er they 

meet ’em. 


which our pious friend Abdallah, in the true 
spirit of Shiite Ascendeney, reprobates in this 
Letter. 

§“Les Sunnites, qui étoient comme Jes Catho- 
liques de Musulmanisme.''— D’ Herbelot. 

\| ‘In eontradistinetion to the Sounis, who in 
their prayers cross their hands on the lower 
yart of their breast, the Schiahs drop their arms 
In Straight lines; and as the Sounis, at certain 
periods of the prayer, press their foreheads on 
the ground or carpet, the Schiahs,’ &¢., &e.— 
Forster's Voyage. 

4{‘‘ Les Tures ne détestent pas Ali réciproque- 
ment; au contraire, ils le reconnoissent,'’ &c., 
&e.—Chardin. ~ 

*** The Shiites wear green slippers, which the 
Sunnites consider as a great abomination. ”"-— 
Mariti. 

tFor these points of difference, as well as 
for the Chapter of the Blinket, I must refer 
the reader (not having the book by me) to 
Picart’s Account of the Mahometan Sects. 


224 MOORE’S 
As to the rest, they’re free to do 
Whate’er their fancy prompts them to, 
Provided they make nothing of it 
‘Tow’rds rank or honor, power or profit ; 
Which things, we nat’rally expect, 
Belong to us, the Hstablish’d sect, 
Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked !) 
Th’ aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket. 
The same mild views of Toleration 
Inspire, I find, this button’d nation, 
Whose Papists (full as given to rogue, 
And only Sunnites with a brogue) 
Fare just as well, with all their fuss, 
As rascal Sunnites do with us. 


The tender Gazel I enclose 
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose— 
Take it when night begins to fall, 
And throw it o’er her mother’s wall. 


GAZEL. 


REMEMBEREST thou the hour we 
pass’d,— 

That hour the happiest and the last? 

Oh! not so sweet the Siha thorn 

To summer bees, at break of morn, 

Not halfso sweet, through dale and dell, 

To Camels’ ears the tinkling bell, 

As is the soothing memory 


Of that one precious hour to me. 


How can we live, so far apart ? 

Oh! why not rather heart to heart, 
United live and die— 

Like those sweet birds, that fly together, 

With feather always touching feather, 
Link’d by a book and eye !* 


LETTER VII. 


FROM MESSRS. L—CK—GT—N AND CO. 
TO , ESQ.t 

PER Post, Sir,we send your MS.—look’d 
it thro’— [’twouldn’t do. 

Very sorry—but can’t undertake— 

Clever work, Sir!—would get up pro- 
digiously well— 

Its only defect is—it never would sell. 


*This will appear strange to an English 
reader, but itis literally translated from Abdal- 
lah's Persian, and the curious bird to whieh he 
alludes is the Juftak, of which I find the follow- 
ing account in Richardson :—‘'A sort of bird, 
that is said to have but one wing; on the oppo- 
site side to which the male has a hook and the 
female a ring, so that, when they fly, they are 
fastened together.” 

| From motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fel- 


WORKS. 


And though Statesmen may glory in 
being unbought, [thought. 
In an Author ’tis not so desirable 


Hard times, Sir,— most books are too 

dear to be read— 

Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit’s 
small change are fled, 

Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in 
their stead, {to think it) 

Rises higher each day, and (’tis frightful 

Not even such names as F—tzg—r—d’s 
can sink it! 


However, Sir—if youre for trying 
again, 
And at somewhat that’s yendible—we 
are your men. 


Since the Chevalier C—rrt took to 

marrying lately, [greatly— 

The Trade is in want of a Traveller 

No job, Sir, more easy—your Country 

once plann’d, i land 

A month aboard ship and a fortnight 

Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean 
out of hand. : 


An LEast-India paimphlet’s a thing 
that would tell— [well. 
And a lick at the Papists is swre to sell 
Or—supposing you’ve nothing original 
in you— {will win you, 
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it 
You’ll get to the blue-stocking Routs of 
Albinia !§ 
(Mind—not to her dinners—a second- 
hand Muse {the Blues.) 
Mustn’t think of aspiring to mess with 
Or—in case nothing else in this world 
you can do— [review ! 
The deuce is in’t, Sir, if you cannot 


Should you feel any touch of poetical 
glow, [you must know, 
We’ve a Scheme to suggest—Mr. Se—tt, 
(Who, we’re sorry to say it, now works 
for the Row,]||) [renown, 
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new 


low-feeling, I suppress the name of the Author 
whose rejected manuscript was enclosed in this 
letter.—See the Appendix. : 

tSir John Carr, the author of “ Tours in Ire- 
land, Holland, Sweden,” ἄο., &e. 

§This alludes, I believe, to a curious corre- 
spondence which is said to have passed 
lately between Alb—n—a, Countess of B—ck- 
—rh—ms—e, and a certain ingenious Parodist. 

|| Paternoster Row. 


jp, 


Z 


A 
“2222:: 
Uf 
Ye 


LW 
MY YT) 
Yy i] 


ἐς ~ ‘ 
δὰ 
N SS 
XIKSSY 

XA ον 

S SS S ~ 
ES SSS SO css 
Let Erin remember the days of old, 

ere her faithless sons betrayed her ; 


When Malachi wore the collar of gold, 
Waica he won from her proud invader.—[.Jlvore's Melodies. 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 


Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to 
Town ; [sure to pay) 

And beginning with Rokeby (the Job’s 

Means to do all the Gentlemen’s Seats 
on the way. 

Now, the Scheme is (though none of 
our hackneys can beat him) 

To start a fresh Poet through Highgate 

to meet him ; 

Who, by means of quick proofs—no re- 
yises—long coaches— 

May do a few Villas, before Se-—tt ap- 
proaches. (shabby, 

Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst 

He’ll reach, without found’ring, at least 
Woburn Abbey. [the freak, 

Such, Sir, is our plan—if you’re up to 

Tis a match! and we'll put you in 
training next week.  [Letter, a 

At present, no more—in reply to this 

Line will oblige very much 

Yours, et cetera. 


Temple of the Muses. 


LETTER VIII. 


FROM COLONEL TH—M—Ss TO 
SK—FF—NGT—N, ESQ. 


Come to our Féte,* and bring with thee 

Thy newest, best embroidery. 

Come to our Féte, and show again 

That pea-green coat, thou pink of men, 

Which charm’d all eyes that last sur- 
vey’d it; [made it ?’?— 

When Br—mm—t’s self inquired ‘‘ who 

When Cits came wond’ring, from the 
Hast, 

And thought thee Poet Pye at least! 


Oh! come, (if haply ’tis thy week 
For looking pale, ) with paly cheek ; 
Though more we love thy roseate days, 
When the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze 
Full o’er thy face, and, amply spread, 
Tips even thy whisker-tops with red— 


*This Letter enclosed a Card for the Grand 
Féte on the 5th of February. 
+ An amateur actor of much risible renown. 
+t Quem tu, Melpomene, semel 
Nascentem placido lumine, videris, &c. 
HORAT. 
‘The Man, upon whom thou’st deign’d to look 
funny, 
Oh Tragedy’s Muse! at the hour of his birth— 
Let them say what they will, that’s the Man for 
my money, {mirth! 


Give others thy tears, but let me have thy | 


§ The crest of Mr. C—tes, the very amusing 


225 


Like the last tints of dying Day 
That. o’er some darkling grove delay. 


Beng thy best lace, thou gay Philan- 
er 
(That lace, like H—rry Al—x—nd—t, 
Too precious to be wash’d,)—thy rings, 
Thy seals—in short, thy prettiest things! 
Put all thy wardrobe’s glories on, 
And yield in frogs and fringe, to none 
But the great R—g—t’s self alone ; 
Who—by particular desire— 
For that night only, means to hire 
A dress from Romeo C—tes, Esquire.t 
Hail, first of Actors !{ best of R—g—ts! 
Born for each other’s fond allegiance ! 
Both gay Lotharios—both good dress- 
ers— [ors— 
Of serious Farce both learn’d Profess- 
Both circled round, for use or show, 
With cock’s combs, wheresoe’er they 
gol) 


Thou know’st the time, thou man of 

lore ! 

It takes to chalk a ball-room floor— 

Thou know’st the time, too, well-a-day ! 

It takes to dance that chalk away.|| 

The Ball-room opens—far and nigh 

Comets and suns beneath us lie; [walk, 

O’er snow-white moons and stars we 

And the floor seems one sky of chalk! 

But soon shall fade that bright deceit, 

When many a maid, with busy feet 

That sparkle in the lustre’s ray, 

O’er the white path shall bound and 

ay 

Like nymphs along the Milky Way :— 

With every step a star hath fled, 

And suns grow dim beneath their tread ! 

So passeth life—(thus Se—tt would 
write, 

And spinsters read him with delight, )— 

Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on, 

Time is not chalk, yet time’s soon 
gone ΤῈ 


amateur tragedian here alluded to, was a cock; 
and most profusely were his liveries, harness, 
&e., covered with this ornament. 

|| To those, who neither go to balls nor read 
the Morning Post, it may be necessary to men- 
tion, that the floors of ball-rooms, in general, 
are chalked, for safety and for ornament, with 
various fanciful devices. 

4 Hearts are not flint, yet flints are rent, 
Hearts are not steel, yet steel is bent. 
After all, however, Mr. Se—tt may well say to 
the Colonel, (and, indeed, to much better wags 
than the Colonel,) paov μωμεισθαι ἡ μιμεισθαι. 


226 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


But, hang this long digressive flight!— 
I meant to say, thou’lt see, that night, 
What falsehood rankles in their hearts, 
Who say the Pr——e neglects the arts— 
Neglects the arts ?—no, Str—hl—g,* no; 
Thy Cupids answer ‘’tis not so ;” 
And every floor, that night, shall tell 
How quick thou daubest, and how well. 
Shine as thou may’stin French vermilion, 
Thou’rt best, beneath a French cotillion ; 
Andstill com’st off, whate’er thy faults, 
With flying colors in a Waltz. [date 
Nor need’st thou mourn the transient 
To thy best works assign’d by fate. 
While some chef-d’ceuvres live to weary 

one, 

Thine boast.a short life and a merry one; 
Their hour of glory past and gone 
With “‘ Molly put the kettle on !’’t 


But, bless my soul! I’ve scarce a leaf 
Of paper left—so, must be brief. 


This festive Fete, in fact, will be 
The former Feéte’s fac-simile ;t 
The same long Masquerade of Rooms, 
All trick’d up in such odd costumes, 
(These, P--rt—1r,§ are thy glorious 

works !) [Turks, 

Yowd swear Egyptians, Moors, and 
Bearing Good-Taste some deadly malice, 
Had clubb’d to raise a Pic-Nic Palace ; 
And each to make the olio pleasant 
Had sent a State-Room as a present. 
The same fauteuils and girandoles— 
The same gold Asses,|| pretty souls! 
That, in this rich and classic dome, 
Appear so perfectly at home. 
The same bright river ’mong the dishes, 
But not—ah! not the same dear fishes— 
Late hours and claret kill’dthe old ones— 
So ’stead of silver and of gold ones, 
(It being rather hard to raise 
Fish of that specie now-a-days, ) 
Some sprats have been by Y—rm—th’s 
Promoted into Silver Fish, [ wish, 
And Gudgeons (so V—ns—tt—t told 
The R—g—t) are as good as Gold! 


So, prithee, come—our Féte will be 
But half a Féte if wanting thee. 


* A foreign artist much patronized by the 
Prince Regent. 

+ The name of a popular country-dance. 

+ “C—rlt—n H e will exhibit a complete 
facsimile, in respect to interior ornament, to 
what it did at the last Féte. The same splen- 
did draperies," &¢e. &e.—Morning Post. 

§ Mr. Walsh Porter, to whose taste was left 
the furnishing of the rooms of Carlton House. 


APPENDIX. 


LETTER IV. PAGE 221. 


AMONG the papers enclosed in Dr. 
D—g—n—n’s Letter was found an He- 
roic Epistle in Latin verse, from Pope 
Joan to her Lover, of which, as it is 
rather a curious document, I shall yen- 
ture to give some account. This female 
Pontiff was a native of England, (or, 
according to others, of Germany, ) who, 
at an early age, disguised herself in 
male attire, and followed her lover, 8 
young ecclesiastic, to Athens, where 
she studied with such effect, that upon 
her arrival at Rome she was thought 
worthy of being raised to the Pontificate. 
This Epistle is addressed to her Lover 
(whom she had elevated to the dignity 
of Cardinal) soon after the fatal accouche- 
ment, by which her Fallibility was be- 
trayed. 

She begins by reminding him tender- 
ly of the time, when they were together 
at Athens—when, as she says, 


‘“by Ilissus’ stream 
“We whisp’ring walk’d along, and 
learn’d to speak [ Greek ;— 
“The tenderest feelings in the purest 
“ Ah, then how little did we think or 
hope, [ Pope !7 
“Dearest of men, that I should e’er be 
“That I, the humble Joan, whose house- 
wife art [and heart, 
“Seem’d just enough to keep thy house 
“ And those, alas, atsixes and at sevens, ) 
‘‘Should soon keep all the keys of all 
the heavens !” 


Still less (she continues to say) could 
they have foreseen, that such a catastro- 
phe as had happened in Council would 
befall them—that she 


“Should thus surprise the Conclaye’s 
grave decorum, Vem— 
‘And let a little Pope pop out before 


|| The salt-cellars on the Pr e’s own ta- 
ble were in the form of an Ass with panniers. 

{| Spanheim attributes the unanimity with 
which Joan was elected, tothat innate and irre- 
sistible charm by which her sex, though latent, 
operated upon the instinet of the Cardinals— 
‘© Non vi aliqué, sed coneorditer, omnium in se 
converso desiderio. que sunt blandientis sexus 
artes, latentes in hae quanquan!”’ 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 


“Pope Innocent! alas, the only one 
“That name could e’er be justly fix’d 
upon.” 


She then very pathetically laments the 
downfall of her greatness, and enumer- 
ates the various treasures to which she 
is doomed to bid farewell forever :— 


“ But oh, more dear, more precious ten 
times over— [ Lover! 
“Farewell my Lord, my Cardinal, my 
“T made thee Cardinal—thou mad’st me 
‘—ah! [Mamma !” 
“Thou mad’st the Papa of the world 


I have nottime at present to translate 
any more of this Epistle ; but I presume 
the argument which the Right Hon. 
Doctor and his friends mean to deduce 
from it, is(in their usual convincing 
strain) that Romanists must be unwor- 
thy of Emancipation now, because they 
had a Petticoat Pope in the Ninth Cen- 
tury. Nothing can be more logically 
clear, and I find that Horace had ex- 
actly the same views upon the subject. 

Romanus (ehen posteri negabitis !) 


Emancipatus FasMin 2 
Fert vallum ! 


LETTER VII. 


Tne Manuscript found enclosed in the 
Bookseller’s Letter, turns out to bea 
Melo-Drama, in two Acts, entitled ‘‘ The 
Book,”* of which the Theatres, of course, 
had had the refusal, before it was present- 
ed to Messrs. L—ck—ngt—n and Co. 
This rejected Drama, however, possesses 
considerable merit, and I shall take the 
liberty of laying a sketch of it before 
my Readers, 

The first Act opens ina very awful 
manner—Time, three o’clock in the 
morning-—Scene, the Bourbon Chambert 
in C—rlt—n House—Enter the P——e 
R—g—t solus—After a few broken sen- 
tences, he thus exclaims :—~ 


PAGE 224, 


*There was, in like manner, a mysterious 
Book, in the 16th Century, which employed all 
the anxious curiosity of the Learned of that 
time. Every one spoke of it; many wrote 
against it ; though it does not appear that any- 
body had ever seen it; and Grotius is of opinion 
that no such Book ever existed. It was entitled 
* Liber de tribus impostoribus.” (See Morhot. 
Cap. de Libris damnatis.)—Our more modern 
mystery of “the Book ” resembles this in many 


227 

Away—A way— 

Thou haunt’st my fancy so, thou devil- 
ish Book, [look. 


I meet thee—trace thee, wheresoe’er I 
1 see thy damned ink in Eld—n’s brows— 
I see thy foolscap on my H—rtf—d’s 
Spouse— [case, 
V—ns—tt—t’s head recalls thy leathern 
And all thy black-leaves stare from 
R—d—t’s face ! 
While turning here, (laying his hand on 
his heart,) I find, ah wretched elf, 
Thy List of dire Lrrata in myself. 
(Walks the stage in considerable 
agitation. ) 
Ob Roman Punch! oh potent Curagoa! 
Oh Mareschino ! Mareschino oh! 
Delicious drams! why have you not 
the art [heart ? 
To kill this gnawing Book-worm in my 


He is here interrupted in his Soliloquy 
by perceiving on the ground some scrib- 
bled fragments of paper, which he in- 
stantly collects, and ‘‘by the light of. 
two magnificent candelabras ” discovers 
the following unconnected words, ‘‘ Wife 
neglected” —‘‘ the Book”—“ Wrong 
Measures ”’—“‘ the Queen” —“‘Mr. Lam- 
bert”-—“ the R—g—t.” 


Ha! treason in my house !—Curst words, 
that wither 

My princely soul, (shaking the papers 
violently,) what Demon brought 
you hither ? 

“My Wife;”—“the Book” 
stay-—a nearer look— 

(holding the fragments closer to the 
Candelabras) 

Alas ! too plain, B, double 0, K, Book— 

Death and destruction ! 


too !— 


He here rings all the bells, and a 
whole legion of valets enter. A scene 
of cursing and swearing (very much in 
the German style) ensues, in the course 
of which messengers are dispatched in 
different directions, for the L—rd Ch—n- 


particulars; and, if the number of Lawyers em- 
ployed in drawing it up be stated correctly, a 
slight alteration of the title into “ ἃ tribus im- 
postoribus ” would produce a coincidence alto- 


| gether very remarkable. 


tThe same Chamber, doubtless, that was pre- 
pared for the reception of the Bourbons at the 
first Grand Féte. and which was ornumented 
(all **for the Deliverance of Europe”’) with 
Jleurs-de-lys. 


28 
c—ll—r, the D—e of C—b—l—d, &e., 
ἄς. The intermediate time is filled up 
by another Soliloquy, at the conclusion 
of which the aforesaid Personages rush 
on alarmed; the D—ke with his stays 
only half-laced, and the Ch—nce—l]—r 
with his wig thrown hastily over an old 
red nigt-cap, ‘‘to maintain the be- 
coming splendor of his office.”* The 
R—g—t produces the appalling frag- 
ments, upon which the Ch—ne—ll—r 
breaks out into exclamations of loyalty 
and tenderness, and relates the following 
porteutous dream : 


*Tis scarcely two hours since 
I had a fearful dream of thee, my 
e!— { crowd, 
Metaought I heard thee, midst a courtly 
Say from thy throne of gold, in man- 
date loud, 
“ἽΝ orship my whiskers !’—(weeps) not 
a knee was there [Pair, 
Put bent and worshipp’d the Illustrious 
Which curl’d in conscious majesty! 
(pulls out his handkerchief)— 
while cries [echoing skies. — 
Of ‘Whiskers, whiskers!’’ shook the 
Just in that glorious hour, methought 
there came, [Dame, 
With looks of injured Pride, a Princely 
And a young maiden, clinging by her 
side, 
Asif she fear’d some tyrant would divide 
Two hearts that nature and affection 
tied ! {hand glow’d 
The Matron came—within her right 
A radiant torch; while from her left a 
load [lected in her veil— 
Of Papers hung—(wipes his eyes) col- 
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale, 
The wounding hint, the current lies that 
pass [mass ; 
From Post to Courier, form’d the motley 
Which, with disdain, before the Throne 
she throws, 
And lights the pile beneath thy princely 
nose. ( Weeps.) 
Heavy’ns, how it blazed!—I’d ask no 
livelier fire ; 
(With animation) To roast a Papist by, 
my gracious Sire !— 
But, ah! the Evidence—(weeps again) 
I mourn’d to see— 


*“'To enable the individual, who holds the of- 
fice of Chancellor, to maintain it in becoming 
splendor.” (A loud laugh.)—Lord Castir- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Cast, as it burn’d, a deadly light on thee: 
And Tales and Hints their random 
sparkle flung, _ [maid’s tongue; 
And hiss’d and crackled, like an old 
While Post and Courier, faithful to their 
fame, (flame. 
Made up in stink for what they lack’d in 
When, lo, ye Gods! the fire ascending 
brisker, [ whisker. 
Now singes one, now lights the other 
Ah! where was then the Sylphid, that 
unfurls 
Her fairy standard in defence of curls ἢ 
Throne, Whiskers, Wig, soon vanish’d 
into smoke, [I awoke. 
The watchman cried ‘‘ Past One,” and— 


Here his Lordship weeps more pro- 
fusely than ever, and the R—g—t (who 
has been very much agitated during the 
recital of the Dream) by a movement as 
characteristic as that of Charles XII. 
when he was shot, claps his hands to his 
whiskers to feel if all be really safe. A 
Privy Council is held—all the Servants, 
&c., are examined, and it appears that a. 
Tailor, who had come to measure the 
R-—g—t for a Dress, (which takes three 
whole pages of the best superfine clin- 
quantin describing, ) was the only person 
who had been in the Bourbon Chamber 
during the day. It is, accordingly, de- 
termined to seize the Tailor, and the 
Council breaks up with a wnanimous 
resolution to be vigorous. 

The commencement of the Second 
Act turns chiefly upon the Trial and Im- 
prisonment of two Brotherst—but as 
this forms the under plot of the Drama, 
I shall content myself with extracting 
from it the following speech, which is 
addressed to the two Brothers, as they 
“exeunt severally” to Prison :— 


Go to your prison—though the air of 
Spring [shall bring ; 
No mountain coolness to your cheeks 
Though Summer flowers shall pass un- 
seen away, 
And all your portion of the glorious day 
May be some solitary beam that falls, 
At morn oreye, upon your dreary walls— 
Some beam that enters, trembling as if 
awed, {abroad ! 
To tell how gay the young world laughs 
aie Speech upon the Vice-Chancellor’s 
ull. 


+ Mr. Leigh Hunt and his brother. 


Δ ΚΞ 


Oh, there’s nothing half so sweet in life 


g 
As young love’s dream. 
LVoore’s Melodies. 


INTERCEPTED LETTERS. 


Yet go—for thoughts as blessed _as the 
air [there ; 
Of Spring or Summer flowers await you 
Thoughts, such as He, who feasts his 
courtly crew 
In rich conservatories, never knew; 
Pure self-esteem—the smiles that light 
within— 
The Zeal, whose circling charities begin 
With the few loved ones Heaven has 
placed it near, [sphere ; 
And spread, till all Mankind are in its 
The Pride, that suffers without vaunt or 
plea, [free, 
And the fresh Spirit, that can warble 
Through prison-bars, its hymn to 
Liberty! 


The Scene next changes to a Tailor’s 
Workshop, and a fancifully arranged 
group of these Artists 1s discovered upon 
the Shopboard—Their task evidently of 
a royal nature, from the profusion of 
gold-lace, frogs, &c., that lie about— 
They all rise and come forward, while 
one of them sings the following Stanzas 
to the tune of ‘“‘ Derry Down.” 


My brave brother Tailors, come, 
straighten your knees, [at ease, 

For a moment, like gentlemen, standup 
While I sing of our P——e, (and a fig 
for his railers), {of Tailors ! 

The Shopboard’s delight ! the Meecenas 
Derry down, down, down derry down. 


Some monarchs take roundabout ways 

into note, [cut of his coat ; 

While His short cut to fame is—the 

. Philip’s Son thought the World was too 

small for his Soul, [button-hole. 

But ow R—g—t’s finds room in a laced 
Derry down, &c. 


Look through all Europe’s Kings— 
those, at least, who go loose— 

Not a King of them all’s such a friend to 
the Goose, 


229 


So, God keep him increasing in size and 

renown, [about town! 

Still the fattest and best fitted P——e 
Derry down, &e. 


During the ‘‘ Derry down” of this last 
verse, a messenger from the S—c—t—y 
of 5 e’s Office rushes on, and the 
singer (who, luckily for the effect of the 
scene, is the very Tailor suspected of 
the mysterious fragments) is interrupted 
in the midst of his laudatory exertions, 
and hurried away, to the no small sur- 
prise and consternation of his comrades. 
The Plot now hastens rapidly in its de- 
velopment —the management of the Tai- 
lor’s examination is highly skilful, and 
the alarm, which he is made to betray, 
is natural without being Iudicrous. 
The explanation, too, which he finally 
gives, 1s not more simple than satisfac- 
tory. It appears that the said fragments 
formed part of a self-exculpatory note, 
which he had intended to send to Colo- 
nel M‘M——n upon subjects purely pro- 
fessional, and the corresponding bits 
(which still lie luckily in his pocket) 
being produced, and skilfully laid beside 
the others,the following billet-doux is the 
satisfactory result of their juxtaposition. 


Honored Colonel—my Wife, who’s the 
Queen of all slatterns, [ Patterns. 

Neglected to put up the Book of new 

She sent the wrong Measures too— 
shamefully ‘vrong— 

They’re the same used for poor Mr. 
Lambert, when young ; 

But, bless you! they wouldn’t go half 
round the R—g—t— 

So, hope you'll excuse yours till death, 
most obedient. 


This fully explains the whole mystery 
—the R—g-—t resumes his wonted 
smiles, and the Drama terminates as 
usual, to the satisfaction of all parties. 


230 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


ZXOAAZONTOS ΑΣΧΟΛΙΑ. 


THE INSURRECTION OF THE 
PAPERS. 


A DREAM. 


“ΤῸ would be impossible for his Royal High- 
ness to diseng ane his person from the accumu- 
lating pile of papers that encompassed it.’— 
Lord CASTLEREAGH'’S Speech wpon Colonel 
M‘Mahon's Appointment, April 14, 1812. 


Last night I toss’d and turn’d in bed, 
But could not sleep—at length I said, 
“Tl think of Viscount C—stl—r—gh, 
‘¢ snd of his speeches—that’s the way.” 
And so it was, for instantly 

I slept as sound as sound could be. 
And then I dream’d—so dread a dream! 
Fuseli has no such theme; 

Lewis never wrote or borrow’d 

Any horror half so horrid! 


Methought the P——e, in whisker’d 
state, 

Before me at his breakfast sate ; 
On one side lay unread Petitions, 
On t’other, Hints from five Physicians; 
Here tradesmew’s bills,—oflicial papers, 
Notes from my Lady, drams for vapors— 
There plans of saddles, tea and toast, 
Death-warrants and the Morning Post. 


When Jo! the Papers, one and all, 
As if at some magician’s call, 
Began to flutter of themselves 
From desk and table, floor and shelves, 
And, cutting each some different capers, 
Advanced, oh jacobinie papers! 
As though they said, “Our sole designis 
“Mo suffocate his Royal Highness "ἢ 
The Leader of this vile sedition 
Was a huge Catholic Petition, 
With grievances so full and heavy, 
It threaten’d worst of all the bevy. 
Then Common- Hall Addresses came 
In swaggering sheets, and took their 

aim 


Right at the R—g—t’s well-dress’d head, 

As if determined to be read. 

Next Tradesmen’s Bills began to fly, 

And Tradesmen’s Bills, we know, mount 
high ; [best 

Nay, ev’n Death- warrants thought they’d 

Be lively, too, and join the rest. 


But oh, the basest of defections ! 
His letter about “ predilections,”— 
His own dear Letter, void of grace, 
Now flew up in its parent’s face ! 
Shock’d with his breach of filial duty, 
He just could murmur “et Tu Brute !” 
Then sunk, subdued upon the floor 
At Fox’s bust, to rise no more ! 


I waked—and pray’d, with lifted hand, 
“ΟΠ! never may this Dream prove 
true ; 
‘Though paper overwhelm the land, 
‘‘ Let it not crush the Sovereign too !” 


PARODY 
OF A CELEBRATED LETTER.* 


At length, dearest Freddy, the moment 
is nigh, 

When, with P—re—y—l’s leave, I may 
throw my chains by ; 

And, as time now is precious, the first 


thing I do, [you. 
Ts to sit down and write a wise letter to 
- * - a 
* * * * 
* * a * 
* * * * 
* * * * 
7 ΕΣ * * 


I meant before now to have sent you 
this Letter, [Ὁποῦ] be better 
But Y—rm—th and I thought perhaps 


* Letter from His Royal Highness the Prince 
Reyent to the Duke of York, Feb. 13, 1812. 


ν᾿ 
ἐν 
oie 
Ψ 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


231 


To wait till the Irish affairs were de- 
cided— 

(That is, till both Houses had prosed and 

With all due appearance of thought and 
digestion, )— 

For, though H—rtf—rd House had long 
settled the question, [you, 

T thought it but decent, between me and 

That the two other Houses should settle 
it too. 


I need not remind you how cursediy 

bad 

Our affairs were all looking, when Father 

A straight waistcoat on him and restric- 
tions on me, be. 

A more limited Monarchy could not well 

I was eall’d upon then, in that moment 
of puzzle, 

To choose my own Minister—just as they 
muzzle 

A playful young bear, and then mock 
his disaster, 

By bidding him choose out his own 
dancing-master. 


I thought the best way, as a dutiful 
son, [have done.t 
Was to do as Old Royalty’s self would 
So I sent word to say, I would keep the 
whole batch in, 
The same chest of tools, without cleans- 
ing or patching ; [sconce,} 
For tools of this kind, like Martinus’s 
Would lose all their beauty, if purified 
once ; [should find, 
And think—only think—if our Father 
Upon graciously coming again to his 
mind, ᾧ [ite adviser— 
That improvement had spoil’d any favor- 
That R—se was grown honest, or W—st- 
m—rel—nd wiser— 
That R—d—r was, ev’n by one twinkle, 
the brighter— [pound lighter— 
Or L—y—rp—l’s speeches but half a 
What a shock to his old royal heart it 
would be! [ment from me ! 
No !—far were such dreams of improve- 


* «T think it hardly necessary to call your re- 
collection to the recent circumstances under 
which I assumed the authority delegated to me 
by Parliament.”—Prince’s Letter. 

1 ‘*My sense of duty to our Royal father 
solely decided that choice.” —Ibid. 

t The antique shield of Martinus Seriblerus, 
which, upon scouring, turned out to be only an 
old seonce. 

“T waived any personal gratification, in 
order that his Majesty might resume, on his 


[went mad :* | 


“And it pleased me to find, at the House, 
[ divided, | 
| There’s such good mutton cutlets, and 


where, you know, || 


strong curacoa,§ — [ous old boy, 
That the Marchioness call’d me a dute- 
And my Y—rm—th’s red whiskers grew 
redder for joy. 


You know, my dear Freddy, how oft, 
if 1 would, [done good. 

By the law of last Sessions I might have 
I might have withheld these political 
noodles [Yankee Doodles ; 

From knocking their heads against hot 
1 might have told Ireland I pitied her 
lot, [you know I did not. 
Might have sooth’d her with hope—but 
And my wish is, in truth, that the best 
of old fellows [to be jealous. 
Should not, on recovering, have cause 
But find that, while he has been laid on 
the shelf, [himself. 
We’ve been all of us nearly as mad as 
You smile at my hopes—but the Doc- 
tors and 1 [ever will die.** 

Are the last that can think the _K—ng 


Anew era’s arrived,ft—though you’d 

hardly believe it— [receive it. 

And all things, of course, must be new to 

New villas, new fétes, (which ey’n 
Waithman attends, )— 

New saddles, new helmets, and—why 
not new friends ? 
* * * * 


* * * * 


I repeat it, ‘‘ NewFriends” —for I cannot 
describe {e—v—l tribe. 

The delight I am in with this P—r- 

Such capering !—Such vaporing !—Such 
rigor !—Such vigor— 

North, South, East, and West, they 
have cut such a figure, 

That soon they will bring the whole 
world round our ears, 

And leave us no friends—but Old Nick 
and Algiers. 


restoration to health, every power and preroga- 
tive,” &ce.—Prince's Letter. 

|| ‘* And I have the satisfaction of knowing 
that such was the opinion of persons for whose 
judgement,” &e., &e.—Jbid. 

“ The letter-writer's favorite luncheon. 

**« T certainly am the last person in the king- 
dom to whom it can be permitted to despair of 
our royal father’s recovery.” —Prince’s Letter. 

it ‘* A new era is now arrived, and I cannot 
but reflect with satisfaction,” &¢—bid. 


232 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


δύο τ ἘΠ 9 ee aa 


When I think of the glory they’ve 
beam’d on my chains, _ [brains. 
’Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious 
It is true we are bankrupts in commerce 
and riches, [breeches ! 
But think how we find our Allies in new 
We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 
’tis granted, [wanted, 
But then we’ve got Java, an island much 
To put the last lingering few who remain 
Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their 
pain. [squabbles his brother ! 
Then how Wellington fights! and how 
For Papists the one, and with Papists 
the other ; 
One crushing Napoleon by taking a City, 
While t’other lays waste a whole Cath- 
“lic Committee. [ flinch, 
Oh deeds of renown ! —shall I boggle or 
With such prospects before me? by Jove, 
not an inch. [they will, 
No—let England’s affairs go to rack, if 
We'll look after th’ affairs of the Conti- 
nent still ; {and not, 
And, with nothmg at home but starvation 
Find Lisbon πὶ bread, and keep Sicily 
quiet. 


I am proud to declare I have no pre- 

dilections, * [ter’d affections 

My heart is a sieve, where some scat- 

Are just danced about for a moment or 

two, : {run through : 

And the finer they are, the more sure to 

Neither feel I resentments, nor wish 
there should come ill 

To mortal—except (now I think on’t) 

Beau Br—mm—1, [passion, 

Who threaten’d last year, in a superfine 

To cut me, and bring the old K—ng into 

fashion. [present ; 

This is all I can lay to my conscience at 

When such is my temper, so neutral, so 

pleasant, [ings, 

So royally free from all troublesome feel- 

So little encumber’d by faith in my 

dealings, [allow, 

(And that I’m consistent the world will 

What I wasat Newmarket the same I am 

now. ) {hate cracking, 

When such are my merits, (you know 1 


*« T have no predilections to indulge,—no 
resentments to gratify.” —Tbid. 


t “1 cannot conclude without expressing the 
gratification I should feel if some of those per- 
sons with whom the early habits of my public 
life were formed would strengthen my hands, 


and constitute a part of my government.” —Jbid, 


I hope, like the Vender of Best Patent 
Blacking, [approbation 

“To meet with the gen’rous and kind 

“Of acandid, enlighten’d, and liberal 
nation.” 


By the by, ere I close this magnificent 
Letter, [you a better, ) 
(No man, except Pole, could have writ 
’Twould please me if those, whom I’ve 
humbugeg’d so longt 
With the notion (good men!) that I 
knew night from wrong, 
Would a few of them join me—mind, 
only a few— [would do; 
To let too much light in on me never 
But even Grey’s brightness shan’t make 
me afraid, [fly to for shade; 
While I’ve C—md-—-n and Eld—n to 
Nor will Holland’s clear intellect do us 
much harm, 
While there’s W—stm—rel—nd near 
him to weaken the charm. 
As for Moira’s high spirit, if anght can 
subdue it, [m—th will do it! 
Sure joining with H—rtf—rd and Y—r- 
Between R—d-—r and Wh—rt—n let 
Sheridan sit, [dan’s wit: 
And the fogs will soon quench even Sheri- 
And against all the pure public feeling 
that glows [in G—rge R--se! 
E’yn in Whitbread himself we’ve a Host 
So, in short, if they wish to have Places, 
they may, [ters to Grey, 
And ΤΊ] thank you to tell all these mat- 
Who, I doubt not, will write (as there’s 
no time to lose) [the news ; 
By the twopenny post to tell Grenville 
And now, dearest Fred, (though I’ve no 
predilection, ) [fection. 
Believe me yours always, with truest af- 


P. S. A copy of this is to Ῥ--τὸ -] 
going : [with his crowing! 
Good Lord, how St. Stephen’s will ring 


ANACREONTIC. 


TO A PLUMASSIER. 


ΕἾΝΕ and feathery artisan, 
Best of Plumists (if you can 
With your art so far presume) 


t ** You are authorized to communicate these 
sentiments to Lord Grey, who, Ihave no doubt, 
will make them known to Lord Grenville.""— 
Ibid. . ; 

δ. 1 shall send a copy of this letter immedi- 
ately to Mr. Perceval.”—Prince’s Letter. 


Make for me ἃ Pr—ce’s Plune— 
Feathers soft and feathers rare, 
Such as suits a Pr—ce to wear. 


First, thou downiest of men, 
Seek me out a fine Pea-hen; 
Such a Hen, so tall and grand, 
As by Juno’s side might stand, 
If there were no cocks at hand. 
Seek her feathers, soft as down, 
Fit to shine on Pr—ce’s crown: 
If thou can’st not find them, stupid! 
Ask the way of Prior’s Cupid.* 


Ranging these in order due, 
Pluck me next an old Cuckoo ; 
Emblem of the happy fates 
Of easy, kind, cornuted mates. 
Pluck him well—be sure you do— 
Who wouldn’t be an old Cuckoo, 
Thus to have his plumage bless’d, 
Beaming on a R—y—! crest? 


Bravo, Plumist !—now what bird 
Shall we find for Plume the third ? 
You must get a learned Owl, 
Bleakest of black-letter fowl, — 
Bigot bird, that hates the light,t 
Foe to all that’s fair and bright. 
Seize his pea (so form’d to pen 
Books,t{ that shun the search ofmen ; 
Books, that, far from every eye, 

In ‘‘ swelter’d venom sleeping” lie, ) 
Stick them in between the two, 
Proud Pea-hen and old Cuckoo. 
Now you have the triple feather, 
Bind the kindred stems together 
With asilken tie, whose hue 

Once was brilliant, Buff and Blue; 
Sullied now—alas, how much! 
Only fit for Y—rm—th’s touch. 

There—enough—thy task is done ; 
Present, worthy G——ge’s Son; 
Now, beneath, in letters neat, 
Write “1 serve,” andall’s complete. 


EXTRACTS 
FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN, 
Wednesday. 
TuroucH M—nch—st—r Square took a 
canter just now— 
* See Prior's poem, entitled ‘ The Dove.” 
7 P--re—v—1. 
{In allusion to ‘‘the Book” which created 


such a sensation at that period. 
ὃ The ineog. vehicle οἵ the Pr—ce. 


\| Baron Geramb, rival of his R. H.in whiskers. | 


‘England is not the only country where 
merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. “ 1 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


233 


Met the old yellow chariot,§ and made a 
low bow. 

This I did, of course, thinking ’twas 
loyal and civil, {the devil! 

But got such a look—oh ’twas black as 

How unlucky !—ineog. he was tray’ling 
about, [out. 

And I, like a noodle, must go find him 


Mem.—when next by the old yellow 
chariot I ride, { inside. 

To remember there is nothing princely 

Thursday. 

At Levee to-day made another sad 
blunder— [wonder ? 

What can be come over me lately, I 

The Pr—ce was as cheerful, as if, all his 
life, [or a Wife 

He hadneverbeen troubled with Friends 

‘Fine weather,” says he—to which I, 
who must prate, 

Answer’d, “ Yes, Sir, but changeable 
rather, of late.” 

He took it, I fear, for he look’d some- 
what gruff, [so rough, 

And handled his new pair of whiskers 

That before all the courtiers I fear’d 
they’d come off, 

And then, Lord, how Geramb|| would 
triumphantly scoff ! 


Mem.—to buy for son Dicky some un- 
guent or lotion [promotion ! 
To nourish his whiskers—sure road to 
Saturday. 
Last night a Concert—vastly gay— 
Given by Lady C—stl—1—gh. 
My Lord loves music, and, we know, 
Has “ two strings always to his bow.”** 
In choosing songs the R—g—t named 
“Had I a heart for falsehood framed.” 
While gentle H—rtf—d begg’d and pray’d 
For ““ Young I am, and sore afraid.” 


EPIGRAM. 
Wuart news to-day?—Oh! worse and 
worse— 

‘“Mactt is the Pr—ce’s Privy Purse !’— 
The Pr—ce’s Purse! no, no, you fool, 
You mean the Pr—ce’s Ridicule. 
remember,” says Tavernier, ‘to have seen 
one of the King of Persia’s porters, whose 
moustaches Were so long that he could tie them 
| behind his neek, for which reason he had a dou- 


ble pension. 

*" \ yhetorical figure used by Lord C—s- 
| tl—r—gh, in one of his speeches. 
| {Colonel M—em—h—n. 


234 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


KING CRACK* AND HIS IDOLS. 


WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOTIATION 
FOR A NEW M—N-—STRY. 


Kine CrAcK was the best of all possible 
Kings, {to you gladly, ) 

(At least so his Courtiers would swear 
But Crack now and then would do het’r- 
odox things, [ages sadly. 

And at last took to worshipping Jm- 


Some broken-down Idols, that long had 
been placed [80 much, 
In his father’s old Cabinet, pleased him 
That he knelt down and worshipp’d, 
though—such was his taste— 
They were monstrous to look at, and 
rotten to touch. 


And these were the beautiful Gods of 
King Crack !— [such things, 
But his People, disdaining to worship 
Cried aloud, one and all, ‘‘ Come, your 
Godships must pack— 
““Yowll not do for ws, though you 
may do for Kings.” 


Then, trampling these images under 
their feet, [‘‘ Great Cesar! 
They sent Crack a petition, beginning 
“We're willing to worship; but only 
entreat 
‘‘That youll find us some decenter 
Godheads than these are.” 


“411 try,” says King Crack—so they 
furnish’d him models 
Of better shaped Gods, but he sent 
them all back ; 
Some were chisell’d too fine, some had 
heads ’stead of noddles, 
In short, they were all much too god- 
like for Crack, 


So he took to his darling old Idols again, 

And, just mending their legs and new 
bronzing their faces, 

In open defiance of Gods and of man, 

Set the monsters up grinning once 
more in their places. 

* One of those antediluvian Princes with whom 

Manetho and Whiston seem so intimately ac- 


quainted. If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, 
irom which Manetho compiled his History, we 


should find; I dare say, that Crack was only a | 


Regent, and that he, perhaps, sueceeded ‘Ty 


phon, who (as \Whiston says) was the last King | 


of the Antediluvyian Dynasty, 


) 


WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE? 


Quest. Wuy is a Pump like V—se—nt 
C—stl—r—gh ? [wood, 

Answ. Because it is a slender thing of 
That up and down its awkward arm 
doth sway, [away, 

And coolly spout and spout and spout 
In one weak, washy, everlasting flood ! 


EPIGRAM. 


DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELE- 
GATE AND HIS R—Y—L H—GHN—SS 
THE D—E OF C——B—l—D- 


Sarp his Highness to Ned,t with that 
grim face of his, _ [lic Neddy?” 
“Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catho- 
“Because, sir,” said Ned, looking full in 
his phiz, [science, already !” 
“Youwre forbidding enough,in all con- 


WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS. 
AN ANACREONTIC, 


Hiruer, Flora, Queen of Flowers ! 
Haste thee from Old Brompton’s bow-- 
Or, (if sweeter that abode, ) [ers— 
From the King’s well-odor’d Road, 
Where each little nursery bud 

Breathes the dust and quaffs the mud. 
Hither come and gayly twine 

Brightest herbs and flowers of thine 
Into wreaths for those who rule us, 
Those, who rule and (some say) fool us— 
Flora, sure, will love to please 
Hngland’s Household Deities! 


First you must then, willy-nilly, 
Fetch me many an orange lily— 
Orange of the darkest dye 
Trish G—ff—rd can supply ; 
Choose me out the longest sprig, 
And stick it in old Hld—n’s wig. 


Find me next a Poppy posy, 
Type of his harangues so dozy, 
Garland gaudy, dull and cool, 

To crown the head of L—y—rp—l. 
"Twill console his brilliant brows 
For that loss of laurel boughs, 


Ἐπ αν να Byrne, the head of the Delegates of 
the Irish Cathelies. 

‘The ancients, in hike manner, crowned their 
Lares, or Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat 
9, iv. 188.—Plutarch, too, tells us that House- 
hold Gods were then, as they are now, ‘“* much 
given to War and Penal Statutes.”—epivyvw- 


δεις καὶ ποίνιμους δαιμονας. 


SATIRICAL.AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Which they suffer'd (what a pity !) 
On the road to Paris City. 


Next, our C—stl—r—gh to crown, 
Bring me from the County Down, 
Wither’d Shamrocks, which have been 
Gilded o’er, to hide the green— 

(Such as H—df—t brought away 

From Pall-Mall last Patrick’s day)—* 
Stitch the garland through and through 
With shabby threads of every hue ;— 
And as, Goddess !—entre nous— 

His lordship loves (though best of men) 
A little torture, now and then, 

Crimp the leaves, thou first of Syrens, 
Crimp them with thy curling-irons. 


That’s enough—away, away— 
Had 1 leisure, I could say 
How the oldest rose that grows 
Must be pluck’d to deck Old Rose—t 
How the Doctor’s brow should smile 
Crown’d with wreaths of chamomile. 
But time presses—to thy taste 
I leave the rest, so, prithee, haste ! 
EPIGRAM. 
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND 
HER MAID ON THE NIGHT OF LORD 
Y—RM—TH’S FETE. 


“‘T want the Court Guide,” said my la- 

dy, ‘‘to look 30, or 20.”— 

“Tf the House, Seymour Place, be at 

“We've lost the Court Guide, Ma’am, 
but here’s the Red Book, 

“Where you'll find, I dare say, Sey- 
mour Places in plenty !” 


HORACE, ODE XI. LIB. II. 


FREELY TRANSLATED BY THE PR—CE 
R—G—T.} 
§ Come, Y—rm—th, my boy, never 
trouble your brains, 


*Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock 
which are distributed by the Servants of 
σ n House every Patrick’s Day. 

{The sobriquet given to Lord Sidmouth. 

tThis and the following are extracted from a 
Work which may, some time or other, meet the 
eye of the Public, entitled ‘‘Odes of Horace, 


done into English by several persons of fashion.” | 


§Qnid bellicosus Cantaber, et Scythes, 
Hirpine Quincti, cogitet Hadria 
Divisus objecto, remittas 
Querere. 
Nec trepides in usum 
Poscentis #yi pauca. 


About what your old crony, 
The Emperor Boney, 
Is doing or brewing on Muscovy’s plains ; 


Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our 
granaries :|| 
Should there come famine, 
Still plenty to cram in 
You always shall have, my dear Lord of 
the Stannaries. 


Brisk let us revel, while revel we may ; 
For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes 
away, 7 
And then people get fat, 
And infirm, and—all that, 
And a wig (1 confess it) soclumsily sits, ** 
That it frightens the little Loves out of 
their wits ; 
Thy whiskers, too, Y—rm—th! alas, 
even they,tt 
Though so rosy they burn, 
Too quickly must turn 
(What a heart-breaking change for thy 
whiskers !) to Grey. 


Then why, my Lord Warden, oh! why 
should you fidget [understand ?$t 

Your mind about matters you don’t 
Or why should you write yourself down 
for an idiot, [pen in your hand!”§§ 
Because ‘‘ you,” forsooth, ‘‘ have the 


Think, think how much better 
Than scribbling a letter, 
(Which both you and I 
Should avoid, by the by,) 
How much pleasanter ’tis to sit under 
the bust [drink like a new one; 
Of old Charley,|||| my friend here, and 
While Charley looks sulky and frowns at 
me, just 
As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns 
at Don Juan. 
To crown us, Lord Warden, 7% 


Fugit retro 
Levis juventas et decor. 
Pellente lascivos amores 
Canitie. 
H Neque uno Luna rubens nitet 
Vultu. 


πὰ 


Quid «ternis minorem 
Consiliis animum fatigas ? 
§§Cur non sub alta vel platano, vel hae 
“Pinu jacentes sic temere. 
Charles Fox. 
ae Ro 


os odorati eanillos, 
Dum licet, Assyriaque nardo 
IS unCtl. 


Potamt 


996 


In C—mb—rl—nd’s garden 
‘Grows plenty of monk’s hood in venom- 
ous sprigs, 
While Otto of Roses 
Refreshing all noses [and wigs. 
Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers 


What youth of the Household will cool 
our Noyau* 
In that streamlet delicious, 
That down ’midst the dishes, 
All full of gold fishes, 
Romantic doth flow 1--- 
Or who will repairt 
Unto M——ch——r Sq——e, 
And see if the gentle Marchesa be there? 
Go—bid her haste hither, 
And let her bring with hert 
The newest No-Popery Sermon that’s 
going— [flowing, ὃ 
Oh! let her come, with her dark tresses 
All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay, 
Inthe manner of—Ackermann’s Dresses 
for May! 


HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I. 
FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD—N. 


THE man who keeps a conscience 
pure, || 


(If not his own, at least his Prince’s, ) 


* ; Quis puer ocius 
Restinguet ardentis Falerni 
Pocula pretereunte lympha? 


jj Okie aeae eliciet domo 
Lyden? 
$ Eburna, dic age, cum lyra (qu. liar-a) 
Maturet. 
§ Incomtam Laczenwe 


More comam religata nodo. 

|| Integer vite scelerisque purus. 

Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu, 
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis, 
Fusce, pharetra. 

ἊΝ Sive per Syrtesiter ΘΒ. ΠΟΒ88, 

Sive facturus per inhospitalem 
Caueasum, vel que loca fabulosus 
Lambit Hydaspes. 

The Noble Translator had, at first, laid the 
scene of these imagined dangers of his Man of 
Conscience among the Papists of Spain, and 
had translated the words ‘‘ qui loca fabulosus 
lambit Hydaspes” thus—‘The fabling Span- 
iard licks the French;” but, recollecting that 
it is our interest just now to be respectful to 
Spanish Catholics (though there is certainly 
no earthly reason for our being even uncom- 
monly civil to Jrish ones,) he altered the pas- 
sage as it stands at present. 

1 Namque me silva lupus in Sabina, 
Dum meam canto Lalagen, et ultra 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Through toil and danger walks secure, 
Looks big and black, and never 
winces. 


No want has he of sword or dagger, J 
Cock’d hat or ringlets of Geramb ; 
Though Peers may laugh, and Papists 
swagger, 
He doesn’t care one single d-mn. 


Whether midst Irish chairmen going, ** 
Or through St. Giles’s alleys dim, 
’Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blow- 
ing 
No matter, ’tis all one to him. 


For instance, I, one evening late, tt 
Upon a gay vacation sally, 
Singing the praise of Church and State, 
Got (God knows how) to Cranbourne 
Alley. 


When lo! an Irish Papist darted 
Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big— 

I did but frown, and off he started, 
Scared at me, even without my wig. 


Yet a more fierce and raw-boned dogtt 
Goes not to mass in Dublin City, 

Nor shakes his brogue o’er Allen’s Bog, 
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee. 


Oh! place me midst O’Rourkes, 


O’Tooles,§§ 
The ragged royal-blood of Tara ; 


Terminum curis vagor expeditis, 
Fugit inermem. 

T cannot help calling the reader's attention 
to the peculiar ingenuity with which these 
lines are paraphrased. Not to mention the 
happy conversion of the Wolf into a Papist, 
(seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, 
that Rome was founded by Romulus, and that 
the Pope has always reigned at Rome,) there is 
something particularly neat in suppesing ** ud- 
tra terminum” to mean vacation-time: and 
then the modest consciousness with which the 
Noble and Learned Translator has avoided 
touching upon the words “‘ curis eapeditis,”’ (or, 
as it has been otherwise read, ‘‘causis eaxpedi- 
tis,’”’) and the felicitous idea of his being ‘‘ iner- 
mis” when ‘‘ without his wig,’ are altogether 
the most delectable specimens of paraphrase in 
our language. 

tt Quale portentum neque militaris 
Daunias latis alit #sculetis, 
Nee Jube tellus generat leonum 
Arida nutrix. 
§§Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis 
Arbor :estiva recreatur aura : 
Quod latus mundi, nebule, malusque 
Jupiter urget. 

I must here remark, that the said Dick M—r- 
t—n being a very good fellow, it was not at 
all fair to make a ὁ malus Jupiter ' of him. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Or piace me where Dick M—rt—n rules 
e houseless wilds of Connemara ; 


Of Church and State I’ll warble still,* 
Though ev’n Dick M—rt—n’s self 
should mble ; (Jill, 
Sweet Church and State, like Jack and 
So lovingly upon a hill—t {ble ! 
Ah! ne’er like Jack and Jill to tum- 


THE NEW COSTUME OF THE MIN- 
ISTERS. 


— Nova monstra creavit. 
Ovip. Metamorph. |. i. ν. 437. 
HAvinG sent off the troops of brave Ma- 
jor Camac, {orous back, 
With a swinging horse-tail at each yal- 
And such helmets, God bless us! as 
never decked any [vanni— 
Male creature before, except Signor Gio- 
“« Let’s see,” said the R—g - t, (like Ti- 
tus perplex’d 
With the duties of empire,) ‘‘ whom 
shall I dress next ?”” 


He looks in the glass—but perfection 
is there, [to a hair ;{ 
Wig, whiskers, and chin-tufts all right 
Not a single ex-curl on his forehead he 
places— [the case is, 
For curls are like Ministers, strange as 
The falser they are, the more firm in 
their places. [who could doubt? 
His coat he next views—but the coat 
For hs Y—rm—th’s own Frenchified 
hand cut it out; [ters of state, 
Every pucker and seam were made mat- 
And a grand Household Council was 
held on each plait. 


Then whom shall he dress? shall he 
new-rig his brother, 

Great C—mb—rl—d’s Duke, with some 
kickshaw or other? 

And kindly invent him more Christian- 

like shapes [lory capes. 

For his feather-bed neckcloths and _pil- 


*Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, 
Dulce loquentem. 
_ There cannot be imagined a more happy 
illustration of the inseparability of Church and 
State, and their (what is called) ‘ standing and 
falling together,"’ than this ancient apologue of 
Jack and Jill. Jack, of course, represents the 
State in this ingenious little Allegory. 
Jack fell down, 
And broke his Crown, 
And Jill came tumbling after. 
| That model of Princes, the Emperor Com- 


modus, was particularly luxurious in the dress- | 


237 


no—here his ardor would meet 
with delays, {in new Stays, 
For the Duke had been lately pack’d up 
So complete for the winter, he saw very 

plain [him again. 
’T would be devilish hard work to unpack 


So, what’s to be done ?—there’s the 
ministers, bless ’em !— 

As he made the puppets, why shouldn’t 

he dress ’em ? ([—be nimble— 

“ Anexcellent thought !—call the tailors 

“Let Cum bring his spy-glass, and 
H—rtf—d her thimble; 

“While Y—rm—th shall give us, in 

spite of all quizzers, — [scissors.”’ 

“The last Paris cut with his true Gallic 


Ah! 


So saying, he calls C-—stl—r—gh, and 
the rest [and be dress’d. 

Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come 
While Y—rm—th, with snip-like and 
brisk expedition, [tition 


Cuts up, all at once, a large Cath’lic Pe- 


In long tailors’ measures, (the P—e 
erying ‘‘ Well-done !’’) 

And first puts in hand my Lord Chan- 
cellor Eld—n. 


* * - 


CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN A 
LADY AND GENTLEMAN 


UPON THE ADVANTAGE OF (WHAT IS 
CALLED) ‘‘HAVING LAWS ON ONE’S SIDE.” 


The Gentleman’s Proposal. 


* Legge aurea, 
S’ei piace, ei lice.” 
Come, fly to these arms, nor let beau- 
ties so bloomy 
To one frigid owner be tied; 
Your prudes may revile, and your old 
ones. look gloomy, 
But, dearest, we’ve Law on our side, 


ing and ornamenting of his hair. His con- 
science, however, would not suffer him to trust 
himself with a barber, and he used, according 
ly, to burn off his beard—“ timore tonsoris,”” 
says Lampridius. (Hist. August. Scriptor.) 
The eee Z#lius Verus, too, was equally 
attentive to the decoration of his wig. (See 
Jul. Capitolin.)--Indeed, this was not the 
only princely trait in the character of Verus, 
as he had likewise a most hearty and dignified 
contempt for his Wife.—See his insulting an- 
swer to her in Spartianus. 
§ In allusion to Lord Ell—nb—gh. 


298 


Oh! think the delight of two lovers con- 
genial, 
Whom no dull decorums divide ; 
Their error how sweet, and their rap- 
ture how vental, [side. 
When once they’ve got Law on their 


Tis a thing, that in every King’s reign 
has been done, too ; 
Then why should it now be decried ? 
If the Father has done it, why shouldn’t 
the Son, too? 
For so argues Law on our side. 


And, ev’n should our sweet violation of 
duty 
By cold-blooded jurors be tried, 
They can but bring itin “a misfortune,” 
my beauty, 
As long as we’ve Law on our side. 


The Lady’s Answer. 


ΟΠ, hold, my good sir, go a little 
more slowly ; 
For, grant me so faithless a bride, 
Such sinners as we, are a little too lowly, 
To hope to have ‘Law on our side. 


Had you been a great Prince, to whose 
star shining o’er ’em 
The people should look for their guide, 
Then your Highness (and welcome !) 
might kick down decorum— 
You'd always have Law on your side. 


Were you ev’n an old Marquis, in mis- 
‘chief grown hoary, 
Whose heart, though it long ago died 
To the pleasures of vice, is alive to its 
glory— 
You still would have Law on your side. 
But for you, Sir, Crim. Con. is a path 
full of troubles ; 
By my advice therefore abide, 
And leave the pursuit to those Princes 
and Nobles 
Who have such a Law on their side. 


OCCASIONAL ADDRESS FOR THE 
OPENING OF THE NEW THEA- 


TRE OF ST. ST—PH—N, 
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY 

THE PROPRIETOR IN FULL COSTUME, 

ON THE 24TH OF NOVEMBER, 1812. 


THis day a New House, for 
[headed 
most thinking and righ 


eation, ! 


open, 


We 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


your edifi- | 
nation ! | 
od } 


Excuse the materials—though rotten 
and bad, [now could be had ; 
They’re the best that for money just 
And, if echo the charm of such houses 
should be {a T. 
You will find it shall echo my speech to 


As for actors, we’ve got the old Com- 
yet, 

The same motley, odd, tragi-comieal set; 
And consid’ring they were all but clerks 
t’other day, play. 

It is truly surprising how well they can 
Our Manager,* (he, who in Ulster was 
nursed, [first, 

And sung Erin go Brah for the galleries 
But, on finding Pitt-interest a much bet- 
ter thing, [save the King, ) 
Changed his note of a sudden, to God 
Still wise as he’s blooming, and fat as 
he’s clever, Lever, 
Himself and his speeches as lengthy as 
Here offers you still the full use of his 
breath, [ death, 

Your devoted and long-winded proser till 


You remember last season, when 

things went perverse on, 

We had to engage (as a block to re- 
hearse on) {person, 

One Mr. V—ns—tt—t, a good sort of 

Who’s also employ’d for this season to 
play [to Pay.”t 

ime Raising the Wind,” and the “Devil’s 

We expect too—at least we've been 
plotting and planning— 

To get that great actor from Liverpool, 
C—nn—¢g; [attracts 

And, as at the Circus there’s nothing 

Like a good single combat brought in 
’twixt the acts, [Sir P—ph—m, 

If the Manager should, with the help of 

Get up new diversions, and C—nn—g 
should stop ’em, 

Who knows but we’ll have to announce 
in the papers, [tional capers.” 

‘¢Grand fight—second time—with addi- 


Be your taste for the ludicrous, hum- 


drum, or sad, [be had. 
There is plenty of each in this house to 
Where our Manager ruleth, there weep- 
ing will be, [he ; 
For a dead hand at tragedy always was 


And there never was dealer in dagger 
and cup, 


ΤΡ had recently been appointed Chancellor 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


239 


Who sosmilingly got all his tragedies up. 
His powers poor Ireland will never for- 

et, [o’er them yet. 
And the widows of Walcheren weep 


So much for the actors;—for secret 
machinery, [scenery, 
Traps, and deceptions, and shifting of 
Y—rm—th and Cum are the best we can 
find, [behind. 

To transact all that trickery business 
The former’s employ’d to teach us French 
pgs, [the wigs. 

Keep the whiskers in curl, and look after 


In taking my leave now, I’ve only to 

Say, [sold away, 

A few Seats in the House, not as yet 

May be had of the Manager, Pat 
C—stl—r—gh. 


THE SALE OF THE TOOLS. 
Instrumenta regni.—Tacitus. 


Here’s a choice set of Tools for you, 
Ge’mmen and Ladies, 

They'll fit you quite handy, whatever 
your trade is; [doubt, 

(Except it be Cabinet-making ;—no 

In that delicate service they’re rather 
worn out; 

Though their owner, bright youth! if 

τς he’d had his own will, 

Would have Bune away with them 
joyously still.) 

You can see they’ve been pretty well 
hack’d—and alack ! [hack ? 

What tool is there job after job will not 

Their edge is but dullish, it must be 


confess’d, 
And their temper, like E—n- 
b’r h’s, none of the best; 


But you'll find them good hard-working 
Tools, upon trying, ; 

Wer't but for their brass, they are well 
worth the buying; 

They’re famous for making 
sliders, and screens, 

And are, some of them, excellent twrn- 
ing machines. 


blinds, 


The first Tool 11 put up (they call it a | 
Chancellor), [seller. | 
Heavy concern to both purchaser and | 
*An allusion to Lord Eld—n’s lachrymose | 

tendencies. Ἢ 
| “ΟΕ the taxes proposed by Mr. Vansittart, | 


Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of 
note ’tis, [notice.* 

Tis ready to melt at a half minute’s 

Who bids? Gentle buyer! ’twill turn 
as thou shapest ; 

’Twill make a good thumb-screw to 
torture a Papist; 

Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall 

Of some church that old women are 
fearful will fall ; 

Or better, perhaps, (for I’m guessing at 
random, ) 

A heavy drag-chain for some Lawyer's 
old Tandem. [sure, Sir— 

Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am 

Once, twice,—going, going,—thrice, 
gone !—it is yours, Sir. 

To pay ready money you sha’n’t be 
distress’d, [best. 

As a Dill at long date suits the Chancellor 


Come, where’s the next Tool?—Oh! 

’tis here in a trice— [a Vice; 

This implement, Ge’mmen, at first was 

(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that 
will let to get ;) 

Nothing out of its grasp it once happens 

But it smce has received a new coating 
of Tin, 

Bright enough for a Prince to behold 
himself in. 

Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! 
bid on, [quite gone. 

We'll the sooner get rid of it—going— 

God be with it, such tools, if not quick- 
ly knock’d down, 

Might at last cost their owner—how 
much? why, a Crown / 


The next Tool I’ll set up has hardly 
had handsel or 
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor— 
Such dull things as these should be sold 
by the gross ; [ close, 
Yet, dull asitis, ’twill be found to shave 
And like other close shavers, some cour- 
age to gather, [leather.t 
This blade first began by a flourish on 
You shall have it for nothing—then, 
marvel with me [be, 
At the terrible tinkering work there must 
Where a Tool such as this is (1’ll leave 
you to judge it) [ Budget! 
Is placed by ill luck at the top of the 
that principally opposed in Parliament was 
the additional duty on leather.”"—Azn. Regis- 
ter. 


240 


LITTLE MAN AND LITTLE SOUL. 
A BALLAD. 


To the tune of “ There was alittle man, and he 
woo'd α little maid.” 


DEDICATED TO THE RT. HON. CH—RL—S ABB—T, 
Arcades ambo 
Et cant-are pares. 
1813. 


THERE was a little Man, and he had a 
little Soul, [try, 
Andhe said, *‘ Little Soul, let us try, try, 

“Ὁ Whether it’s within our reach 
“To make up a little Speech, _ [I, 
** Just between little you and little I, I, 
“Just between little you and little 

iT 55: 


Then said his little Soul, 
Peeping from her little hole, 
“TI protest, little Man, you are stout, 
stout, stout, 
“ But, if it’s not uncivil, 
“Ὁ Pray tell me what the devil 
‘‘Must our little, little speech be about, 
bout, bout, [about ?” 
‘““Must our little, little speech be 


The little Man look’d big 
With th’ assistance of his wig, 
And he eall’d his little Soul to order, or- 
der, order, 
Till she fear’d he’d make her jog in 
To jail, like Thomas Croggan, 
(As she wasn’t Duke or Earl) to reward 
her, ward her, ward her, [her. 
As she wasn’t Duke or Earl, to reward 


The little Man then spoke, 
“Little Soul, it is no joke, 
‘Por assure as J—cky F—ll—r loves a 
sup, sup, sup, 
41 will tell the Prince and People 
“What I think of Church and 
Steeple, [up, up, up, 
“¢ And my little patent plan to prop them 
“And my little patent plan to prop 
them up.” 


Away then, cheek by jow], 
Little Man and little Soul 
Went and spoke their little speech to a 
tittle, tittle, tittle, 
And all the world declare 
That this priggish little pair 
Never yet in all their lives look’d so lit- 
tle, little, little, [tle ! 
Never yet in all their lives look’d so lit- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


eee 


REINFORCEMENTS FOR LORD 
WELLINGTON. 


Suosque tibi commendat Troja Penates 
Hos cape fatorum comites. VIRGIL. 


1813. 


As recruits in these times are not easily 
got, [why should we not, 
And the Marshal must have them—pray, 
As the last, and, J grant it, the worst of 
our loans to him, 
Ship og the Ministry, body and bones to 
im § 


m 
| There’s not in all England, I’d venture 


to swear, [spare ; 

Any men we could half so conveniently 

And, though they’ve been helping the 
French for years past, 

We may thus make them useful to Eng- 
land at last. 

C—stl—r—gh in our sieges might save 
some disgraces, 

Being used to the taking and keeping of 
places ; [joining, 

And Volunteer C—nn—g, still ready for 

Might show off his talent for sly wnder- 
mining. 

Could the Household but spare us its 
glory and pride, 

Old H—df—t at horn-works again might 
be tried, 

And the Ch—f J—st—e make a bold 
charge at his side : 


| While V—ns—tt—t could victual the 


troops upon tick, {and sick. 
And the Doctor look after the baggage 


Nay, I do not see why the great 

R—g—t himself 

Should, in times such as these, stay at 
home on the shelf: 

Though through narrow defiles he’s not 
fitted to pass, [en masse? 

Yet who could resist, if he bore down 

And though oft, of an evening, perhaps 
he might prove, 

Like our Spanish confed’rates, ‘‘ unable 
to move,’’* 

Yet there’s one thing in war of adyan- 
tage unbounded, [be surrounded. 

Which is, that he could not with ease 


In my next I shallsing of their arms 
and equipment; [the shipment! 
At present no more, but—good luck to 


“The charaeter given to the Spanish soldier, 
in Sir John Murray's memorable dispatch. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


HORACE, ODE I. LIB. III. 
A FRAGMENT. 


Odi profanum vulgus et arceo: 
Favete linguis: carminanon prius 
Audita Musarum sacerdos 
Virginibus puerisque canto. 
Regum timendorum in proprios greges, 
Reges in ipsos imperium est Jovis. 


1813. 

I HATE thee, oh, Mob, as my Lady 
hates delf ; {and thy hisses, 

To Sir Francis 11 give up thy claps 
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for it- 
self, [young masters and misses. 

And, like G—dw—n, write books for 
Oh! itis not high rank that can make 
the heart merry, [from mishap : 

Even monarchs themselves are not free 
Though the Lords of Westphalia must 
quake before Jerry, [fore Nap. 

Poor Jerry himself has to quake be- 

* * * * * 


HORACE, ODE XXXVIII. LIB. I. 
A FRAGMENT. 


Persicos odi, puer, adparatus ; 

Displicent nex philyra corons; 

Mitte sectari, Rosa quo locorum. 
Sera moretur. 


TRANSLATED BY A TREASURY CLERK, 
WHILE WAITING DINNER FOR THE 
RIGHT HON. G—RGE R—SE. 


Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nick- 
nackeries, [gim-crackeries— 

Fricassees, vol-au-vents, puffs, and 

Six by the Horse-Guards !—old Georgy 
is late— 

*The literal closeness of the version here 
cannot but be admired. The Translator has 
added a long, erudite, and flowery note upon 
Roses, of which I can merely give a specimen 


at present. In the first place, he ransacks the 
Rosarium Politicum of the Persian Poet Sadi, 


with the hope of finding some Political Roses, | 


to match the gentleman in the text—but in 


vain ; he then tells us that Cicero accused Ver- | 
res of reposing upon a cushion ‘* Melitensi rosd | 
fartum. 


which, from the odd mixture of 
words, he supposes to be a kind of Trish Bed of 
Roses, like ord Castlereagh’s. The learned 
Clerk next favors us with some remarks upon ἃ 
well-known punning epitaph on fair Rosamond, 


241 


But come—lay the table-cloth—zounds ! 
do not wait, 

Nor stop to inquire, while the dinner is 
staying, (delaying.* 

At which of his places Old R—e is 


IMPROMPTU. 


UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A 
PLEASANT PARTY, FROM THE WANT 
OF A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS 
FOR DINNER IN. 


1810. 


BETWEEN Adam and me the great dif- 
ference is, [forced to resign, 
Though a paradise each has been 
That he never wore breeches till turn’d 
out of his, [banish’d from mine. 
While, for want of my breeches, I’m 


LORD WELLINGTON 
MINISTERS. 


AND THE 


1813. 


So gently in peace Alcibiades smiled, 
While in battle he shone forth so ter- 
ribly grand, [seal, was a child 
That the emblem they grayed on his 
With a thunderbolt placed in its inno- 
cent hand. 


Oh Wellington, long as such Ministers 
wield [blem will do; 

Your magnificent arm, the same em- 
For while they’re in the Council and you 
in the Field, {der in you! 
We’ve the babies in them and the thun- 


and expresses a most loyal hope, that, if 
“Rosa munda” mean ‘‘a Rose with clean 
hands,” it may be found applicable to the 
Right Honorable Rose in question. He then 
dwells at some length upon the ‘‘ Rosa aurea,” 
which, though deseriptive, in one sense, of the 
old Treasury Statesman, yet. as being conse- 
erated and worn by the Pope, must, of course, 
not be brought into the same atmosphere with 
him. Lastly, in reference to the words ‘old 
Jiose,”’ he winds up with the pathetie lamenta- 
tion of the Poet ‘‘consenuisse Rosas.’ The 
whole note, indeed, shows a knowledge of 
Roses, that is quite edifying. 


242 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


FROM 1807 TO 1814. 


TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWA- 
GER OF DONEGAL. 


ΤΥ is now many years since, in a Let- | 


ter prefixed to the Third Nunber of the 
Trish Melodies, I had the pleasure of in- 
scribing the Poems of that work to your 
Ladyship, as to one whose character re- 
flected honor on the country to which 
they relate, and whose friendship had 
long been the pride and happiness of 
their Author. With the same feelings 
of affection and respect, confirmed if 
not increased by the experience of every 
succeeding year, I now place those 
Poems in their present new form under 
your protection, and am, 
With perfect sincerity, 
Your Ladyship’s ever attached Friend, 


THOMAS MOORE. 


PREFACE. 


THOUGH an edition of the Poetry of 
the Irish Melodies, separate from the 
Music, has long been called for, yet, 
having, for many reasons, a strong ob- 
jection to this sort of divorce, I should 
with difficulty have consented to a dis- 
union of the words from the airs, had it 
depended solely upon me to keep them 
quietly and indissolubly together. But, 
besides the various shapes in which these, 
as well as my other lyrical writings, 
have been published throughout Ameri- 
ca, they are included, of course, in all 
the editions of my works printed on the 
Continent, and have also appeared, in a 
volume full of typographical errors, in 
Dublin. I have therefore readily acced- 
ed to the wish expressed by the Proprie- 
tor of the Trish Melodies, for a revised 
and complete edition of the poetry of 
the Work, though well aware that my 


verses must lose even more than the 
“anime dimidium,” in being detached 
from the beautiful airs to which it was 
their good fortune to be associated. 

The Advertisements which were pre- 
fixed to the different numbers, the Pre- 
fatory Letter upon Music, &e., will be 
found in an Appendix at the end of the 
Melodies. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 


Go where glory waits thee, 
But, while fame elates thee, 

Oh! still remember me. 
When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh! then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the joys that bless thee, 

Sweeter far may be; 

But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 
Oh! then remember me! 


When, at eve, thou rovest 
By the star thou lovest, 

Ob! then remember me. 
Think, when home returning, 
Bright we’ve seen it burning, 

Oh! thus remember me. 
Oft as summer closes, 

When thine eye reposes 
On its ling’ring roses, 

Once so loved by thee, 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them, 

Oh! then remember me. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


When, around thee dying, 
Autumn leaves are lying, 
Oh! then remember me. 
And, at night, when gazing 
On the gay hearth blazing, 
Oh! still remember me. 
Then should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling, 
To thy heart appealing, 
Draw one tear from thee; 
Then let memory bring thee 
Strains I used to sing thee,— 
Oh! then remember me. 


WAR SONG. 


REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THE 
BRAVE.* 


REMEMBER the glories of Brien the brave, 
Tho’ the days of the hero are o’er: 
Tho’ lost to Mononia,t and cold in the 
grave, 
He returns to Kinkorat no more. 
That star of the field, which so often 
hath pour’d 
Its beam on the battle, is set; 
But enough of its glory remains on each 
To light us to victory yet. [sword, 


Pena when Nature eeoballisp' asthe 
[ fair, 
Of ee "elds and thy mountains 80 | 
Did she ever intend that a tyrant should 
The footstep of slavery there? [print | 
No! Freedom, whose smile we shall 
never resign, 
Go, tell our invaders, the Danes, 
That ’tis sweeter to bleed for an age at 
thy shrine, 
Than to sleep but a moment in chains. 


Forget not our wounded companions, 
who stood§ 
In the day of distress by our side ; 
While the moss of the valley grew "red 
with their blood, [ died. 
They stirr’d not, but conquer’d and 


* Brien Borombe, the great monarch of Tre- 
land, who was killed at the battle of Clontarf, 
in the beginning of the 11th century, after hav- 
ine defeated tte Danes in twenty-five engage 
ments. 


t Munster. + The palace of Brien 
§ This alludes to an interesting circumstance 
related of the Dalgais, the favorite troops of 


3rien, when they were interrupted in 
turn from the battl ο of C 1) 1 nti wt, iby 
prine of { I 


re 
ΜΕΘ. 


[9] 
Fitzpatricl 


porte x by one of these 


243 


That sun which now blesses our arms 
with his light, 
Saw them fall upon Ossory’s plain ;— 
Oh! let him not erie when he leaves 
us to-night, 
To find that they fell there in vain. 


ERIN! THE TEAR AND THE 
SMILE IN THINE EYES. 


Erin, the tear and the smile in thine 
eyes, [thy skies! 
Blend ne the rainbow that hangs in 
Shining through sorrow’s stream, 
Saddening through pleasure’s beam, 
Thy suns with doubtful gleam, 
Weep while they rise. 


Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, 
Erin, thy languid smile ne’er shall in- 
crease, 
Till, like the rainbow’s light, 
Thy various tints unite, 
And form in heaven’s sight 
One arch of peace ! 


OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 


OH! breathe not his name, let it sleep 
in the shade, [laid : 


| Where cold and unhonor’d his relics are 


Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that 
we she d, [o’er his head. 
As the night-dew that falls on the grass 


But the night-dew that falls, though in 
silence it weeps, 

Shall brighten with verdure the grave 
where he sleeps; [secret it rolls, 


| And the tear that we shed, though in 


Shall long keep his memory green in our 
souls. 


WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE. 


WHEN he, who adores thee, has left but 
the name 
Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 


(Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they 


darken the fame 


that they might be allowed to fight with the 
rest.—*! Let stakes (they said) be stuck in the 
ground, and suffer each of us, tied to and sup- 
stakes, ‘to be placed in his 
rank by the side of α 80 ound man.’ ‘“* Between 
seven and eight hundred wounded men, (adds 
OL Woran,) pale + emaciated, and supported 
3 manner, app ared mixed with the fore- 
most of the troops ;—never was such anot 


ight ex! bited."—Hastory of Trek 


ἐς 
md, book 


544 


Of a life that for thee was resign’d? 
Yes, weep, and however my foes may 
condemn, 
Thy tears shall efface their decree ; 
For Heaven can witness, though guilty 
to them, 
I have been but too faithful to thee. 


With thee were the dreams of my earli- 
est love; [thine ; 
Every thought of my reason was 
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit 


above 
Thy name ‘shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh! blest are the lovers and friends 
who shall live 
The days of thy glory to see ; 
But the next dearest blessing that Hea- 
ven can give 
Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 


THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH 
TARA’S HALLS. 


THE harp that once through Tara’s halls 
The soul of music shed, 

Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, 
As if that soul were fled.— 

So sleeps the pride of former days, 
So glory’s thrill is o’er, 

And hearts, that once beat high for 
Now feel that pulse no more. [praise, 


No more to chiefs and ladies bright 
The harp of Tara swells; 

The chord alone, that breaks at night, 
Its tale of ruin tells. 

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 
The only throb she gives, 

Is when some heart indignant breaks, 
To show that still she lives. 


FLY NOT YET. 


Fry not yet, ’tis just the hour, 
When pleasure, like the midnight flower 
That scorns the eye of vulgar light, 
Begins to bloom for sons of night, 
And maids who love the moon. 
’T was but to bless these hours of shade 
That beauty and the moon were made ; 
Tis then their soft attractions glowing 
Set the tides and goblets flowing. 
Oh! stay,—Oh! stay,— 
Joy so seldom weaves a chain 
Like this to-night, that oh! ’tis pain 
To break its links so soon. 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


Fly not yet, the fount that play’d 
In times of old through Ammon’s shade.* 
Though icy cold by day it ran, 
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began 
To burn when night was near. [looks 
And thus, should woman’s heart and 
At noon be cold as winter brooks, 
Nor kindle till the night, returning, 
Brings their genial hour for burning. 
Oh! stay,—Oh! stay,— 
When did morning ever break, 
And find such beaming eyes awake 
As those that sparkle here ? 


OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE 
ALWAYS AS LIGHT. 


Ou! think not my spirits are always as 
light, [to you now; 
And as free from a pang as they seem 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming 
smile of to-night 
Will return with to-morrow to bright- 
en my brow. 
No :—life is a waste of wearisome hours, 
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment 
adorns ; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to 
the flowers, 
Ts always the first to be touch’d by the 
thorns. [awhile— 
But send round the bowl, and be happy 
May we never meet worse, in our pil- 
grimage here, [with a smile, 
Than the tear that enjoyment may gild 
And the smile that compassion can 
turn to a tear. 


The thread of our life would be dark, 
Heaven knows! 
If it were not with friendship and Jove 
intertwined ; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to 
repose, {dear to my mind. 
When these blessings shall cease to be 
But they who have loved the fondest, 
the purest, {they believed ; 
Too often have wept o’er the dream 
And the heart that has slumber’d in 
friendship securest, 
Is happy indeed if ’twas never de- 
ceived. [of truth 
But send round the bowl; while a relic 
Is in man or in woman, this prayer 
shall be mine,— 
* Solis Fons, near the Temple of Ammon. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


That the sunshine of love may illumine 
our youth, sole our decline. 
And the moonlight of friendship con- 


THO’ THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN 
WITH SORROW I SER. 


Tuo’ the last glimpse of Erin with sor- 
row I see, [to me; 
Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin 
In exile thy bosom shall still be my 
home, [ever we roam. 
And thine eyes make my climate wher- 


To the gloom of some desert or cold 
rocky shore, {us no more, 
Where the eye of the stranger can haunt 
I will fly with my Coulin, and think the 
rough wind [ing behind. 
Less rude than the foes we leave frown- 


And 1] gaze on thy gold hair as grace- 
ful it wreathes, it breathes ; 
And hang o’er thy soft harp, as wildly 
Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon 
will tear [from that hair.* 
One chord from that harp, or one lock 


RICH AND RARE WERE THE 
GEMS SHE WORE.t 


RicuH and rare were the gems she wore, 

And a bright gold ring on her wand she 
bore ; 

But oh! her beauty was far beyond 

Her sparkling gems, or snow-white 
wand. 


“ Lady! dost thou not fear to stray, 

“So lone and lovely through this bleak 
way ἢ 

“Are Erin’s sons so good or so cold, 

“Asnottobetempted by womanor gold?” 


“Tn the twenty-eighth year of the reign of 
Henry VIII., an Act was made respecting the 
habits, and dress in general, of the Irish, 
whereby all persons were restrained from being 
shorn orshayen above the ears, or from wearing 
Glibbes, or Coulins, (long locks,) on their heads, 
or hair on their upper lip, ealled Crommeal. 
On this oecasion a song was written by one of 
our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to 
give the preference to her dear Coulin (or the 
youth with the flowing locks) to all strangers, 
(by which the English were meant,) or those 
who wore their habits. Of this song, the air 
alone has reached us, and is universally ad- 
mired."’—Watker’s Historical Memoirs of Irish 
Bards. p. 134. Mr. Walker informs us also, 
that, about the same period, there were some 
harsh measures taken against the Irish Min- 
strels. 

iThis ballad is founded upon the following 
anecdote :—** The people were inspired with 


245 


‘Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm, 
“ΝῸ son of Erin will offer me harm :— 
“For though they love woman and 
golden store, [more !” 
“Sir knight! they love honor and virtue 


On she went, and her maiden smile 

In με. ἢ lighted her round the Green 
Isle; 

And blest forever is she who relied 

Upon Erin’s honor and Erin’s pride. 


AS A BEAM O’ER THE FACE OF 
THE WATERS MAY GLOW. 


As abeam o’er the face of the waters 
may glow [ness below, 

While the tide runs in darkness and cold- 

So the cheek may be tinged with a warm 
sunny smile, 

Though the cold heart to ruin runs 
darkly the while. 


One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that 
throws [our woes, 
Its bleak shade alike o’er our joys and 
To which life nothing darker or brighter 
can bring, {no sting— 
For which joy has no balm and affliction 


Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoy- 
ment will stay, 

Like a dead, leafless branch in the sum- 
mer’s bright ray; [it in vain, 

The beams of the warm sun play round 

It may smile in his light, but it blooms 
not again. 


THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.} 


THERE is not in the wide world a valley 
so sweet { waters meet; ) 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright 


such @ spirit of honor, virtue, and religion, by 
the great example of Brien, and by his excellent 
administration, that, as a proof of it, we are 
informed that a young lady of great beauty, 
adorned with jewels and a costly dress, under- 
took a journey alone, from one end of the king- 
dom to the other with a wandonly in her hand, 
at the top of which was a ring of execeding 
great value; and such an impression had the 
laws and government of this Monarch made on 
the minds of all the people, that no attempt was 
made upon her honor, nor was she robbed of 
her clothes or jewels.”— Warner's History of 
Treland, vol. i., book x. 

{The Meeting of the Waters” forms a part 
of that beautiful seenery which lies between 
Rathdrum and Arklow, in the county of Wick- 
low, and these lines were suggested by a visit 
to this romantie spot, in the summer of the year 
1807. 

§The rivers Ayon and Avoca. 


246 


Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must 
from my heart. 


epart, [ 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade 


Yet it was not that Nature had shed o’er 
the scene [green ; 

Her purest of crystal and brightest of 
‘Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or 
ill, [quisite still. 

Oh! no,—it was something more ex- 


’Twas that friends, the beloved of my 
bosom, were near, 

Who made every dear scene of enchant- 
ment more dear, 

And who felt how the best charms of 
nature improve, [that we love. 

When we see them reflected from looks 


Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could 
I rest [I love best, 

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends 

Where the storms that we feel in this 
cold world should cease, 

And our hearts, like thy waters, be min- 
gled in peace. 


HOW DEAR TO ME THE HOUR. 


“How dear to me the hour when day- 
light dies, [sea ; 

And sunbeams melt along the silent 
For then sweet dreams of other days 
arise, ' [to thee. 

And memory breathes her vesper sigh 


And, as I watch the line of light, that 

plays [burning west, 

Along the smooth wave tow’rd the 

I long to tread that golden path of rays, 

And think ’twould lead to some bright 
isle of rest. 


TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. 
WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. 


TAKE back the virgin page, 
White and unwritten still; 

Some hand, more calm and sage, 
The leaf must fill. 

Thoughts come, as pure as light, 
Pure as even you require : 

But, oh! each word I write 
Love turns to fire. 


Yet let me keep the book: 
Oft shall heart renew, 
es Tl 


m\ 


Whe 


Dea 


0k, 
l. 


10n its lear 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Like you, ’tis fair and bright; 
Like you, too bright and fair 
To let wild passion write 
One wrong wish there. 


Haply, when from those eyes 
Far, far away I roam, 

Should calmer thoughts arise 
Tow’rds you and home; 

Fancy may trace some line, 
Worthy those eyes to meet, 

Thoughts that not burn, but shine, 
Pure, calm, and sweet. 


And as, o’er ocean far, 
Seamen their records keep, 
Led by some hidden star 
Through the cold deep; 
So may the words I write 
Tell thro’ what storms I stray— 
You still the unseen light, 
Guiding my way. 


THE LEGACY. 


WHEN in death I shall calmly recline, 
O bear my heart to my mistress dear; 

Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine 
Of the brightest hue, while it linger’d 


here. 
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 
To sully a heart so brilliant and light ; 
But balmy drops of the red grape bor- 


row, 
To bathe the relic from morn till night. 


When the light of my song is o’er, 
Then take my harp to your ancient 

Hang it up at that friendly door, [hall ; 
Where weary travellers love to 0811." 

Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 
Revive its soft note in passing along, 

Oh! let one thought ofits master waken 
Your warmest smile for the child of 

song. 


Keep this cup, which is now o’erflowing, 
To grace your revel, when I’m at rest ; 

| Never, oh! never its balm bestowin 

On lips that beauty hath seldom 


ry house was one or two harps, free 
] caressed, 
77 


] bless’d. 
But when some warm devoted lover 

To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 

| Then, then my spirit around shall hover, 

| And hallow each drop that foams for 

him. 

[ur ene 

γι 


© more 
~ ¢ alloran, 


IRISH MELODIES. 


247 


HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE 
CRIED. 


How oft has the Benshee cried, 

How oft has death untied 

Bright links that Glory wove, 

Sweet bonds entwined by Love! 
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; 
Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth ; 

Long may the fair and brave 

Sigh o’er the hero’s grave. 


We're fall’n upon gloomy days !* 
Star after star decays, 
Every bright name, that shed 
Light o’er the land, is fled. 
Dark falls the tear of him who mourneth 
Lost joy, or hope that ne’er returneth; 
But brightly flows the tear, 
Wept o’er ἃ hero’s bier. 


Quench’d are our beacon lights— 

Thou, of the Hundred Fights !t 

Thou, on whose burning tongue 

Truth, peace, and freedom hung! 
Both mute,—but long as valor shineth, 
Or mercy’s soul at war repineth, 

So long shall Erin’s pride 

Tell how they lived and died. 


WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS 
WORLD. 


WE may roam through this world, like a 
child at a feast, 
Who but sips of asweet, and then flies 
to the rest; [in the east, 
And, when pleasure begins to grow dull 
We may order our wings, and be off 
to the west; 
Butifhearts that feeland eyesthat smile 
Are the dearest gifts that heaven sup- 
plies, 
We never need leave our own greenisle, 
For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright 
eyes. [is crown’d, 
Then remember, wherever your goblet 
Thro’ this world, whether eastward 
or westward you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman 
goes round, [her at home. 
Oh ! remember the smile which adorns 


*I have endeavored here, without losing 
that Ivish character which it is my object to | 
preserve throughout this work, to allude to the | 
sad and ominous fatality, by which England | 
has been deprived of so many great and good 
men, at amoment when ‘she most requires all | 
the aids of talent and integrity. 

+ This designation, which has been before | 


In ngs the garden of Beauty is 

ept [call ; 

By a dragon of prudery placed within 

But so oft this unamiable dragon has 

slept, [watch’d after all. 

That the garden’s but carelessly 

Oh! they went the wild sweet-briery 

fence, [dwells ; 

Which round the flowers of Brin 

Which warns the touch, while winning 

the sense, [pels. 

Nor charms us least when it most re- 

Then remember, wherever your goblet is 

crown’d, 

Thro’ this world, whether eastward or 
westward you roam, 

When a cup to the smile of dear woman 

goes round, [her at home. 

Oh! remember the smile that adorns 


In France, when the heart of a woman 
sets sail, [to try, 
On the ocean of wedlock its fortune 
Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, 
But just pilots her off, and then bids 
her good-by. [boy, 
While the daughters of Erin keep the 
Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, 
Through billows of wo, and beams of joy, 
The same as he look’d when he left 
the shore. [is crown’d, 
Then remember, wherever your goblet 
Thro’ this world, whether eastward or 
westward you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman 
goes round, {her at home. 
Oh! remember the smile that adorns 


EVELEEN’S BOWER. 


Ou! weep for the hour, 
When to Eveleen’s bower 
The Lord of the Valley with false vows 
The moon hid her light [came ; 
From the heavens that night, 
And wept behind her clouds o’er the 
maiden’s shame. 


The clouds pass’d soon 
From the chaste cold moon, 


applied to Lord Nelson, is the title given toa 
celebrated Irish Hero, ina Poem by O’Guive, 
the bard of O'Niel, which is quoted in the 
‘* Philosophical Survey ofthe South of Ireland,” 
page 433. ‘Con, ofthe Hundred Fights, sleep 
inthy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our 


| defeats with thy victories.” 


t Fox, ‘‘ Romanorum ultimus.” 


248 MOORD’S 


WORKS. 


And heaven smiled again with her vestal | 


flame ; 
But none will see the day, 
When the clouds shall pass away, 
Which abst dark hour left upon Eveleen’s 
ame, 


The white snow lay 
On the narrow path-way 
When the Lord of the Valley cross’d 
over the moor ; 
-And many a deep print 
On the white snow’s tint 
Show’d the track of his footstep to 
Eveleen’s door. 


The next sun’s ray 
Soon melted away 
Every trace on the path where the false 
Lord came ; 
But there’s a light above 
Which alone can remove 
That stain upon the snow of fair Eve- 
leen’s fame. 


LET ERIN REMEMBER THE 
DAYS OF OLD. 


Let Erin remember the days of old, 
Ere her faithless sons betray’d her; 
When Malachi wore the collar of gold,* 

Which he won from her proud invader, 
When her kings, with standard of green 
unfurl’d, [danger ;—t 

Led the Red Branch Knights to 


* “This brought on an encounter between 
Malachi (the Monarch of Ireland in the tenth 
century) and the Danes, in which Malachi de- 
feated two of their champions, whom he encoun- 
tered successively, nant hand, taking a col- 
lar of gold from the neck of one, and earrying 
off the sword of the other, as trophies of his 
victory.”— Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i. 
book ix. 


ἡ ‘Military orders of knights were very early | 


established in Ireland: long before the birth of 
Christ we find an hereditary order of Chivalry 
in Ulster, called Curaidhe na Craiobhe ruadh, 
or the Knights of the Red Branch, from their 
chief seat in Emania, adjoining to the palace 


of the Ulster kings, called Teagh na Craiobhe | 


ruadh, orthe Academy of the Red Branch; and 
contiguous to which was a large hospital, 
founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called 
Bronbhearg, ov the House of the Sorrowful 
Soldier.” —O' Halloran’s Introduction, dc., part 
i. chap. 5. 

‘lt was an old tradition, in the time of Gi- 
raldus, that Lough Neagh had been originally a 
fountain, by whose sudden oyerflowing the 
country was inundated, and a whole region, 


Ere the emerald gem of the western 
world 
Was set in the crown of a stranger. 


On Lough Neagh’s bauk, as the fisher- 
man strays, ἢ 
When the clear cold eve’s declining, 
He sees the round towers of other days 
In the wave beneath him shining. 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sub- 
lime, [over ; 
Catch a glimpse of the days that are 
Thus, sighing, look through the waves 
of time 
For the long-faded glories they cover. 


THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.§ 


SILENT, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy 
water, [repose, 
Break not, ye breezes, your chain of 
While, murmuring mournfully, Lir’s 
lonely daughter 
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her death-note 
singing, 
Sleep with wings in darkness furl’d 7 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 
Call my spirit from this stormy world ? 


Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave 
weeping, 

Fate bids me languish long ages away ; 

Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie 

sleeping, [delay. 

Still doth the pure light its dawning 


like the Atlantis of Plato, overwhelmed. He 
says that the fishermen, in clear weather, used 
to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiastical 
towers under the water. Piscatores aque illius 
turres ecclesiasticas, que more patric arcte 
sunt et alte, necnon et rotunda, sub wundis 
manifeste sereno tempore conspiciunt, et ea- 
traneis transeuntibus, reique causas admiranti- 
bus, frequenter ostendunt.—Topogr. Hib. dist. 
2, 6. 9. 

§To make this story intelligible in a song 
would require a much greater number of verses 
than any one is authorized to inflict upon an 
audience at once; the reader must theretore be 
content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuala, the 
daughter of Lir, was, by some supernatural 
power, transformed into a swan, and econ- 
demned to wander, for many hundred years, 
over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the 
coming of Christianity, when the first sound of 
the mass-bell was to be the signal of her release. 
—I found this fanciful fiction among some 
manuscript translations from the Irish, which 
were begun under the direction of that en- 
| lightened friend of Ireland, the late Countess of 
Moira. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


249 


When will that day-star, mildly spring- | Who would ask for a nobler, 


ing 
Warm our isle with peace and love? 
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, 
Call my spirit to the fields above ? 


COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. 


Come, send round the wine, and leave 
points of belief [fools ; 

To simpleton sages, and reasoning 
This moment’s a flower too fair and 
brief, {dust of the schools. 

To be witherd and stain’d by the 
Your glass may be purple and mine may 
be blue, [same bright bowl, 

But while they are fill’d from the 
The fool who would quarrel for diff’ rence 
of hue [the soul. 
Deserves not the comfort they shed o’er 


Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights 
by my side [agree ? 

In the cause of mankind, if our creeds 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued 
and tried, [ with me? 

If he kneel not before the same altar 
From the heretic girl of my soul should 
fly, [dox kiss? 

To seek somewhere else a more ortho- 
No: perish the hearts, and the laws that 
try [like this ! 
Truth, valor, or love, by a standard 


SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. 


SUBLIME was the warning that Liberty 
spoke, [Spaniards awoke 
And grand was the moment when 
Into life and revenge from the con- 
queror’s chain. 
Oh, Liberty ! let not this spirit have rest, 
Till it move, like a breeze, o’er the waves 
of the west— rowing spot, 
Give the light of your look to each sor- 
Nor, oh, be the shamrock of Erin forgot 
While you add to your garland the 
Olive of Spain ! 


If the fame of our fathers, bequeath’d 
with their rights, [15 delights, 

Give to country its charm, and to home 
If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a 


stain, 
Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the 
same ! [ἃ name, 


And oh! may his tomb want a tear and 


a holier 

death, [breath, 

Than to turn his last sigh into victory’s 

For the Shamrock of Erin and Olive 
of Spain ! 


Ye Blakes and O’Donnels, whose fathers 
resign’d [strangers to find 
The green hills of their youth, among 
That repose which, at home, they had 
sigh’d for in vain, 
Join, join in our hope that the flame, 
which you light, [bright, 
May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and as 
Aud forgive even Albion while blushing 
she draws, {slighted cause 
Like a truant, her sword, in the long- 
Of the Shamrock of Erin and Olive of 
Spain! 


God prosper the cause!—oh, it cannot 
but thrive, [alive, 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is 
Its devotion to feel, and its rights to 
maintain ; [tyrs will die ! 

Then, how sainted by sorrow, its mar- 
The finger of glory shall point where 
they lie; [or slave, 
While, far from the footstep of coward 
The young spirit of Freedom shall shel- 
ter their grave [of Spain ! 
Beneath Shamrocks of Erin and Olives 


BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE EN- 
DEARING YOUNG CHARMS. 


BELIEVE me, if all those endearing 
young charms, 
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet 
in my arms, 
Like fairy-gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this 
moment thou art, 
Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of 
my heart 
Would entwine itself verdantly still. 


It is not while beauty and youth are 
thine own, 
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, 
That the fervor and faith of a soul can 
be known, [more dear ; 
To which time will but make thee 
No, the heart that has truly loved never 
forgets, 
But as truly loves on to the close, 


250 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


As the sunflower turns on her god, 
when he sets, [he rose. 
The same look which she turn’d when 


ERIN, OH ERIN. 


LIKE the bright lamp, that shone in 
Kildare’s holy fane,* 
And burn’d thro’ long ages of dark- 
ness and storm, {on in vain, 
Is the heart that sorrows have frown’d 
Whose spirit outlives them, unfading 
and warm. 
Erin, oh Erin, thus bright thro’ the tears 
Of a long night of bondage, thy spirit 
appears. 


The nations haye fallen, and thou still 
art young, [set ; 
Thy sun is but rising, when others are 
And tho’ slavery’s cloud o’er thy morn- 
ing hath hung, [round thee yet. 
The full noon of freedom shall beam 
Erin, oh Hrin, tho’ long in the shade, 
Thy star shall shine out when the proud- 
est shall fade. 


Unchill’d by the rain, and unwaked by 
the wind, {cold hour, 
The lily lies sleeping thro’ winter’s 
Till Spring’s light touch her fetters un- 
bind, [young flower. f 
And daylight and liberty bless the 
Thus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past, 
And the hope that lived thro’ it shall 
blossom at last. 


DRINK TO HER. 


Drink to her, who long 
Hath waked the poet’s sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 
Oh! woman’s heart was made 
For minstrel hands alone ; 


* The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at 
Kildare, which Giraldus mentions :—‘* Apud 
Kildariam oceurrit ignis Sancti Brigidze, quem 
inextinguibilem vocant; non quod extingui 
non possit, sed quod tam solicite moniales et 
sancte mulieres igneni, suppetente materia, 
fovent et nutriunt, ut a tempore virginis per tot 
annorum curricula semper munsit Inextinctus.” 
—Girald.Camb. de Mirabil. Hibern. dist. 2, ¢.34. 

1 Mrs. H. Tighe, in her exquisite lines on the 
Lily, has applied this image to a still more im- 
portant object. 

| We may suppose this apology to have been 
uttered by one of those wandering bards, whom 
Spenser so severely, and, perhaps, truly, de- 
scribes in his State of Ireland, and whose poems, 


By other fingers play’d, 
It yields not half the tone. 
Then here’s to her, who long 
Hath waked the poet’s sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 
What gold could never buy. 


At Beauty’s door of glass, 
When Wealth and Wit once stood, 
They ask’d her, ‘‘ which might pass?” 
She answer’d, “ he, who could.” 
With golden key Wealth thought 
To pass—but ’twould not do: « 
While Wit a diamond brought, 
Which cut his bright way through. 
So here’s to her who long 
Hath waked the poet’s sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 
‘What gold could never buy. 


The love that seeks a home 

Where wealth or grandeur shines, 
Is like the gloomy gnome, 

That dwells in dark gold mines. 
But oh! the poet’s love 

Can boast a brighter sphere ; 
Its native home’s above, 

Tho’ woman keeps it here, 
Then drink to her, who long 

Hath waked the poet’s sigh, 
The girl, who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 


OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD.{ 


Ox! blame not the bard, if he fly to the 
bowers, [at Fame ; 
Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling 
He was born for much more, and in hap- 
pier hours [lier flame. 

His soul might have burn’d with a ho- 
The string that now languishes loose 
o’er the lyre, —_ [warrior’s dart ;§ 
Might have bent a proud bow to the 


he tells us, “‘ were sprinkled with some pretty 
flowers of their natural deviee, which have 


| good grace and comeliness unto them, the 


which it is great pity to see abused to the 
gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with 
good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify 


| virtue.” 


§ It is conjectured by Wormins, that the 
name of Ireland is derived from Yr, the Runie 
for a bow, in the use of which weapon the Irish 
were once very expert. ‘This derivation 1s cer- 
tainly more creditable to us than the following: 
‘«So that Ireland, called the land of Jre, from 
the constant broils therein for 400 years, was 
now beeome the land of coneord.’—Lloyd’s 
State Worthies, art. The Lord Grandison. 


yet * 


TRISH MELODIES. 


251 


——— eee 


And the lip, which now breathes but 
the song of desire, 
Might bave pour’ the full tide of a 
patriot’s heart. 


But alas for his country !—her pride is 
gone by, [would bend ; 
And that spirit is broken, which never 
O’er the ruin her children in secret must 
sigh, [to defend. 
For’tis treason to love her, and death 
Unprized are her'sons, till they’ve learn’d 
to betray ; {not their sires ; 
Undistinguish’d they live, ifthey shame 
And the torch, that would light them 
thro’ dignity’s way, 
Must be caught from the pile, where 
their country expires. 


Then blame not the bard, if in pleasures’ 
soft dream, [can heal : 
He should try to forget what he never 
Oh! give but a hope—let a vista but 
gleam [mark how he'll feel! 
Through the gloom of his country, and 
That instant, his heart at her shrine 
would lay down 
Every passion it nursed, every bliss it 
adored ; [with his crown, 
While the myrtle, now idly entwined 
Like the wreath of Harmodius, should 
cover bis sword.* 


But tho’ glory be gone, and tho’: hope 
fade away, 


[his songs; | 


Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in| 


Not ev’n in the hour, when his heart 1s 
most gay, [and thy wrongs. 

Will he lose the remembrance of thee 
The stranger shall hear thy lament on 
his plains ; 

The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o’er 
Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet 
thy chains, 

Shall pause at the song of their captive, 


WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON’S 
LIGHT. 


WHILE gazing on the moon’s light, 
A moment from her smile I turn’d, 


* See the Hymn, attributed to Alezus, Ev 
μύρτου κλαδι τὸ ξιφος φορησω---" 1 will carry 
my sword, hidden in myrtles, like Harmodius, 
and Aristogiton,” ἄο. 

t‘* Of such celestial bodies as are visible, the 
sun excepted, the single moon, as despicable 
as itis in comparison to most of the others, is 
much more beneficial than they all put togeth- 
er.’—Whiston's Theory, &c. 


[the deep, | 


[and weep. | 


To look at orbs, that, more bright, 
In lone and distant glory burn’d. 
But too far 
Each proud star, 
For me to feel its warming flame ; 
Much more dear 
That mild sphere, 
Which near our planet smiling came ;t 
Thus, Mary, be but thou my own; 
While brighter eyes unheeded play, 
ΤΊ] love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my 
way. 


The day had sunk in dim showers, 
But midnight now, with lustre meet, 
Tlumined all the pale flowers, 
Like hope upon a mourner’s cheek. 
I said (while 
The moon’s smile 
Play’do’er astream, in dimpling bliss, ) 
“The moon looks 
“©On many brooks, 
“The brook can see no moon but this;”} 
And thus, I thought, our fortunes run, 
For many a lover looks to thee, 
While oh! I feel there is but one, 
One Mary in the world for me. 


ILL OMENS. 


Wuen daylight was yet sleeping under 
the billow, [ing shone, 
And stars in the heavens still linger- 


Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from 


her pillow, [alone. 

The last time she e’er was to press it 
For the youth whom she treasured her 
heart and her soul in, [noon ; 

Had promised to link the last tie before 
And, when once the young heart of a 
maiden is stolen, [soon. 

The maiden herself will steal after it 


As she look’d in the glass, which a wo- 
man ne’er misses, [two, 

Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or 
A butterfly,§ fresh from the night-flow- 
er’s kisses, [view. 

Flew over the mirror and shaded her 


In the Entretiens d’ Ariste, among other inge- 
nious emblems, we find a starry sky without a 
moon, with these words, Yon mille, quod absens. 

. This image was suggested by the followin 
thought, which occurs somewhere in Sir Wil- 
liam Jones's works: ‘‘The moon looks upon 
many night-flowers, the night-flower sees but 
one moon.” 

§ ‘An emblem of the soul. 


252 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


Enraged with the insect for hiding her 
graces, [to rise . 

She brush’d him—he fell, alas! never 

“ Ah! such,” said the girl, ‘‘ is the pride 
of our faces, [often dies.” 

“Wor which the soul’s mnocence too 


While she stole thro’ the garden, where 
heart’s-ease was growing, 
She ecull’d some, and kiss’d off its 
night-fall’n dew : 
And a rose, farther on, look’d so tempt- 
ing and glowing, 
That, spite of her haste,, she must 
gather it too: {leaning, 
But while o’er the roses too carelessly 
Her zone flew in two, and the hearts- 
ease was lost : 
“ Ah! this means,” said the girl, (and 
she sigh’d at its meaning, ) 
“That love is scarce worth the repose 
it will cost !” 


BEFORE THE BATTLE. 


By the hope within us springing, 
Herald of to-morrow’s strife ; 

By that sun, whose light is bringing 
Chains or freedom, death or life— 

Oh! remember life can be 

No charm for him who lives not free ! 
Like the day-star in the wave, 
Sinks a hero in his grave, 

Midst the dew-fall of a nation’s tears. 


Happy is heo’er whose decline 
The smiles of home may soothing 
shine, 
And light him down the steep of years:— 
But oh, how blest they sink to rest, 
Who close their eyes on Victory’s 
breast ! 


O’er his watch-fire’s fading embers 
Now the foeman’s cheek turns white, 

When his heart that field remembers, 
Where we tamed his tyrant might. 

Never let him bind again 

A chain, like that we broke from then. 


*« The Irish Corna was not entirely de 
voted to martial purposes In the heroic ages 
our ancestors quaffed Meadh out of them, as 
the Danish hunters do their beverages at this 
day.” — Walker. 

{1 believe it is Marmontel who says, 
“ Quand on n'a pas ce que Von aime, il faut 
aimer ce que Von a.”—There are so many mat- 
ler-of-faet people, who take such jeux desprit 


Hark! the horn of combat calls— 
Ere the golden evening falls, 
May we pledge that horn in triumph 
round !* 
Many a heart that now beats high, 
In slumber cold at night shall lie, 

Nor waken even at victory’s sound :— 
But oh, how blest that hero’s sleep, 
O’er whom a wond’ring world shall 

weep ! 


AFTER THE BATTLE. 


Nicut closed around the conqueror’s. 
way, 
And lightnings show’d the distant hill, 
Where those who lost that dreadful day, 
Stood few and faint, but fearless still. 
The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal, 
Forever dimm’d, forever cross’d— 
Ob! who shall say what heroes feel, 
When all but life and honor’s lost ? 


The last sad hour of freedom’s dream, 
And valor’s task, moved slowly by, 
While mute they watch’d, till morning’s 

beam 
Should rise and give them light to die. 
There’s γοῦ ἃ world, where souls are free, 
Where tyrants taint not nature’s 
bliss ;— 
If death that world’s bright opening be, 
Oh! who would live a slave in this? 


’"TIS SWEET TO THINK. 


"Tis sweet to think, that, where’er we 
rove, {and dear, 
We are sure to find something blissful 
And that, when we’re far from the lips 
we love, [are near. t 
We’ve but to make love to the lips we 
The heart, like a tendril, accustom’d to 
cling, [ish alone, 
Let it grow where it will, cannot flour- 
But will lean to the nearest, and loveli- 
est thing, [elosely its own. 
It can twine with itself, and make 
Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we 
rove, 


as this defence of inconstancy, to be the actual 
and genuine sentiments of him who writes 
them, that they eompel one, in self-defence, to 
be as matter-of-fact as themselves, and to re- 
mind them, that Democritus was not the 
worse physiologist, for having playfully con- 
tended that snow was black; nor Erasmus, 
in any degree, the less wise, for having writ- 
| ten an ingenious eneomium of folly. 


— 
5 
; 


IRISH MELODIES. 


To be sure to find something, still, that 


is dear, 
And to know, when far from the lips we 
love [are near. 


We've but to make love to the lips we 


’Twere a shame, when flowers around 
us rise, [isn’t there : 
To make light of the rest, if the rose 
And the world’s so rich in resplendent 
eyes, [pair. 
’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a 
Love’s wing and the peacock’s are near- 
y alike, 
They are both of them bright, but 
they’re changeable too, 
And, wherever a new beam of beauty 
can strike, (different hue. 
It will tincture Love’s plume with a 
Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we 
rove, [is dear, 
To be sure to find something, still, that 
And to know, when far from the lips we 
love, [are near. 
We've but to make love to the lips we 


THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS 
MISTRESS.* 


TurouGH grief and through danger thy 
smile hath cheer’d my way, 

Till hope seem’d to bud from each thorn 
that round me lay ; 

The darker our fortune, the brighter our 
pure love burn’d, 

Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal 
was turn’d ; [spirit felt free, 

Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my 

And bless’d even the sorrows that made 
me more dear to thee. 


Thy rival was honor’d, while thou wert 
wrong’d and scorn’d, 

Thy crown was of briers, while gold her 
brows adorn’d ; 

She woo’d me to temples, while thou 
lay’st hid in caves, 

Her friends were all masters, while 
thine, alas! were slaves ; 

Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I 
would rather be, 

Than wed what I loved not, or turn one 
thought from thee. 


* Meaning, allegorically, the ancient Church 
of Lreland. 
_t‘* Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is 
liberty.”"—St. Paul, 2 Cor. iii. 17. 


253 


They slander thee sorely, who say thy 
vows are frail— 

Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek 
had look’d less pale. 


‘They say, too, so long thou hast worn 


those lingering chains, 

That deep in thy heart they have printed 
their servile stains— 

Oh! foul is the slander,—no chain could 
that soul subdue— 

Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty 
shineth too !t 


ON MUSIC. 


WHEN thro’ life unblest we rove, 
Losing all that made life dear, 
Should some notes we used to love, 
In days of boyhood, meet our ear, 
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain! 
Wakening thoughts that long have 
Kindling former smiles again [slept; 
In faded eyes that long have wept. 


Like the gale, thatsighs along 
Beds of oriental flowers, 
Is the grateful breath of song, 
That once was heard in happier hours; 
Fill’d with balm, the gale sighs on, 
Though the flowers have sunk in 
death ; 
So, when pleasure’s dream is gone, 
Its memory lives in Music’s breath. 


Music, oh how faint, how weak, 
Language fades before thy spell ! 

Why should Feeling ever speak, [well? 
When thou canst breathe her soul so 


| Friendship’s balmy words may feign 
« 5 Σ 7 


Love’s are ev’n more false than they ; 
Oh! ’tis only music’s strain 
Can sweetly soothe and not betray. 


IT 15 NOT THE TEAR AT THIS 
MOMENT SHED.t{ 


Ir is not the tear at this moment shed, 
When the cold turf has just been laid 
o’er him, [that’s fled, 
That can tell how beloved was the friend 
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore 
him. 
these lines were occasioned by the loss of 


avery near and dear relative, who had died 
lately at Madeira. 


254 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


Tis the tear, thro’ many along day wept, 
’Tis life’s whole path o’ershaded ; 

*Tis the one remembrance fondly kept, 
When all lighter griefs have faded. 


Thus his memory, like some holy light, 
Kept alive in our hearts, will improve 
them, [more bright, 
For worth shall look fairer, and truth 
When we think how he lived but to 
love them. 
And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume 
Where buried saints are lying, 
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet’ning 
bloom 
From the image he left there in dying! 


THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 


’Trs believed that this Harp, which I 
wake now for thee, 

Was a Syren of old, who sung under the 
sea ; [waters roved, 

And who often, at eve, thro’ the bright 

To meet, on the green shore, a youth 
whom she loved. 


But she loved him in vain, for he left 
her to weep, 

And in tears, all the night, her gold 
tresses to steep ; [so warm, 

Till heav’n look’d with pity on true love 

And changed to this soft Harp the sea- 
maiden’s form. 


Still her bosom rose fair—still her cheeks 
smiled the same— 

While her sea-beauties gracefully form’d 
the light frame ; [arm it fell, 

And her hair, as, let loose, o’er her white 

Was changed to bright chords utt’ring 
melody’s spell. 


Hence it came, that this soft Harp so 
long hath been known 

To mingle love’s language with sorrow’s 
sad tone ; [the fond lay 

Till thow didst divide-them, and teach 

To speak love when I’m near thee, and 
grief when away. 


ΤΟΥ YOUNG DREAM. 


On! the days are gone, when Beauty 
bright 
My heart’s chain wove ; 
When my dream of life, from morn till 
night, 


Was love, still love. 
New hope may bloom, 
And days may come, 
Of milder, calmer beam, 
But there’s nothing half so sweet in life 
As love’s young dream : 
No, there’s nothing half so sweet in life 
As love’s young dream. 


Though the bard to purer fame may 
soar, 
When wild youth’s past ; 
Though he win the wise, who frown’d 
before, 
To smile at last ; 
He’ll never meet 
A joy so sweet, 
In all his noon of fame, 
As when first he sung to woman’s ear 
His soul-felt flame, 
And at every close, she blush’d to hear 
The one loved name. 


No,—that hallow’d form is ne’er forgot 
Which first love traced; 
Still it lingering haunts the greenest 
spot 
On memory’s waste. 
’Twas odor fled 
As soon as shed ; 
’Twas morning’s winged dream ; 
Twas alight that ne’er can shine again 
On life’s dull stream ; 
Oh! ’twas light that ne’er can shine again 
On life’s dull stream. 


THE PRINCE’S DAY.* 


To’ dark are our sorrows, to-day we’ll 
forget them, 
And smile through our tears, like a 
sunbeam in showers : 
There never were hearts, if our rulers 
would let them, [than ours. 
More form’d to be grateful and blest 
But just when the chain 
Has ceased to pain, 
And hope has enwreath’d it round 
with flowers, 
There comes a new link 
Our spirits to sink— 
Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light 
of the poles, [to stay ; 
Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant 
* This song was written for a féte in honor of 
the Prinee of Wales's birthday, given by my 
friend, Major Bryan, at his seat in the county 
of Kilkenny. 


But, though ’twere the last little spark 
in our souls, [Prince’s Day. 
We must light it up now, on our 


Contempt on the minion, who calls you 
disloyal ! 
Tho’ fierce to your foe, to your friends 
you are true ; [is royal, 
And the tribute most high to a head that 
Is love from a heart that loves liberty 
too. 
While cowards, who blight 
Your fame, your right, 
Would shrink from the blaze of the bat- 
tle array, 
The Standard of Green 
In front would be seen,— 
Oh, my life on your faith! were you 
summon’d this minute, 
You'd cast every bitter remembrance 
away, [in it, 
And show what the arm of old Erin has 
When roused by the foe, on her 
Prince’s Day. 


He loves the Green Isle, and his love is 
recorded [to forget ; 
Tn hearts which have suffer’d too much 
And hope shall be crown’d, and attach- 
ment rewarded, 
And Wrin’s gay-jubilee shine out yet. 
The gem may be broke 
By many a stroke, 
But nothing can cloud its native ray ; 
Each fragment will cast 
A light to the last,— 
And thus, Erin, my country, tho’ broken 
thou art, [will decay; 
There’s alustre within thee, that ne’er 
A spirit, which beams through each suf- 
fering part, [Prince’s Day. 
And now smiles at all pain on the 


WEEP ON, WEEP ON. 


WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past ; 
Your dreams of pride are o’er; 
The fatal chain is round you cast, 
And you are men no more. 
In vain the hero’s heart hath bled ; 
The sage’s tongue hath warn’d in vain ; 
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled, 
It never lights again. 


Weep on—perhaps in after days, 
They’ll learn to love your name ; 

When many a deed may wake in praise 
That long hath slept in blame. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


255: 


And when they tread the ruin’d Isle, 
Where rest, at length, the lord and 
slave, 
They’ll wond’ring ask, how hands so vile 
Could conquer hearts so brave ? 


‘oTwas fate,” they’ll say, “a wayward 
“Your web of discord wove; _ [fate 
“ And while your tyrants join’d in hate, 
““ You never join’d in love. 
“ But hearts fell off, that ought to twine, 
“ And man profaned what God had 
given ; [shrine, 
“<Ti]1 some were heard to curse the 
‘Where others knelt to heaven !” 


LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. 


LesBraA hath a beaming eye, 
But no one knows for whom it beam- 
Right and left its arrows fly, [eth; 
But what they aim at noone dreameth. 
Sweeter ’tis to gaze upon 
My Nora’s lid that seldom rises ; 
Few its looks, but every one, 
Like unexpected light, surprises ! 
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, 
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina, 
Beauty lies 
In many eyes, 
But Love in yours, my Nora Creina. 


Lesbia wears a robe of gold, Lit, 
But all so close the nymph hath laced 
Not a charm of beauty’s mould [it. 
Presumes to stay where Nature placed 
Oh! my Nora’s gown for me, Les, 
That floats as wild as mountain breez- 
Leaving every beauty free 
To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. 
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, 
My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 
Nature’s dress 
Ts loveliness— 
The dress you wear, ny Nora Creina. 


Lesbia hath a wit refined, [round us, 
But, when its points are gleaming 
Who can tell if they’re design’d 
To dazzle merely, or to wound us? 
Pillow’d on my Nora’s heart, 
In safer slumber Love reposes— 
Bed of peace! whose roughest part 
Is but the crumpling of the roses. 
Oh! my Nora Creina, dear, 
My mild, my artless Nora Creina |! 
Wit, though bright, 
Hath no such light 
As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. 


256 


MOORE’S WORKS. ie 


1 SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL 
PRIME. 


I saw thy form in youthful prime, 
Nor thought that pale decay 
Would steal before the steps of Time, 
And waste its bloom away, Mary! 
Yet still thy features wore that light, 
Which fleets not with the breath; 
And life ne’er Jook’d more truly bright 
Than in thy smile of death, Mary ! 


As streams that run o’er golden mines, 
Yet humbly, calmly glide, 

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 
Within their gentle tide, Mary! 

So veil’d beneath the simplest guise, 
Thy radiant genius shone, 

And that, which charm’d all other eyes, 
Seem’d worthless in thy own, Mary! 


If souls could always dwell above, 
Thou ne’er hadst left that sphere ; 

Or could we keep the souls we love, 
We ne’er had lost thee here, Mary! 

Though many a gifted mind we meet, 
Though fairest forms we see, 

To live with them is far less sweet, 
Than to remember thee, Mary !* 


BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY 
SHORE.t 


By that Lake, whose gloomy shore 
Sky-lark never warbles went 
Where the cliff hangs high and steep 
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. 

“‘ Here, at least,” he calmly said, 

<¢ Woman ne’er shall find my bed.” 
Ah! the good saint little knew 
What that wily sex can do. 


?T was from Kathleen’s eyes he flew, — 
Eyes of most unholy blue ! 

She had loved him well and long, 
Wish’d him hers, nor thought it wrong. 
Wheresoe’er the Saint would fly, 

Still he heard her light foot nigh ; 

East or west, where’er he turn’d, 

Still her eyes before him burn’d. 


On the bold cliff’s bosom cast, 
Tranquil now he sleeps at last ; 
Dreams of heay’n, nor thinks that e’er 


ἜΤ have here made a feeble effort to imitate 
that exquisite inseription of Shenstone’s, 
“Hen! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari 
quam meminisse ! ” 
* This ballad is founded upon one of the many 
stories related of St. Kevin, whose bed in the 


Woman’s smile can haunt him there. 
But nor earth nor heaven is free 
From her power, if fond she be: 
Even now, while calm he sleeps, 
Kathleen o’er him leans and weeps. 


Fearless she had track’d his feet 
To this rocky, wild retreat ; 

And when morning met his view, 
Her mild glances met it too. 

Ah, your Saints have cruel hearts ! 
Sternly from his bed he starts, 
And with rude repulsive shock, 
Hurls her from the beetling rock. 


Glendalough, thy gloomy wave 

Soon was gentle Kathleen’s grave! 
Soon the Saint, (yet ah! too late, ) 

Felt her love and mourn’d her fate. 
When he said, ‘‘ Heaven rest her soul !” 
Round the Lake light music stole ; 

And her ghost was seen to glide, 
Smiling o’er the fatal tide. 


SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 


SHE is far from the land where her 
young hero sleeps, 
And lovers are round her sighing; 
But coldly she turns from their gaze and 
weeps, 
For her heart in his grave is lying. 


She sings the wild song of her dear 
native plains, 

Every note which he loved awaking ;— 

Ab! little they think who delight in her 

strains, [ breaking. 

How the heart of the Minstrel is 


He had lived for his love, for his coun- 

try he died, [twined him ; 

They were all that to life had en- 

Nor soon shall the tears of-his country 
be dried, 

Nor long will his love stay behind him. 


Oh! make her a grave where the sun- 
beams rest, 
When they promise a glorious morrow; 
They'll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile 
from the West, 
From her own loved island of sorrow. 


rock is to be seen at Glendalough, a most 
gloomy and romantic spot in the county of 
Wicklow. 

tThere are many other curious traditions 
concerning this Lake, which may be found in 
Giraldus, Colgan, &ce. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


NAY, TELL ME NOT, DEAR, 


Nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet 
drowns 
One charm of feeling, one fond regret; 
Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns 
Are all I have sunk in its bright wave 
Ne’er hath a beam [yet. 
Been lost in the stream 
That ever was shed from thy form or 
The spell of those eyes, [808]; 
The balm of thy sighs, 
Still float on the surface, and hallow 
my bowl. [steal 
Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can 
One blissful dream of the heart from 
me ; [zeal, 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s 
The bowl but brightens my love for 
thee. 


They tell us that Love in his fairy bower 
Had two blush-roses, of birth divine ; 
He sprinkled the one with a rainbow’s 
shower, [wine. 
But bathed the other with mantling 
Soon did the buds 
That drank of the floods [fade; 
Distill’d by the rainbow, decline and 
While those which the tide 
Of ruby had dyed 
All blush’d into beauty, like thee, 
sweet maid ! [steal 
Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can 
One blissful dream of the heart from 
me; [zeal, 
Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s 
The bowl but brightens my love for 
thee. 


AVENGING AND BRIGHT. 


AVENGING and bright fall the swift 
sword of Hrin* [betray’d !— 
On him who the brave sons of Usna 


* The words of this song were suggested by the 
very ancient Irish story called ‘ Deirdri, or the 
Lamentable Fate of the Sons of Usnaeh,” which 
has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by 
Mr. O' Flanagan, (see vol. i. of Transactions of 
the Gaelic Society of Dublin,) and upon which it 
appewrs that the **Darthula of Macpherson” is 
founded. The treachery of Conor, King of 
Ulster, in putting to death the three sons of 
Usna, was the cause of a desolating war against 
Ulster, which terminated in the destruction of 
Eman. ‘' This story (says Mr. O'Flanagan) has 
been, from time immemorial, held in high re- 

pute as one of the three tragic stories of the 

rish. These are, ‘The death of the children 
of Touran;’ ‘The death of the children of 
Lear,’ (both regarding Tuatha de Danans,) and 


257 


For every fond eye he hath waken’d a 


tear in, 
A drop from his heart-wounds shall 
weep o’er her blade. 


By the red cloud that hung over Conor’s 
dark dwelling, t 
When Ulad’st three champions lay 
sleeping in gore— [high swelling, 
By the billows of war, which so often, 
Have wafted these heroes to victory’s 
shore— 


We swear to revenge them !—no joy 
shall be tasted, [unwed, 

The harp shall be silent, the maiden 
Our halls shall be mute, and our fields 
shall lie wasted, —_ [derer’s head. 

Till vengeance is wreak’d on the mur-' 


Yes, monarch ! tho’ sweet are our home 
recollections, 
Though sweet are the tears that from 
tenderness fall ; 
Though sweet are our friendships, our 
hopes, our affections, 
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! 


WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE 
FLOW ERET. 


He.—Wuar the bee is to the flow’ret, 
When he looks for honey-dew, 
Through the leaves that close em- 
boweret it, 
That, my love, I’ll be to you. 


She.— What the bank, with verdure glow- 
ing 
Is to waves that wander near, 
Whisp’ring kisses, while they’re 
going, 
That 111 be toyou, my dear. 


this, ‘The death of the children of Usnach,’ 
which is a Milesian story.”’ It will be recol- 
lected, that, in the Second Number of these 
Melodies, there is a ballad upon the story of 
the children of Lear or Lir; * Silent, oh Moyle!” 
&e. 

Whatever may be thought of those sanguine 
claims to antiquity, which Mr. Ο᾽ Flanagan and 
others advance for the literature of Ireland, it 
would be a lasting reproach upon our national- 
ity, if the Gaelic researches of this gentleman 
did not meet with all the liberal encourage- 
ment they so well merit. 

t “Oh Nasi! view that cloud that I here see 
in the sky! Isee over Eman-green a chilling 
cloud of blood-tinged red.""—Deirdri’s Song. 

2 Ulster. 


258 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


She.—But they say the bee’s a rover, 
Who will fly, when sweets are 
gone ; 
And, when once the kiss is over, 
Faithless brooks will wander on. 


He.—Nay, if flowers will lose their 
looks, 
If sunny banks will wear away, 
"Tis but right, that bees and 
brooks 
Should sip and kiss them while 
they may. 


LOVE AND THE NOVICE. 


“HERE we dwell, in holiest bowers, 
“Where angels of light o’er our ori- 
sons bend ; [ings of flowers 
“Where sighs of devotion and breath- 
“To heaven in mingled odor ascend. 
“Do not disturb our calin, oh Love! 
“50. like is thy form to the cherubs 
above, [ours.” 
“Tt well might deceive such hearts as 


Love stood near the Novice and listen’d, 
And Love is no novice in taking a 
hint ; glisten’d ; 

His laughing blue eyes soon with picty 
His rosy wing turn’d to heaven’s own 
tint. [chin cries, 

“4 Who would have thought,” the ur- 
“That Love couldso well, so grave- 

ly disguise [eyes ?” 

“Wis wandering wings and wounding 


Love now warms thee, waking and 

sleeping, [rise. 

Young Novice, to him all thy orisons 

He tinges the heavenly fount with his 

weeping, [his sighs. 

He \)rightens the censer’s flame with 

Love is the Saint enshrined in thy 

breast, [such a guest, 

And angels themselves would admit 

If he came to them clothed in Piety’s 
vest. 


THIS LIFE IS ALL CHECKER’D 
WITH PLEASURES AND WOKS. 


Tuts life is all checker’d with pleasures 
and woes, [the deep,-— 
That chase one another like waves of 


* “Proposito florem przetulit officio.” 
PROPERT. lib. i. eleg. 20. 
tIt is said that St. Patriek, when preaching 
the Trinity to the Pagan Irish, used to illns- 
trate his subjeet by reference to that species of 
trefoil ΕΝ in Ireland by the name of the 


---- 


Each brightly or darkly, as onward it 
flows, Lor weep. 
Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle 
So closely our whims on our miseries 
tread, [can be dried; 

That the laugh is awaked ere the tear 
And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is 
shed, [it aside. 

The goose-plumage of Folly can turn 
But pledge me the cup—if existence 
would οἷον, [ever wise, 

With hearts ever happy, and heads 
Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to 
Joy, [flashes and dies. 

And the light, brilliant Folly that 


When Hylas was sent with his wn to 
the fount, 
Through fields full of light, and with 
heart full of play, 
Light rambled the boy over meadow 
and mount, {on the way.* 
And neglected his task for the flowers 
Thus many, like me, who in youth 
should have tasted 
The fountain that runs by Philoso- 
phy’s shrine, 
Their time with the flowers on the 
margin have wasted, [88 mine. 
And left their light urns all as empty 
But pledge me the goblet ;—while idle- 
ness weaves [dom but see 
These flow’rets together, shorld Wis- 
One bright drop or two that has fall’n on 
the leaves, [for me. 
From her fountain divine, ’tis sufficient 


OH THE SHAMROCK. 


THROUGH Erin’s Isle, 
To sport awhile, 
As Love and Valor wander’d, 
With Wit, the sprite, 
Whose quiver bright 
A thousand arrows squander’d, 
Where’er they pass, 
A triple grasst 
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming, 
As softly green 
As emeralds seen 
Through purest crystal gleaming. 
Shamrock; and henee, perhaps, the Island of 
Saints adopted this plant as her national en- 
blem. Hope, among the ancients, was some- 
times represented as a beautiful child, standing 
upon tiptoes, and a trefoil of three-colored grass 
in her hand. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


259 


Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal | And, as Echo far off through the vale 


Shamrock, 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Hrin’s native Shamrock ! 


Says Valor, ‘‘See, 
“They spring for me, 
“Those leafy gems of morning !”— 
Says Love, “‘ No, no, 
“For me they grow, 
“My fragrant path adorning.” 
But Wit perceives 
The triple leaves, 
And cries, ‘‘ Oh! do not sever 
“A type that blends 
““Three godlike friends, 
“Love, Valor, Wit, forever !” 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin’s native Shamrock! 


So firmly fond 
May last the bond 
They wove that morn together, 
And ne’er may fall 
One drop of gall 
On Wit’s celestial feather. 
May Love, as twine 
His flowers divine, 
Of thorny falsehood weed ’em ; 
May Valor ne’er 
His standard rear 
Against the cause of Freedom! 
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal 
Shamrock ! 
Chosen leaf 
Of Bard and Chief, 
Old Erin’s native Shamrock ! 


AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. 


AT the mid hour of night, when stars 
are weeping, I fly 
To the lone vale we loved, when life 
shone warm in thine eye; 
And I think oft, if spirits can steal 
from the regions of air, 
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou 
wilt come to me there, 
And tell me our loye is remember’d, 
even in the sky. 


Then I sing the wild song ’twas once 
such pleasure to hear ! 
en our voices commingling, breath- 
ed, like one, on the ear; 


my sad orison rolls, 
I think, oh my love! ’tis thy voice 
from the Kingdom of Souls, * 
Faintly answering still the notes that 
once were so dear. 


ONE BUMPER AT PARTING, 


ONE bumper at parting !—though many 
Have circled the board since we met, 

The fullest, the saddest of any, 
Remains to be crown’d by us yet. 

The sweetness that pleasure hath in it, 
Is always so slow to come forth, 

That seldom, alas, till the minute 
It dies, do we know half its worth. 

But come,—may ourlife’s happy measure 
Be all of such moments made up; 

They’re born on the bosom of Pleasure, 
They die midst the tears of the cup. 


As onward we journey, how pleasant 
To pause and inhabit awhile 
Those few sunny spots, like the present, 
That mid the dull wilderness smile ! 
But Time, like a pitiless master, 
Cries ‘‘ Onward !” and spurs the gay 
hours-— 
Ah, never doth Time travel faster, 
Than when his way lies among flowers. 
Butcome,—may our life’s happy measure 
Be all of such moments made up ; 
They’re born on the bosom of Pleasure, 
They die midst the tears of the cup. 


We saw how the sun look’d in sinking, 
The waters beneath him how bright, 

And now, let our farewell of drinking 
tesemble that farewell of light. 

You saw how he finish’d, by darting 
His beam o’er a deep billow’s brimn— 

So, fill up, let’s shine at our parting, 
In full liquid glory, like him. 

| And ch! may our life’s happy measure 
Of moments like this be made up, 

’T was born on the bosom of Pleasure, 

| Itdies mid the tears of the cup. 


TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER, 


ΤῚΝ the last rose of summer 
| Left blooming alone; 
| All her lovely companions 
| Are faded and gone ; 


’ 


| *« There are countries,”’ says Montaigne, 

| ‘*where they believe the souls of the happy 
live in all manner of liberty, in delightful fields, 
and that it is those souls, repeating the words 
we utter, which we call Echo.” 


200 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


No flower of her kindred, 
No rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 


Τ᾽] not leave thee, thou lone one, 
To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 
Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves o’er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 
Lie scentless and dead. 


So soon may 7 follow, 
When friendships decay, 
And from Love’s shining circle 
The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie wither’d, 
And fond ones are flown, 
Oh! who would inhabit 
This bleak world alone ? 


THE YOUNG MAY MOON. 


THE young May moon is beaming, love, 
The glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, 
How sweet to rove [Llove, 
Through Morna’s grove, * 
When the drowsy world is dreaming, 
love! [my dear, 
Then awake !—the heavens look bright, 
’Tis never too late for delight, my dear, 
And the best of all ways 
To lengthen our days, 
Is to steal a few hours from the night, 
my dear ! 


Now all the world is sleeping, love, 
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, 
love, 
And I, whose star, 
More glorious far, 


* “Steals silently to Morna’s grove.’’—See, in 
Mr. Buntine’s collection, a poem translated 
from the Irish, by the late Joha Brown, one 
cf my earliest college companions and friends, 
whose death was as singularly melancholy and 
unfortunate as his life had been amiabie, hon- 
orable, and exemplary. 

} These stanzas are founded upon an event of 
most inelancholy importance to Ireland; if, as 
we are told by our Irish historians, it gave 

Sngland the first opportunity of profiting by 
our divisions and ΒΕ ΝΣ us. The following 
are the circumstances, as related by O'IIal- 
loran :—‘' The King of Leinster had long con- 
eeived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, 
daughter to the King of Meath, and though 
she had been for some time married toO’Ruark, 
Prince of Bretfni, yet it could not restrain Jiis 


] 


Is the ee from that casement peeping, 
ove. 
Then awake !—till rise of sun, my dear, 
The Sage’s glass we'll shun, my dear, 
Or, in watching the flight 
Of bodies of light, [my dear. 
He might happen to take thee for one, 


THE MINSTREL BOY. 


THE Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, 
In the ranks of death you’ll find him ; 
His father’s sword he has girded on, 
And his wild harp swung behind him.— 
‘‘Land of song!” said the warrior-bard, 
“Though all the world betrays thee, 
“One sword, at least, thy rights shall 
guard, 
“ One faithful harp shall praise thee !”” 


The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman’s 
chain 
Could not bring his proud soul under; 
The harp he loved ne’er spoke again, 
For he tore its chords asunder ; 
And said, ‘‘ No chains shall sully thee, 
“Thou soul of love and bravery ! 
“Thy songs were made for the pure and 
free, 
“‘They shall never sound in slavery.” 


THE SONG OF O’RUARK, 
PRINCE OF BREFFNI.t 


Tue valley lay smiling before me, 
Where lately I left her behind; [me, 
Yet I trembled, and something hung o’er 
That sadden’d the joy of my mind. 
I look’d for the lamp which, she told me, 
Should shine, when her Pilgrim re- 
turn’d ; 


passion. They carried on a private correspond- 
ence, and she informed him that O'Ruark in- 
tended soon to goon a pilgrimage, (an act of 
piety frequent in those days,) and conjured him 
to embrace that opportunity of conveying her 
from a husband she detested to a lover she 
adored Mae Murehad too punctually obeyed 
the summons, and had the βὰν conveyed to his 
capital of Ferns.”” The monarch Roderick 
espoused the cause of O'Ruark, while Mae 
Murehad fled to England, and obtained the as- 
sistance of Henry 11. 

“Sueh,” adds Giraldus Cambrensis, (as I find 
him in an old translation.) ‘isthe variable and 
fickle nature of woman, by whom all mischief 
in the world (for the most part) do happen and 


| come, a8 may appear by Marcus Autonius, and 


hy the destruction of Troy,” 


IRISH MELODIES. 


‘ 


But, though darkness began to infold 


me, 
No lamp from the battlements burn’d! 


I flew to her chamber—’twas lonely, 
As if the loved tenant lay dead ;— 
Ah, would it were death, and death 

only ; 
But no, the young false one had fled. 
And there hung the lute that could 
soften 
My very worst pains into bliss ; 
While the hand, that had waked it so 


often, 
Now throbb’d to a proud rival’s kiss. 


There was a time, falsest of women, 
When Breffni’s good sword would have 
sought 
That man, thro’ a million of foemen, 
Who dared but to wrong thee in 
thought ! 
While now—oh ΘΕ ΌΠΕΣΑΙΟ daughter 
Of Erin, how fall’n is thy fame ! 
And through ages of bondage and 
slaughter, [shame. 
Our country shall bleed for thy 


Already, the curse is upon her, 
And strangers her valleys profane ; 
They come to divide, to dishonor, 
And tyrants they long will reimain. 
But onward !—the green banner rearing, 
Go, flesh every sword to the hilt, 
On our side is Virtue and Brin, 
On theirs is the Saxon and guilt 


OH! HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LIT- 
TLE ISLE OF OUR OWN. 


On! had we some bright little isle of 
our own, 
In a blue summer ocean, far off and 
alone, 
Where a leaf never dies in tho still 
blooming bowers, 
And the bee banquets on through a whole 
year of flowers ; 
Where the sun loves to pause 
With so fond a delay, 
That the night only draws 
A thin veil o’er the day ; 
Where simply to feel that we breathe, 
that we live, [can give. 
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere 


261 


There, with souls ever ardent and pure 
as the clime, [first golden time; 
We should love, as they loved in the 
The glow of the sunshine, the balm of 
the air, [summer there. 
Would steal to our hearts, and make all 
With affection as free 
From decline as the bowers, 
And, with hope, like the bee, 
Living always on flowers, 
Our life should resemble a long day of 
light, [as the night. 
And our death come on, holy and calm 


FAREWELL!—BUT WHENEVER 
YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. 


FAREWELL !—but whenever you, wel- 
come the hour, [in your bower, 
That awakens the night-song of mirth 
Then think of the friend who once wel- 
comed it too, [with you. 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy 
His griefs may return, not a hope may 
remain {pathway of pain, 
Of the few that have brighten’d his 
But he ne’er will forget the short vision, 
that threw _ [ling’ring with you. 
Its enchantment around him, while 


And still on that evening, when pleasure 
fills up {and each cup, 
To the highest top sparkle each heart 
Where’er my path lies, be it gloomy or 
bright, {that night ; 
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you 
Shall join in your revels, your sports, 
and your wiles, [your smiles— 
And return tome, beaming all o’er with 
Too blest, if it tells me that, mid the 
gay cheer, [wish he were here !” 
Some kind voice had murmur’d, “I 


Let Fate do her worst, there are relics 
of joy, {cannot destroy ; 
Bright dreams of the past, which she 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow 
and care, [used to wear. 
And bring back the features that joy 
Long, long be my heart with such 
memories fill’d! [been distill’d — 
Like the vase, in which roses have once 
You may break, you may shatter the 
vase, if you will, [it still. 
But the scent of the roses will hang round 


262 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ἘΠῚ π᾿ ΠΟ τ ne --  ἧἹσὄσσοσσσος- 


OH! DOUBT ME NOT. 


Ox! doubt me not—the season 
Is o’er, when Folly made me rove, 
And now the vestal, Reason, [Love. 
Shall watch the fire awaked by 
Although this heart was early blown, 
And fairest hands disturb’d the tree, 
They only shook some blossoms down, 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 
Then doubt me not—the season 
Is o’er, when Folly made me rove, 


And now the vestal, Reason, [ Love. | 


Shall watch the fire awaked by 


And though my lute no longer 


May sing of Passion’s ardentspell, | 


Yet, trust me, all the stronger 
I feel the bliss I do not tell. 

The bee through many a garden roves, 
And hums his lay of courtship o’er, 
But when he finds the flower he loves, 
He settles there and hums no more. 
Then doubt me not—the season 

Is o’er, when Folly kept me free, 
And now the vestal, Reason, [thee. 
Shall guard the flame awaked by 


YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.* 


Youremember Ellen, our hamlet’s pride, 
How meekly she bless’d her humble 
lot, [her his bride, 


When the stranger, William, had made | 


And love was the light of their lowly 
cot. [rains, 
Together they toil’d through winds and 
Till William, atlength, in sadness said, 


‘We must seek our fortunes on other | 


plains ;’— 


Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. | 


They roam’d a long and a weary way, 


Nor much was the maiden’s heart at | 


ease, 


When now, at close of one stormy day, | 


They see a proud castle among the 
trees. 


“To-night,” said the youth, “we'll 


late .” [air, 
So he blew the horn with a chieftain’s 


And the Porter bow’d, as they pass’d | 


the gate. 


* This ballad was suggested by a well-known 
and interesting story told of a certain noble 
family in England. 


[shelter there ; | 


| Burns the same, where’er it goes. 


‘‘Now, welcome, Lady,” exclaim’d the 
youth, — [woods all!” 
“‘This castle is thine, and these dark 
She believed him crazed, but his words 
were truth, 
For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 
What William, the stranger, woo’d 
and wed ; [groves, 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly 
Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 


T’'D MOURN THE HOPES. 


ΤΡ mourn the hopes that leave me, 
If thy smiles had left me too ; 
I’d weep when friends deceive me, 
Τῇ thou wert, like them, untrue. 
But while I’ve thee before me, 
With hearts so warm and eyes so 
No clouds can linger o’er me, _[bright, 
That smile turns them all to light. 


’Tis not in fate to harm me, 

While fate leaves thy love to me; 
’Tis not in joy to charm me, 

Unless joy be shared with thee. 
One minute’s dream about thee 

Were worth a long, an endless year 
Of waking bliss without thee, 

My own love, my only dear! 


And though the hope be gone, love, 
That long sparkled o’er our way, 
Oh! we shall journey on, love, 
More safely, without its ray. 
Far better lights shall win me 
Along the path I’ve yet to roam :— 
The mind that burns within me, 
And pure smiles from thee at home. 


'Thus when the lamp that lighted 
The traveler at first goes out, 

He feels awhile benighted, ’ 

| And looks round in fear and doubt. 
| But soon, the prospect clearing, 

By cloudless starlight on he treads, 
And thinks no lamp so cheering 

As that light which Heaven sheds. 


“The wind blows cold, the hour is | 


| COME O’ER THE SBA. 


| Come o’er the sea, 


Maiden, with me, 

Mine through sunshine, storm, and 
Seasons may roll, [snows ; 
But the true soul 


IRISH MULODIES. 


263 


Let fate frown on, so we love and part 
not ; [thou’rt not. 
Tis life where thou art, ’tis death where 
Then come o’er the sea, 
Maiden, with me, 
Come wherever the wild wind blows; 
Seasons may roll, 
; But the true soul 
Burns the same, where’er it goes. 


Was not the sea 
Made for the Free, 
Land for courts and chains alone ? 
Here we are slaves, 
But, on the waves, 
Love and Liberty’s all our own. 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to 
wound us, [us— 
“All earth forgot, and all heayen around 
Then come o’er the sea, 
Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and 
Seasons way roll, [snow 35 
But the true soul 
Burns the same, where’er it goes 


HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS 


SHADED. 


Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 
As clouds o’er the morning fleet ? 
Too fast have those young days faded, 
That, ey’n in sorrow, were sweet ! 

Does Time with his cold wing wither 
Hach feeling that once was dear ?— 

Then, child of misfortune, come hither, 
ri weep with thee, tear for tear. 


Has love to that soul, so tender, 
Been like our Lagenian mine, * 
Where sparkles of golden splendor 

All over the surface shine— 

But, if in pursuit we go deeper, 
Allured by the gleam that shone, 
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper, 
Like Love, the bright ore is gone. 


Has Hope, like the bird in the story,t 
That flitted from tree to tree 
With the talisman’s glitt’ring glory— 
Has Hope been that bird to thee? 
On branch after branch alighting, 
The gem did she still display, 
And, when nearest and most inviting, 
Then waft the fair gem away ? 
*Our Wicklow Gold Mines, to which this 
verse alludes, deserve, I fear, but too well the 


character here given of them. 
t “The bird, having got its prize, settled not 


If thus the young hours have fleeted 
When sorrow itself look’d bright ; 
If thus the fair hope hath cheated, 
That led thee along so light ; 
If thus the cold world now wither 
Each feeling that once was dear :— 
Come, child of misfortune, come hither, 
Ill weep with thee, tear for tear. 


NO, NOT MORE WELCOME. 


No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 
Of music fall on the sleeper’s ear, 
When half-awaking from fearful slum- 
bers, [near,— 
He thinks the full choir of heaven is 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 
This heart long had sleeping Jain, 
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever 
waken 
To such benign, blessed sounds again. 


Sweet voice of comfort! ’twas like the 
stealing [shell - 
Of summer wind thro’ some wreathed 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 
Of all my soul echoed to its spell. 
’Twas whisper’d balm—twas sunshine 
spoken !— 
I'd live years of grief and pain 
| To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 
By such benign, blessed sounds again. 


WHEN FIRST I MET THEE. 


WueN first I met thee, warm and young, 
There shone such truth about thee, 
And on thy lip such promise hung, 
I did not dare to doubt thee. 
| I saw thee change, yet still relied, 
Still clung with hope the fonder, 
And thought, though false to all beside, 
From me thou couldst not wander. 
But go, deceiver! go, [make it 
The heart, whose hopes could 
Trust one so false, so low, [it. 
Deserves that thou shouldst break 


When every tongue thy follies named, 
I fled the unwelcome story ; 

Or found, in even the faults they blamed, 
Some cleams of future glory. 

7 still was true, when nearer friends 
Consp'red to wrong, to slight thee ; 
far off, with the talisman in his mouth. The 
pene drew near it, hoping would drop it; 


put, as he appro: iched, the bird took w ing, and 
&ce.—Arabian Nights. 


settled again, 


264 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


| 
The heart that now thy falsehood rends | “‘ Through ages of sorrow, deserted and 


Would then have bled to right thee. 
But go, deceiver ! go, — 
Some day, perhaps, thou’lt waken 
From pleasure’s dream, to know 
The grief of hearts forsaken. 


Even now, though youth its bloom has 


shed, 
No lights of age adorn thee : 
The few, who loved thee once, have fled, 
And they, who flatter, scorn thee. | 
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves, 
No genial ties enwreathe it ; 
The smiling there, like light on graves, 
Has rank cold hearts beneath it. 
Go—go—though worlds were thine, 
I would not now surrender 
One taintless tear of mine 
For all thy guilty splendor! 


And days may come, thou false one! yet, 
When even those ties shall sever ; 
When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 
On her thou’st lost forever; 
On her who, in thy fortune’s fall, 
With smiles had still received thee 
And gladly died to prove thee all 
Her fancy first believed thee. 
Go—go—'tis vain to curse, 
’Tis weakness to upbraid thee ; 
Hate cannot wish thee worse [thee. 
Than guilt and shame have made 


WHILE HISTORY’S MUSE. 


WHILE History’s Muse the memorial was 
keeping [ weaves, 
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny 
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood 
weeping, [the leaves. 
For hers was the story that blotted | 
But oh! how the tear in her eyelids 
grew bright, [shame, 
When, after whole pages of sorrow and 
She saw History write, 
With a pencil of light 
That illumed the whole volume, her 
Wellington’s name. 


‘Hail, Star of my Isle!”’ said the Spir- 
it, all sparkling [own dewy skies, 
With beams, such as break from her 


*This alludes to a kind of Irish fairy, which 
isto be met with, they say, in the fields at | 
dusk. As long as you keep your eyes upon 
him, he is fixed, andin your power ;—but the | 
moment you look away (and he is ingenious in 


| 


furnishing some inducement) he yanishes. I 


. darkling, [thine to arise. 
““Tve watch'd for some glory like 
‘For, though Heroes I’ve number’d, 
unblest was their lot, 
‘And unhallow’d they sleep in the 
crossways of Fame ;— 
“ But oh! there is not 
“ One dishonoring blot 
‘On the wreath that encircles my Wel- 
lington’s name. 


“ Yet still the last crown of thy toils is 
remaining, [hast yet known ; 
“The grandest, the purest, evy’n thou 
“Though proud was thy task, other na- 
tions unchaining, 
“‘ Far prouder to heal the deep wounds 
of thy own. : 
“4 At the foot of that throne for whose 
weal thou hast stood, 
“Go, plead for the land that first 
cradled thy fame, 
“ And, bright o’er the flood 
“ΟΥ̓ her tears and her blood, 
“Let the rainbow of Hope be her 
Wellington’s name !” 


THE TIME ΤΎ Ε LOST IN WOOING 


THE time I’ve lost in wooing, 
In watching and pursuing 
The light, that lies 
In woman’s eyes, 
Has been my heart’s undoing. 
Though Wisdom oft has sought me, 
I scorn’d the lore she brought me, 
My only books 
Were woman’s |: aks, 
And folly’s all they’ve taught me. 


Her smile when Beauty granted, 
Thung with gaze enchanted, 
Like him, the sprite,* 
Whom maids by night 
Oft meet in glen that’s haunted. 
Like him, too, Beauty won me, 
But while her eyes were on me, 
If once their ray 
Was turn’d away, 
O! winds could not outrun me. 
had thought that this was the sprite which we 
call the Leprechaun; but a high authority upon 
such subjects, Lady Morgan, (in a note upon 
her national and interesting novel, O'Donnel,) 
has given a very different account of that gob- 
lin, 


And are those follies going? 
And is my proud heart growing 
Too old or wise 
For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing? 

No, vain, alas! th’ endeavor 
From bonds so sweet to sever ; 
Poor Wisdom’s chance 

Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever. 


WHERE IS THE SLAVE. 


Ou, where’s the slave so lowly, 
Condemn’d to chains unholy, 
Who, could he burst 
His bonds at first, 
Would pine beneath them slowly ? 
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, 
Would wait till time decay’d it, 
When thus its wing 
At once may spring 
To the throne of Him who made it? 


Farewell, Erin,—farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall! 


Less dear the laurel growing, 
Alive, untouch’d and blowing, 
Than that, whose braid 
Is pluck’d to shade 
The brows with victory glowing. 
We tread the land that bore us, 
Her green flag glitters o’er us, 
The friends we've tried 
Are by our side, 
And the foe we hate before us. 


Farewell, Erin,—farewell, all, 
Who live to weep our fall! 


COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM. 


Come, rest in this bosom, my own 
stricken deer, 

Though the herd have fled from thee, 
thy home is still here ; 

Here still is the smile, that no cloud 
can o’ercast, [the last. 

And a heart and a hand all thy own to 


Oh! what was love made for, if ’tis not 
the same 

Through joy and through torment, 
through glory and shame ? 

I know not, I ask not, if guilt’s in that 


heart, [thou art. 
I but know that I love thee, whatever 


IRISH MELODILS. 


. . 
265 


Thou hast call’d me thy Angel in mo- 
ments of bliss, {of this,— 
And thy Angel ΤΊ] be, mid the horrors 
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy 
steps to pursue, _ [ish there too! 
And shield thee, and save thee,—or per- 


TIS GONE, AND FOREVER. 


’Trs gone, and forever, the light we saw 
breaking, _— [sleep of the dead— 

Like Heaven’s first dawn o’er the 
When Man, from the slumber of ages 
awaking, [ray ere it fled. 
Look’d upward, and bless’d the pure 
’Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of 
its burning {and mourning, 

But deepen the long night of bondage 
That dark o’er the kingdoms of earth is 
returning, [ thee. 

And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o’er 


For high was thy hope, whenthose glo- 
ries were darting 
Around thee, through all the gross 
clouds of the world ; 
When Truth, from her fetters indignant- 
ly starting, [unfurl’d.* 
At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner 
Oh! never shall earth see a moment so 
splendid ! [ance blended 
Then, then—had one Hymn of Deliver- 
The tongues of all nations—how sweet 
had ascended thee ! 
The first note of Liberty, Erin, from 


But, shame on those tyrants, who en- 

vied the blessing! [thy its good, 

And shame on the light race, unwor- 

Who, at Death’s reeking altar, like fu- 

ries, caressing [it in blood. 

The young hope of Freedom, baptized 

Then vanish’d forever that fair, sunny 

vision, [heart’s derision, 

Which, spite of the slavish, the cold 

Shall long be remember’d, pure, bright 
and elysian 

As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee. 


I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 


Ι saw from the beach, when the morn- 
ing was shining, [ously on ; 

A bark o’er the waters move glori- 
I came when the sun o’er that beach was 
declining, [waters were gone. 

The bark was still there, but the 


Ἐπ The Sun-burst’’ was the fanciful name 
given by the ancient Irish to the Royal Banner. 


206 


And such is the fate of our life’s early 
promise, [have known ; 
So passing the spring-tide of joy we 
Each wave, that we danced on at 
morning, ebbs from us, 
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak 
shore alone. 


Ne’er tell me of glories, serenely adorn- 

ing [our night ;— 

The close of our day, the calm eve of 

Give me hack, give me back the wild 
freshness of Morning, 

Her clouds and her tears are worth 
Evening’s best light. 


Oh, who would not welcome that mo- 
ment’s returning, 
When passion first waked a new life 
through his frame, 
And his soul, like the wood, that grows 
precious in burning, [site flame. 
Gave out all its sweets to love’s exqui- 


FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. 


Fini the bumper fair! 
Every drop we sprinkle 
O’er the brow of Care 
Smooths away a wrinkle. 
Wit’s electric flame 
Ne’er so swiftly passes, 
As when through the frame 
It shoots from brimming glasses. 
Fill the bumper fair ! 
Every drop we sprinkle 
O’er the brow of Care 
Smooths away a wrinkle. 


Sages can, they say, 

Grasp the lightning’s pinions, 
And bring down its ray 

From the starr’d dominions :— 
So we, Sages, sit, 

And, mid bumpers bright’ ning, 
From the Heaven of Wit 

Draw down all its lightning. 


Wouldst thou know what first 
Made our souls inherit 
This ennobling thirst 
For wine’s celestial spirit ? 
* Inthatrebe ious but be: autifulsong, ‘‘ When 


Erin first rose,” there is, if I recollect right, the 
following line: - 


«The dark chain of Silence was throwno’erthe 
deep.’ 


The chain of Silence was a sort of practic 


figure of rhetoric among the «ancient 


MOORL’S WORKS. 


It chanced upon that day, 
When, as bards inform us, 
Prometheus stole away 
The living fires that warm us : 


The careless Youth, when up 
To Glory’s fount aspiring, 
Took nor urn nor cu 
To hide the pilfer’d fire in.— 
But oh his joy, when, round 
The halls of Heaven spying, 
Among the stars he found 
‘A bowl of Bacchus lying! 


Some drops were in that bow], 
Remains of last night’s pleasure, 
With which the Sparks of Soul 
Mix’d their burning treasure. 
Hence the goblet’s shower 
Hath such spells to win us; 
Hence its mighty power 
O’er that flame within us. 
Fill the bumper fair! 
Every drop we sprinkle 
O’er the brow of Care 
Smooths away a wrinkle. 


DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY. 


DEAR Harp of my Country! in darkness 
I found thee, [thee long, * 

The cold chain of silence had hung o’er 
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I 
unbound thee, [dom and song! 

And gave all thy chords tolight, free- 
The warm lay of love and the light note 
of gladness [thrill ; 

Have waken’d thy fondest, thy liveliest 
But, soofthast thou echo’d the deep sigh 
of sadness, {thee still. 

That ey’n in thy mirth it will steal from 


Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to 
thy numbers, _ [we shall twine! 

This sweet wreath of song is the last 
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on 
thy slumbers, [thy than mine; 

Till touch’d by some hand less unwor- 
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or 
lover [alone ; ; 

Have throbb’d at our lay, ’tis thy glory 


Walker tells us of ‘ta celebrated contention for 


| precedence between Finn and Gaul, near Finn’s 


palace at Almhaim, where the attending Bards, 
anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of 
hostilities, ssook the chain of Silence, and flung 
ne the ranks.’? Sce also the 

1 of Mernvi,in Missl rooke’s 


~ chorde.—Juvenal. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly | 
over, [was thy own. | 
And all the wild sweetness I waked 


MY GENTLE HARP, 


My gentle Harp, once more I waken 
The sweetness of thy slumb’ring 
strain ; 
In tears our last farewell was taken, 
And now in tears we meet again. 
No light of joy hath o’er thee broken, 
But, like those Harps whose heay’nly 
skill 
Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, 
Thou hang’st upon the willows still. 


And yet, since last thy chord resounded, 
An hour of peace and triumph came, 
And many an ardent bosom bounded 
With hopes—that now are turn’d to 
shame ; 

Yet even then, while Peace was singing 
Her halcyon song o’er land and sea, 
Though joy and hope to others bringing, 
She only brought new tears to thee. 


Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, 
My drooping Harp, from chords like 
thine ? 
Alas, the lark’s gay morning measure 
As ill would suit the swan’s decline ! 
Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, 
Invoke thy breath for Freedom’s 
strains, [thee, 
When ey’n the wreaths in which I dress 
Are sadly mix’d—half flow’rs, half 
chains ? 


But come—if yet thy frame can borrow 
One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me, 
And show the world, in chains and sor- 
row, 
How sweet thy music still can be ; 
How gayly, ev’n mid gloom surrounding, 
Thou yet canst wake at pleasure’s 
thrill— 
Like Memnon’s broken image sounding, 
Mid desolation tuneful still !* 


IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. 


In the morning of life, when its cares 
are unknown, [tre begin, 
And its pleasures in all their new lus- 


*Dimidio magic~® resonant ubi Memnone 


267 


-- 


When we live in a bright-beaming world 
of our own, {from within ; 

And the light that surrounds us is all 
Oh ’tis not, believe me, in that happy 
time [transport we may ;— 

We can love, as in hours of less 
Of our smiles, of our hopes, ’tis the gay 
sunny prime, [away. 

But affection is truest when these fade 


When we see the first glory of youth 
pass us by, [never return ; 

Like a leaf on the stream that will 
When our cup, which had sparkled with 
pleasure so high, [flowing urn ; 

First tastes of the other, the dark- 
Then, then is the time when affection 
holds sway [never knew ; 

With a depth and a tenderness joy 
Love, nursed among pleasures, is faith- 
less as they, [row, is true. 

But the Love born of Sorrow, like Sor- 


In climes full of sunshine, though splen- 
did the flowers, [no worth ; 

Their sighs have no freshness, their odor 
’Tis the cloud and the mist of our own 
Isle of showers, [forth ; 

That call the rich spirit of fragrancy 
So, it is not mid splendor, prosperity, 
mirth, [spirit appears ; 

That the depth of Love’s generous 
To the sunshine of smiles it may first 
owe its birth, [out by tears. 

But the soul of its sweetness is drawn 


AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 


As slow our ship her foamy track 
Against the wind was cleaving, 

Her trembling pennant still look’d back 
To that dear Isle ’twas leaving. 

So loath we part from all we love, 
From all the links that bind us; 

So turn our hearts as on we rove, 
To those we’ve left behind us. 


When, round the bowl, of vanish’d years 
We talk, with joyous seeming, — 
With smiles that might as well be tears, 
So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
While mem’ry brings us back again 
Each early tie that twined us, 
Oh, sweet’s the cup that circles then 
To those we’ve left behind us. 


And when, in other climes, we meet 
Some isle, or vale enchanting, 


| Where all looks flow’ry, wild, and sweet, 


268 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And naught but love is wanting ; 

We think how great had been our bliss, 
If Heay’n had but assign’d us 

To live and die in scenes like this, 
With some we’ve left behind us! 


As tray’lers oft look back at eve, 
When eastward darkly going, 

To gaze upon that light they leave 
Still faint behind them glowing,— 

So, when the close of pleasure’s day 
‘To gloom hath near consign’d us, 

We turn to catch one fading ray 

“ Of joy that’s left behind us. 


WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH. 


Wuen cold in the earth lies the friend 
thou hast loved, [thee then ; 
Be his faults and his follies forgot by 
Or, if from their slumber the veil be re- 
moved, [it again. 
Weep o’er them in silence, and close 
And oh! if ’tis pain to remember how far 
From the pathways of light he was 
tempted to roam, [the star 
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert 
That arose on his darkness, and 
guided him home. 


From thee and thy innocent beauty first 
came [love to adore, 

The revealings, that taught him true 
To feel the bright presence, and turn 
him with shame [before. 

From the idols he blindly had knelt to 
O’er the waves of a life, long benighted 
and wild, [o’er the sea; 

Thou cam’st, like a soft, golden calm 
And if happiness purely and glowingly 
smiled [from thee. 

On his ey’ning horizon, the light was 


And though, sometimes, the shades of 
past folly might rise, 
And though falsehood again would 
allure bim to stray, 
He but turn’d to the glory that dwelt in 
those eyes, [vanish’d away. 
And the folly, the falsehood, soon 
As the Priests of the Sun, when their 
altar grew dim, (repair, 
At the day-beam alone could its lustre 
So, if virtue a moment grew languid in 
him, [ kindled it there. 
He but flew to that smile and re- 


REMEMBER THEE. 


REMEMBER thee? yes, while there’s life 
in this heart, [thou art ; 
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as 
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and 
thy showers, [niest hours. 
Than the rest of the world in their sun- 


Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, 
glorious, and free, [ΟἹ the sea, 
First flower of the earth, and first gem 
I might hail thee with prouder, with 
happier brow, [than now ἢ 
But oh! could I love thee more deeply 


No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood 
as it runs, [thy sons— 

But make thee more painfully dear to 

Whose hearts, like the young of the 
desert-bird’s nest, 

Drink love in each life-drop that flows 
from thy breast. 


WREATHE THE BOWL. 


WREATHE the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow’rds heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us, 
Should Love amid 
The wreaths be hid, 

That Joy, th’ enchanter, brings us, 
No danger fear, 

While wine is near, 

We'll drown him if he stings us; 
Then, wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow’rds heayen to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us, 


Twas nectar fed 
Of old, ’tis said, 
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 
And man may brew 
His nectar too, 
The rich receipt’s as follows. 
Take wine like this, 
Let looks of bliss 
Around it well be blended, 
Then bring Wit’s beam 
To warm the stream, 
And there’s your nectar splendid ! 
So wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 


IRISH MELOs-fES. 


269 


The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow’rds heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us. 


Say, why did Time, 
His glass sublime, 

Fill up with sands unsightly, 
When wine, he knew, 
Runs brisker through 

And sparkles far more brightly ? 
Oh, lend it us, 

And, smiling thus, 

The glass in two we'll sever, 
Make pleasure glide 
In double tide, 

And fill both ends forever ! 
Then wreathe the bowl 
With flowers of soul, 

The brightest Wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow’rds heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us. 


WHENP’ERISEE THOSE SMILING 
EYES. | 
WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes, 
So full of hope, and joy, and light, 
As if no cloud could ever rise, 
To dim a heay’n so purely bright— 
I sigh to think how soon that brow 
In grief may lose its every ray, 
And that light heart, so joyous now, 
Almost forget it once was gay. 


For time will come with all its blights, | 
The ruin’d hope, the friend unkind, 

And love, that leaves, where’er it lights, | 
A chill’d or burning heart behind :— 

While youth, that now like snow appears, 
Ere sullied by the dark’ning rain, 

When once ’tis touch’d by sorrow’s tears 
Can never shine so bright again. 


IF THOU’LT BE MINE. 


ΤΕ thowlt be mine, the treasures of air, 

Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet; 
Whatever in Fancy’s eye looks fair, 

Or in Hope’s sweet music sounds most 

sweet, [love ! 

Shall be ours—if thou wilt be mine, 


Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we 
rove, [stream ; 


A yoice divine shall talk in each | 


The stars shall look like worlds of love, 
And this earth be all one beautiful 
dream "  [love. 

In our eyes—if thou wilt be mine, 


And thoughts, whose source is hidden 
and high, [ward hills, 
Like streams, that come from heaven- 
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie 
To be bathed by those eternal rills, 
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, 
love! 


All this and more the Spirit of Love 
Can breathe o’er them, who feel his 
spells ; [above, 
That heaven, which forms his home 
He can make on earth, wherever he 
dwells, [mine, love! 
As thowlt own,—if thou wilt be 


TO LADIES’ EYES. 


To Ladies’ eyes around, boy, 

We can't refuse, we can’t refuse, 
Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 

’Tis hard to choose, ’tis hard to choose. 
For thick as stars that lighten 

Yon airy bow’rs, yon airy bow’rs, 


The countless eyes that brighten 


This earth of ours, this earth of ours. 
But fill the cup—where’er, boy, [[Ἀ]], 

Our choice may fall, our choice may 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 

So drink them all! so drink them all! 


Some looks there are so boly, [giv’n, 
They seem but giv’n, they seem but 
As shining beacons, solely, 
To light to heav’n, to light to beav’n. 
While some—oh! ne’er believe them— 
With tempting ray, with tempting ray, 
Would lead us (God forgive them !) 
The other way, the other way. 
But fill the eup—where’er, boy, 
Out choice may fall, our choice may 
fall, 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, 
So drink them all! so drink them all ! 


In some, as in ἃ mirror, 

Loye seems portray’d, Loye seems 

portray’d, 

But shun the flatt’ring error, 

’Tis but his shade, ’tis but his shade. 
Himself has fix’d his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips—but this is telling— 

So here they go! so here they go! 


270 


Fill up, fill up—where’er, boy, 
Our choice may fall, our choice may 
We're sure to find Love there, boy, [fall, 
So drink them all! so drink them all! 


FORGET NOT THE FIELD. 


ForGcer not the field were they per- 
ish’d, 
The truest, the last of the brave, 
All gone—and the bright hope we cher- 
ish’ grave ! 
Gone with them, and quench’d in their 


Oh! could we from death but recover 
Those hearts as they bounded before, 

In the face of high heav’n to fight over 
That combat forfreedom once more ;— 


Could the chain for an instant be riven 
Which Tyranny flung round us then, 
No, ’tis not in Man, nor in Heaven, 
To let Tyranny bind it again ! 


But ’tis past—and, tho’ blazon’d in story 
The name of our Victor may be, 

Accursed is the march of that glory 
Which treads o’er the hearts ofthe free. 


Far dearer the grave or the prison, 
Tlumed by one patriot name, 

Than the trophies of all, who have risen 
On Liberty’s ruins to fame. 


THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE. 


THEY may rail at this life—from the 
hour I began it, [bliss ; 
I found it a life full of kindness and 
And, until they can show me some hap- 
pier planet, [me with this. 
More social and bright, 11 content 
As long as the world has such lips and 
such eyes, [I see, 
As before me this moment enraptured 
They may say what they will of their 
orbs in the skies, 
But this earth is the planet for you, 
love, and me. 


In Mercury’s star, where each moment 
can bring them 
New sunshine and wit from the foun- 
tain on high, 
Though the nymphs may have livelier 
poets to sing them,” 


* Tous les habitans de Mercure sont vifs.— 
Pluralité des Mondes. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


They’ve none, even there, more enam- 


or’d than I. 
And, as long as this harp can be waken’d 
to love, [shall be, 


And that eye its divine inspiration 
They may talk as they will of their Edens 
above, [love, and me. 

But thisearth is the planet for you, 


In that star of the west, by whose shad- 
owy splendor, 
At twilight so often we’ve roam’d 
through the dew, 
There are maidens, perhaps, who have 
bosoms as tender, [as you. ft 
And look, in their twilights, as lovely 
But tho’ they were even more bright 
than the queen [blue sea, 
Of that isle they inhabit in heaven’s 
As I never those fair young celestials 
have seen, _[you, love, and me. 
Why—this earth is the planet for 


As for those chilly orbs on the verge of 
creation, [equally rare, 
Where sunshine and smiles must be 
Did they want a supply of cold hearts 
for that station, 
Heav’n knows we have plenty on earth 
we could spare. ᾿ [of it here, 
Oh! think what a world we should have 
If the haters of peace, of affection, 
and glee, [sphere, 
Were to fly up to Saturn’s comfortless 
And leave earth to such spirits as you, 
love, and me. 


OH FOR THE SWORDS OF 
FORMER TIME! 


On for the swords of former time! 

Oh for the men who bore them, 
When arm’d for Right they stood sublime, 
And tyrants crouch’d before them " 

When free yet, ere courts began 
With honors to enslave him, 
The best honors worn by Man 
Were those which Virtue gave him. 
Oh for the swords, &e., &e. 


Oh for the Kings who flourish’d then! 
Oh for the pomp that crown’d them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 
Were all the ramparts round them. 
When, safe built on bosoms true, 

The throne was but the centre, 

| La terre pourra étre pour Vénus létoile du 
| berger et la mére des amours, comme Vénus 
| Pest pour nous.—Plralité des Mondes. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


271 


OO OOO eee 


Round which Love a circle drew, 
That Treason durst not enter. 

h for the Kings who flourish’d then ! 
Oh for the pomp that crown’d them, 
When hearts and hands of freeborn men 
Were all the ramparts round them! 


ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. 
ST. SENANUS.* 


“On! haste and leave this sacred isle, 

“Unholy bark, ere morning smile ; 

“Por on thy deck, though dark it be, 
“A female form I see; 

«And I have sworn this sainted sod 

“Shall ne’er by woman’s feet be trod.” 


THE LADY. 


“01! Father, send not hence my bark, 
“Through wintry winds and billows 
dark. 
41 come with humble heart to share 
“‘Thy morn and evening prayer ; 
“Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint, 
<“The brightness of thy sod to taint.” 


The Lady’s prayer Senanus spurn’d ; 

The winds blew fresh, the bark return’d ; 

But legends hint, that had the maid 
Till morning’s light delay’d, 

And giv’n the saint one rosy smile, 

She ne’er had left his lonely isle. 


NWER ASK THE HOUR. 


Nr’er ask the hour—what is it to us 
How Time deals out his treasures ? 
The golden moments lent us thus, 
Are not his coin, but Pleasure’s. 
If counting them o’er could add to their 
blisses, 
Τ᾽ number each glorious second : 
But moments of joy are, like Lesbia’s 
kisses, 
Too quick and sweet to be reckon’d. 
Then fill the cup—what is it to us 
How Time his circle measures ? 


*In a metrical life of St. Senanus, which is 
taken from an old Kilkenny MS., and may be 
found among the Acta Sanctorum Hibernia, 
we are told of his flight to the island of Seat- 
tery, and his resolution not to admit any woman 
of the party; and that he refused to receive 
even a sister saint, St. Cannera, whom an 
angel had taken to the island for the express 
purpose of introducing her to him. The follow- 
ing was the ungracious answer of Senanus, ac- 
e¢ording to his poetical biographer : 


The fairy hours we call up thus, 
Obey no wand, but Pleasure’s. 


Young Joy ne’er thought of counting 
hours, 
Till Care, one Summer’s morning, 
Set up, among his smiling flowers, 
A dial, by way of warning. 
But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun, 
As long as its light was glowing, 
Than to watch with old Care how the 
shadow stole on, 
And how fast that light was going. 
So fill the cup—what is it to us 
How Time his circle measures ? 
The fairy hours we call up thus, 
Obey no wand, but Pleasure’s. 


SAIL ON, SAIL ON. 


Sarr, on, sail on, thou fearless bark— 
Wherever blows the welcome wind, 

It cannot lead to scenes more dark, 
More sad than those we leaye behind. 


Each wave that passes seems to say, 
“Though death beneath oursmile may 
be 
‘< Less cold we are, less false than they, 
‘“‘Whose smiling wreck’d thy hopes 
and thee.” 


Sail on, sail on,—through endless space— 

Through calm—through tempest— 
stop no more, 

The stormiest sea’s a resting-place 
Tohim wholeavessuchheartsonshore, 

Or—if some desert land we meet, 
Where never yet false-hearted men 

Profaned a world, that else were sweet,— 
Then rest thee, bark, but not till then. 


THE PARALLEL. 


YeEs, sad one of Sion,t if closely resem- 
bling, [up heart— 
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither’d- 


Cui Presul, quid faeminis 
Commune est cum monachis ? 
Nec te nec ullam aliam 
Admittemus in insulam. 
See the Acta Sanct. Hib.. page 610. 
According to Dr. Ledwich, St. Senanus was 
no less a personage than the river Shannon; 
but O'Connor and other antiquarians deny the 
metamorphose indignantly. 
i These verses were written after the peru- 


| sal of atreatise by Mr. Hamilton, professing to 


prove that the Irish were originally Jews. 


272 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


If drinking deep, deep, of the same ‘‘cup 
of trembling,” [thou art. 
Could make us thy children, our parent 


Like thee doth our nation lie conquer’d 
and broken, [royal crown ; 

And fall’n from her head is the once 
Jn her streets, in her halls, Desolation 
hath spoken, [hath gone down.”* 

And ‘‘while it is day yet, her sun 


Like thine doth her exile, ’mid dreams of 
retwning, [behold ; 

Die far from the home it were life to 
Like thine do her sons, in the day of their 
mourning, [them of old. 
Rememberthe bright things that bless’d 


Ah, well may we call her, like thee, 
“the Forsaken,”t [est are slaves; 
Her boldest are vanquish’d, her proud- 
And the harps of her minstrels, when 
gayest they waken, ε 
Have tones ’mid their mirth like the 
wind over graves ! 


Yethadst thou thy vengeance—yet came 
there the morrow, [dark night, 

That shines out, at last, on the longest 
When the sceptre, that smote thee with 
slavery and sorrow, [thy sight. 

Was shiver’d at once, like a reed, in 


When that cup, which for others the 
proud Golden City 
brimm’d full of bitterness, 
drench’d her own lips; 
And the world she had trampled on heard, 
without pity, [her ships. 
The howl in her halls, and thecry from 


Had 


When the curse Heayen keeps for the 
haughty came over Lunjust, 

Her merchants rapacious, her rulers 
And, aruin, at last, for the earthworm 
to cover, ᾧ [dust. 

The Lady of Kingdoms|] lay low in the 


DRINK OF THIS CUP. 


Drink of this cup; you'll find there’s a 
spell in [tality ; 
Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mor- 


* “Ter sun is gone down while it was yet 
day.”’—Jer., xv. 9. 

fF Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken.” 
—Isaiah, Ixii. 4. 

+ ** How hath the oppressor ceased ! the gold- 
en city ceased !”—TJsaiah, xiv. 4. 


= τῷ 


Talk of the cordial that sparkled for 

Helen! [ality-.. 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is re- 

Would you forget the dark world we are 

in, [the top of it; 

Just taste of the bubble that gleams on 

But would you rise above earth, till akin 

To Immortals themselves, you must 

drain every drop of it; [spell in 

Send round the cup—for oh, there’s a. 

Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mor- 

tality ; Helen ! 

Talk of the cordial that sparkled for 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is re- 
ality. 

Never was philterform’d with such power 

To charm and bewilder as this we are 

quafing ; [hour, 

Its magic began when, in Autumn’s rich 

A harvest of gold in the fields it stood 

laughing, [been fill’d 

There having, by Nature’s enchantment, 

With the balm and the bloom of her 

kindliest weather, [distill’d 


| This wonderfvl juice from its core was 


To enliven such hearts as are here 

brought together. [a spell in 

Then drink of the eup—you’ll find there’s 

Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mor- 

tality ; [Helen ! 

Talk of the cordial that sparkled for 

Her cup was a fiction, but this is re- 
ality. 

And though, perhaps—but breathe it to 

no one— [so awful, 

Like liquor the witch brews at midnight 

This philter in secret was first taught to 

flow on, [lawful. 

Yet ’tisn’t less potent for being un- 


| And, ev’n though it taste of the smoke 


of that flame, [forbidden— 
Which in silence extracted its virtue 
Fill up—there’s a fire in some hearts I 
could name, 
Which may work too its charm, 
though as lawless and hidden. [in 
So drink of the cup—for oh there’s a spell 
Its every drop ’gainst the ills of mor- 
tality ; [Helen! 


Talk of the cordial that sparkled for 


Hercup was a fiction, but this isreality. 


§ ‘Thy pomp is brought down to the grave 
ἥ . and the worms cover thee.”—IJsaiah, 
xiv. 11. 

|| “Thou shalt no more be called the Lady of 
Kingdoms.”"—Isqaiah, xlyii. 5. 


σι ς 
τ δ 


IRISH MELODIES. 


THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 


Down in the valley come meet me to- 
night, 
And ΤΊ] tell you your fortune truly 
As ever was told, by the new moon’s 
light, 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 


But, for the world, let no one be nigh, 
Lest haply the stars should deceive 
me ; 
Such secrets between you and me and 
the sky 
Should never go farther, believe me. 


If at that hour the heay’ns be not dim, 
My science shall call up before you 

A male apparition,—the image of him 
Whose destiny ’tis to'adore you. 


And if to that phantom you'll be kind, 
So fondly around you he’ll hover, 
You'll hardly, my dear, any difference 
find 
*Twixt him and a true living lover. 


Down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, 

He'll kneel, with a warmth of deyo- 

tion— [sprite 

An ardor, of which such an innocent 
You'd seareely believe had a notion. 


What other thoughts and eyents may 

arise, [them, 

As in destiny’s book I’ve not seen 

Must only be left to the stars and your 
eyes 

To settle, ere morning, between them. 


OH, YE DEAD! 


On, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead !* whom we 
know by the light you give 
From your cold gleaming eyes, though 
you move like men who live, 
Why leave you thus your graves 
In far-off fields and waves, 


* Paul Zealand mentions that there is a moun- 
tain in some part of Ireland, where the ghosts 
of persons who haye died in foreign lands walk 
about and converse with those they meet, like 
living people. If asked why they donot return 
to their homes, they say they are obliged to go 
to Mount Hecla, and disappear immediately. 

| The particulars of the tradition respecting 
O’Donohue and his White Horse, may be found 
in Mr. Weld’s Account of Killarney, or more 
fully detailed in Derrick’s Letters. “For many 
years after his death, the spirit of this hero is 
supposed to have been seen on the morning of 
May-day, gliding over the lake on his favorite 


273 


Where the worm and the sea-bird only 
know your bed, 
To haunt this spot where all 
Those eyes that wept your fall, 
And the hearts that wail’d you, like 
your own, lie dead? 


It is true, it is true, we are shadows: 
cold and wan; 
And the fair and the brave whom we 
loved on earth are gone; 
But still thus ev’n in death, 
So sweet the living breath 
Of the fields and the flow’rs in our youth 
we wander’d o’er, 
That ere, condemn’d, we go 
To freeze ’mid Hecla’s snow, 
We would taste it awhile, and think we 
live once more ! 


O’DONOHUE’S MISTRESS. 


OF all the fair months, that round the sun 

In hght-link’d dance their circles run, 
Sweet May, shine thou for me ; 

For still, when thy earliest beams arise, 

That youth who beneath the blue lake lies, 
Sweet May, returns to me. 


Of all the bright haunts, where daylight 
leaves 
Its lmgering smile on golden eves, 
Fair Lake, thou’rt dearest to me; 
For when the last April sun grows dim, 
Thy Naiads prepare his steedt for him 
Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. 


Of all the proud steeds, that ever bore 

Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, 
White Steed, most joy to thee ; 

Who still, with the first young glance of 


spring, 
From under that glorious lake dost bring 
My love, my chief, to me. 
While, white as the sail some bark un- 


furls, [eurls, 
When newly launch’d, thy long manet 


white horse, to the sound of sweet unearthly 
musie, and preceded by groups of youths and 
maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring 
flowers in his path. Υ ‘ 

Among. other stories, connected with this 
Legend of the Lakes, it is said that there was a 
young and beautiful girl whose imagination 
Was so impressed with the idea of this vision- 
ary chieftain, that she fancied herself in love 
with him, and at last, in a fit of insanity, on a 
May morning threw herself into the lake. 

+ The boatmen at Killarney eall those waves 
which come on a windy day, erested with foam, 
“ΟἿ Donohue’s white horses.” 


274 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Fair Steed, as white and free ; 
And spirits, from all the lake’s deep 
bowers, [ers, 
Glide o’er the blue wave scattering flow- 
Around my love and thee. 


Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, 
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie, 
Most sweet that death will be, [light, 
Which, under the next May evening’s 
When thou and thy steed are lost to 
Dear love, 11 die for thee. [sight, 


ECHO. 


How sweet the answer Echo makes 
To music at night, 
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away, o’er lawns and lakes, 
Goes answering light. 


Yet Love hath echoes truer far, 

And far more sweet, 
Than e’er beneath the moonlight’s star, 
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, 

The songs repeat. 


’Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, 
And only then,— 

The sigh that’s breathed for one to hear, 

Is by that one, that only dear, 
Breathed back again! 


OH BANQUET NOT. 


O# banquet not in those shining bowers, 
Where Youth resorts, but come to me: 
For mine’s a garden of faded flowers, 
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. 
And there we shall have our feasts of 
tears, 
And many a cup in silence pour; 
Our guests, the shades of former years, 
Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. 


There, while the myrtle’s withering 
boughs 
Their lifeless leaves around us shed, 
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows, 
To friends long lost, the changed, the 
dead. 
Or, whi:e some blighted laurel waves 
Its branches o’er the dreary spot, 
We'll drink to those neglected graves, 
Where valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. 


* These lines were written on the death of 


THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE. 
THE dawning of morn, the daylight’s 
sinking, [thinking 
The night’s long hours still find me 
Of thee, thee, only thee. 
When friends are met, and goblets 
crown’d, {enchanted, 
And smiles are near, that once 
Unreach’d by all that sunshine round, 
My soul like some dark spot is haunted 
By thee, thee, only thee. 


Whatever in fame’s high path could 
My spirit once, is now forsaken [waken 
For thee, thee, only thee. [bark 
Like shores, by which some headlong 
To th’ ocean hurries, resting never, 
Life’s scenes go by me, bright or dark, 
I know not, heed not, hastening ever 
To thee, thee, only thee. 


I have not a joy but of thy bringing, 
And pain itself seems sweet when spring- 
~ From thee, thee, only thee. [ing 
Like spells, that naught on earth can 
break, [spoken, 
Till lips, that know the charm, have 
This heart, howe’er the world may wake 
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken 
By thee, thee, only thee. 


SHALL THE HARP, THEN, BE 
SILENT. 


SHALL the Harp, then, be silent, when 
he who first gave [from all eyes? 

To our country a name, is withdrawn 
Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by 
the grave, [her Patriots lies ? 
Where the first—where the last of 


No—faint tho’ the death-song may fall 
from his lips, 
Tho’ his Harp, like his soul, may with 
shadows be cross’d, 
Yet, yet shall it sound, ’mid a nation’s 
eclipse, 
And proclaim to the world what a 
star hath been lost ;—* 


What a union of all the affections and 
powers [refined, 

By which life is exalted, embellish’d, 
Was embraced in that spirit—whose cen- 
tre was ours, [eled mankind 
While its mighty circumference cir- 


is only the two first verses that are either in- 


our great patriot, Grattan, in the year 1820, It | tended or fitted to besung. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


275 


Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can 
see, {epoch sublime— 
Through the waste of her annals, that 
Like a pyramid raised in the desert— 
where he [ofall time ; 
And his glory stand out to the eyes 


That one lucid interval, snatch’d from 
the gloom [with his soul, 

And the madness of ages, when fill’d 
A Nation o’erleap’d the dark bounds of 
her doom, [Liberty’s goal ? 

And for one sacred instant, touch’d 


Who, that ever hath heard him—hath 

at the source own, 

Ofthat wonderful eloquence, all Erin’s 

In whose high-thoughted daring, the 
fire, ἘΠῚ the force, 

And the yet untamed spring of her 
spirit are shown ? 


An eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave 

Wander’d free and triumphant, with 
thoughts that shone through, 

As clear as the brook’s ‘stone of lus- 

tre,” and gave, [too. 

With the flash of the gem, its solidity 


Who, that ever approach’d him, when 
free from the crowd, 
In a home full of love, he delighted to 
tread 
’Mong the trees which a nation had 
given, and which bow’d, 
As if each brought a new civic crown 
for his head— 


Is there one, who hath thus, through his 
orbit of life 
But at distance observed him — 
through glory, through blame, 
In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur 
of strife, 
Whether shining or clouded, still high 
and the same,— 


Oh no, not a heart, that e’er knew him, 
but mourns 
Deep, deep o’er the graye, where such 
glory is shrined— 
O’er ἃ monument Fame will preserve, 
’mong the urns {mankind ! 
Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of 


OH, THE SIGHT ENTRANCING. 


Ou, the sight entrancing, 
hen morning’s beam is glancing 
O’er files array’d 


With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing! 
When hearts are all high beating, 
And the trumpet’s voice repeating 
That song, whose breath 
May lead to death, 
But never to retreating. 
Oh the sight entrancing, 
When morning’s beam is gluncing 
O’er files array’d 
With helm and blade, 
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing ! 


Yet, ’tis not helm or feather— 
For ask yon despot, whether 
His plumed bands 
Could bring such hands 
And hearts as ours together. 
Leave pomps to those who need ’em— 
Give man but heart and freedom, 
And proud he braves 
The gaudiest slaves 
That crawl where monarchs lead ’em. 
The sword may pierce the beaver, 
Stone walls in time may sever, 
’Tis mind alone, 
Worth steel and stone, 
That keeps men free forever. 
Oh that sight entrancing, 
When the morning’s beam is glancing, 
O’er files array’d 
With helm and blade, 
And in Freedom’s cause advancing ! 


SWEET INNISFALLEN. 


SwEET Innisfallen, fare thee well, 

May calm and sunshine long be thine! 
How fair thou art let others tell, — 

To feel how fair shall long be mine. 


Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 
In memory’s dream that sunny smile, 
Which o’er thee on that evening fell, 
When first I saw thy fairy isle. 


’Twas light, indeed, too blest for one, 
Who had to turn to paths of care— 

Through crowded haunts again to run, 
And leave thee bright and silent there; 


No more unto thy shores to come, 

But, on the world’s rude ocean toss’d, 
Dream of thee sometimes, as a home 

Of sunshine he had seen and lost. 


Far better in thy weeping hours 
To part from thee as I do now, 

When mist is o’er thy blooming bowers, 
Like sorrow’s veil on beauty’s brow. 


276 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


For, though unrivall’d still thy grace, 
Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, 

But thus in shadow seein’st a place 
Where erring man might hope to rest— 


Might hope to rest, and find in thee 
A gloom like Eden’s on the day 
He left its shade, when every tree, 
Like thine, hung weeping o’er his 
way— 


Weeping or smiling, lovely isle ! 
And all the lovelier for thy tears— 
For though but rare thy sunny smile, 
‘Tis heay’n’s own glance when it 
appears. 


Like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, 
But, when indeed they come, divine— 

The brightest light the sun e’er threw 
Is lifeless to one gleam of thine ! 


"TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.* 


ΑΒ. one of those dreams, that by 
music are brought, 
Like a bright summer haze, o’er the 
poet’s warm thought-— 
lost in the future, his soul 
wanders on, [gone 
And all of this life, but its sweetness, is 


When, 


The wild notes he heard o’er the water | 


were those [bondage and woes, 
He had taught to sing Brin’s dark 
And the breath of the bugle now wafted 
them o’er [shore. 
From Dinis’ green isle to Gleni’s wooded 


He listen’d—while, high o’er the eagle’s 
rude nest, 
The lingering sounds on their way loved 
And the echoes sung back from their 
full mountain choir, [expire. 


As if loath to let song so enchanting | 


It seem’d as if ev’ry sweet note, that died 
here, 
Was again brought to life in some 
Some heay’n in those hills, where the 
soul of the strain [ing again. 


That had ceased upon earth was awak- | 


*Written during a visit to Lord Kenmare, at 
Killarney. 

i In deseribing the Skeligs, (islands of the 
Barony of Forth,) Dr. Keating says, “'Thereis 
a certain attractive virtue in the soil which 
draws down all the birds that attempt to fly 
over it, and obliges them to light upon the 
rock.” 


[to rest ; | 


[airier sphere, | 


Oh forgive, if, while list’ning to musie, 
whose breath [against death, 
Seem’d to circle his name with a charm 
He should feel a proud Spirit within him 
proclaim, [of Fame : 
“Even so shalt thou live in the echoes 


“Bven so, tho’ thy mem’ry should now 
die away, [pier day, 

‘Twill be caught up again in some hap- 

‘* And the hearts and the voices of Erin ~ 
prolong, 

“Through the answering Future, thy 
name and thy song.” 


FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. 


Farrest! put on awhile 
These pinions of light I bring thee, 
And o’er thy own Green Isle 
In fancy let me wing thee. 
Never did Ariel’s plume, 
At golden sunset hover 
O’er scenes so full of bloom, 
As I shall waft thee over. 


Fields, where the Spring delays, 
And fearlessly meets the ardor 
Of the warm Summer’s gaze, 
With only her tears to guard her. 
| Rocks, through myrtle boughs 
In grace majestic frowning ; 
Like some bold warrior’s brows 
That Love hath just been crowning. 


| Islets, so freshly fair, 

That never hath bird come nigh them, 
But from his course through air 

He hath been won down by them ;—t 
Types, sweet maid, of thee, 

Whose look, whose blush inviting, 
| Never did Love yet see 
From Heay’n, without alighting. 


| Lakes, where the pear! lies hid, 

And caves, where the gem is sleeping, 
Bright as the tears thy lid 

Lets fall in lonely weeping. 
Glens,{ where Ocean comes, 

To ’seape the wild wind’s rancor, 
And Harbors, worthiest homes, 

Where Freedom’s fleet can anchor. 

{‘‘Nennius, a British writer of the ninth cen- 
tury, mentions the abundance of pearls in Ire- 
land. Their princes, he says, hung them be- 
aind their ears; and this we find confirmed by 
a present made A. C, 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop 
| of Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, of a considerable quantity of Irish 
pearls.’ —O’ Halloran. § Glengariff. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


Then, if, while scenes so grand, 

So beautiful, shine before thee, 
Pride for thy own dear land 

Should haply be stealing o’er thee, 
Oh, let grief come first, 

O’er pride itself victorious— 
Thinking how man hath cursed 

What Heaven had made so glorious ! 


QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. 


Quick! we have but a second, 
Fill round the cup, while you may; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon’d, 
And we must away, away! 
Grasp the pleasure that’s flying, 
For oh, not Orpheus’ strain 
Could keep sweet hours from dying, 
Or charm them to life again. 
Then, quick! we have but a second, 
Fill round the cup, while you 
may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon’d, 
And we must away, away! 


See the glass, how it flushes, 
Like some young Hebe’s lip, 
And half meets thine, and blushes 
That thou shouldst delay to sip. 
Shame, oh shame upon thee, 
If ever thou seest that day, 
When a cup or lip shall woo thee, 
And turn untouch’d away ! 
Then, quick! we have but a second, 
Fill round, fill round, while you 
may ; 
For Time, the churl, hath beckon’d, 
And we must away, away! 


AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE 
THIS. 


AnD doth not a meeting like this make 
amends, [@ring away— 

For all the long years I’ve been wan- 
To see thus around me my youth’s early 
friends {day ? 

As smiling and kind as in that happy 


* Jours charmans, quand je songe ἃ yos heur 
eux instans, 

Je pense remonter le fleuve de mes ans; 

Et mon ceeur, enchanté sur sa rive fleurie, 

Hcpire encore l’air pur du matin de la vie. 

+t The same thought bas been happily ex- 
pressed by my friend Mr. Washington Irving, 
in his Bracebridge Hall, vol. i. p. 213.—The sin- 
cere pleasure which I feelin calling this gen- 


277 


Though haply o’er some of your brows, 
as o’er mine, [ing—what then? 

The snow-fall of time may be steal- 
Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by 
wine, {again. 

We'll wear the gay tinge of youth’sroses 


What soften’d remembrances come o’er 
the heart, [long ! 

In gazing on those we’ve been lost to so 
The sorrows, the joys, of which once 
they were part, [terday, throng, 

Still round them, like visions of yes- 
As letters some hand hath *invisibly 
traced, [on the sight, 
When held to the flame will steal out 
So many a feeling, that long seem’d 
effaced, [brings to light. 

The warmth of a moment like this 


And thus, as in memory’s bark, we shall 
glide, 

To visit the scenesofour boyhood anew, 

Though oft we may see, looking down 

on the tide, [ing through ; 

The wreck of full many a hope shin- 

Yet still, as in fancy we point to the 

flowers, ; [gay shore, 

That once made a garden of all the 

Deceived for a moment, we’ll think them 

still ours, {ing once more.* 

And breathe the fresh air of life’s morn- 


So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the 
most, [dear ; 
Ts all we can have of the few we hold 
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 
For want of some heart, that could 
echo it, near. 


Ah, well may we hope, when this short 
life is gone, [manent bliss, 
To meet in some world of more per- 
For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, 
hast’ning on, 

Is all we enjoy of each other in this. f 


But, come, the more rare such delights 
to the heart, {them the more ; 
The more we should welcome and bless 


tleman my friend, is much enhanced by the re- 
flection that he is too good an American, to 
have admitted me so readily to such a distine- 
tion, αὐ he had not known that my feelings to- 
wards the great and free country that gave him 
birth, have been long such as every real lover 
of the liberty and happiness of the human race 
must entertain. 


278 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


They’re ours, when we meet,—they are 
lost when we part, [when ’tis o’er. 

Like birds that bring summer, and fly 
Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere 
we drink, [sure, thro’ pain, 

Let Sympathy pledge us, thro’ plea- 
That, fast as a feeling but touches one 
link, [the chain. 

Her magic shall send it direct thro’ 


THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. 


In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 

A youth, whose moments had calmly 
flown, [night, 

Till spells came o’er him, and, day and 

He was haunted and watch’d by a 
Mountain Sprite. 


As once, by moonlight, he wander’d o’er 

The golden sands of that island shore, 

A foot-print sparkled before his sight— 

’Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain 
Sprite ! 


Beside a fountain, one sunny day, 

As bending over the stream he lay, 

There peep’d down o’er him two eyes of 
ight, [tain Sprite. 

And he saw in that mirror the Moun- 


He turn’d, but lo, like a startled bird, 

That spirit fled!—and the youth but 
heard 

Sweet music, such as marks the flight 

Of some bird of song, from the Moun- 
tain Sprite. 


One night, still haunted by that bright 
look 

The boy, bewilder’d, his pencil took, 

And, guided only by memory’s light, 

Drew the once-seen form of the Moun- 
tain Sprite. 


“Oh thou, who lovest the shadow,” 
cried 
A yoice, low whisp’ring by his side, 
““ Now tur and see,”—here the youth’s 
delight [Sprite. 
Seal’d the rosy lips of the Mountain 
*« Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, 
had accidentally been so engaged in the chase, 
that he was benighted near Tralee, and obliged 
to take shelter at the Abbey of Feal, in the 
house of one of his dependents, called Mae 
Cormae. Catherine, a beautiful dauchter of his 


‘Of all the Spirits of land and sea,” 

Then rapt he murmur’d, ‘‘there’s none 
like thee, [light 

“And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus 

“Tn this lonely bower, sweet Mountain 
Sprite!” 


AS VANQUISH’D ERIN. 


AS vanquish’d Erin wept beside 
The Boyne’s ill-fated river, 

She saw where Discord, in the tide, 
Had dropp’d his loaded quiver. ~ 
“Lie hid,” she cried, ‘‘ ye venom’d darts, 
‘* Where mortal eye may shun you ; 
“ΤᾺ hid—the stain of manly hearts, 
“That bled for me, is on you.” 


But vain her wish, her weeping vain,— 
As Time too well hath taught her— 

Hach year the Fiend returns again, 
And dives into that water; 

And brings, triumphant, from beneath 
His shafts of desolation, {death, 

And sends them, wing’d with worse than 
Through all her madd’ning nation. 


Alas for her who sits and mourns, 
Ey’n now, beside that river— 
Unwearied still the Fiend returns, 
And stored 1s still his quiver. [Good ?” 
‘““When will this end, ye Powers of 
She weeping asks forever ; 
But only hears, from out that flood, 
The Demon answer, ‘‘ Never!” 


DESMOND’S SONG.* 


By the Feal’s wave benighted, 
No star in the skies, 
To thy door by Love lighted, 
I first saw those eyes. 
Some voice whisper’d o’er me, 
As the threshold I cross’d, 
There was ruin before me, 
If I loved, I was lost. 


Love came, and brought sorrow 
Too soon in his train ; 
Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 
’Twere welcome again. 
Though misery’s full measure 
My portion should be, 
I would drain it with pleasure, 
If pour’d out by thee. 
host, instantly inspired the Earl with a violent 
passion, which he could not subdue. He mar- 


ried her, and by this inferior alliance alienated 
his followers, whose brutal pride regarded this 


| indulgence of his love as an unpardonable deg- 


radation of his family.””—Leland, vol. ii. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


You, who call it dishonor 
To bow to this flame, 

If you’ve eyes, look but on her, 
And blush while you blame. 

Hath the pearl less whiteness 
Because of its birth? 

Hath the violet less brightness 
For growing near earth? 


No--Man for his glory 
To ancestry flies ; 
But Woman’s bright story 
Is told in her eyes. 
While the Monarch but traces 
Through mortals his line, 
Beauty, born of the Graces, 
Ranks next to Divine! 


THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART. 


THEY know not my heart, who believe 
there can be [for thee; 

One stain of this earth in its feelings 

Who think, while I see thee in beauty’s 
ycung hour, 

As pure as the morning’s first dew on 
the flow’r, 

I could harm what I love, as the sun’s 
wanton ray [away. 

But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it 


No—heaming with light as those young 
features are, [lovelier far: 
There’s a light round thy heart which is 
It is not that cheek—’tis the soul dawn- 
ing clear [ty so dear ; 

Thro’ its innocent blush makes thy beau- 
As the sky we look up to, though glori- 
ous and fair, [lies there ! 

Ts look’dup to the more, because Heaven 


i WisH I WAS BY THAT DIM 
LAKE. 


I wisn I was by that dim Lake,* 
Where sinful souls their farewell take 


* These verses are meant to allude to that 
ancient haunt of superstition, called Patrick's 
Purgatory. ‘‘In the midst of these gloomy re- | 
gions of Donegall (says Dr. Campbell) lay a 
lake, which was to become the mystic theatre 
of this fabled and intermediate state. In the | 
lake were several islands; but one of them was | 
dignified with that called the Mouth of Purga- 
tory, which. during the dark ages, attracted | 
the notice of all Christendom, and was the re- | 
sort of penitents and pilgrims from almost 
every country in Europe.” 


279 


Of this yain world, and half-way lie 

In death’s cold shadow, ere they die. 

There, there, far from thee, 

Deceitful world, my home should be ; 

Where, come what might of gloom and 
ain, 

False hope should ne’er deceive again. 


The lifeless sky, the mournful sound 

Of unseen waters falling round ; 

The dry leaves quiv’ring o’er my head, 

Like man, unquiet ev’n when dead ! 

These, ay, these shall wean 

My soul from life’s deluding scene, 

And turn each thought, o’ercharged with 
gloom, 

Like willows, downward tow’rds the 
tomb. 


As they, who to their couch at night 

Would win repose, first quench the light, 

So must the hopes, that keep this breast 

Awake, be quench’d, ere it can rest. 

Cold, cold, this heart must grow, 

Unmoved by either joy or wo, 

Like freezing founts, where (all that’s 
thrown 

Within their current turns to stone. 


SHE SUNG OF LOVE. 


SHE sung of Love, while o’er her lyre 
The rosy rays of evening fell, 
As if to feed, with their soft fire, 
The soul within that trembling shell. 
The same rick light hung o’er her cheek, 
And play’d around those lips that sung 
And spoke, as flowers would sing and 
speak, [tongue. 
If Love could lend their leaves a 


But soon the West no longer burn’d, 
Each rosy ray from heay’n withdrew; 
And, when to gaze again I turn’d, 
The minstrel’s form seem’d fading too. 
As if her light and heay’n’s were one, 
The glory all had left that frame ; 


“ὁ ΤΆ was,” as the same writer tells us, ‘one 
of the most dismal and dreary spots in the 
North, almost inaecessible, through deep glens 
and rugged mountains, frightful with impend- 
ing rocks, and the hollow murmurs of the west. 
ern winds in dark caverns, peoplef only with 
such fantastic beings as the mind, however 
gay, is, from strange association, wont to ap- 
propriate to such pinoy scenes.”’—Strictures 
on the Ecclesiastical and Literary History of 


| Treland. 


280 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And from her glimmering lips the tone, 
As from a parting spirit, came.* 


Who ever loved, but had the thought 
That he and all he loved must part? 

Fill’d with this fear, I flew and caught 
The fading image to ny heart— 

And cried, “‘ Oh, Love! is this thy 

doom? [day ! 

“Oh, light of youth’s resplendent 

“ Must ye then lose your golden bloom, 
““ And thus, like sunshine, die away ?” 


SING—SING—MUSIC WAS GIVEN. 


Sina—sing—Music was given, 
To brighten the gay, and kindle the 
loving ; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony’s laws alone are kept 
moving. [cheeks, 
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her 
But Love from the lips his true arch- 
ery WINS ; [when she speaks, 
And she who but feathers the dart 
At once sends it home to the heart 
when she sings. 
Then sing—sing—Music was given, 
To brighten the gay, and kindle 
the loving; 
Souls here, like planets in Heaven, 
By harmony’s laws alone are kept 
moving. 


When Love, rock’d by his mother, 
Lay sleeping as calm as slumber could 
make him, 
“ Hush, hush,” said Venus, ‘‘ no other 
“Sweet voice but his own is worthy 
to wake him.” [while 
Dreaming of music he slumber’d the 
Till faint from his lips a soft melody 
broke, [a smile, 
And Venus, enchanted, look’d on with 
While Love to his own sweet singing 
awoke. 
Then sing—sing—music was given, 
To brighten the gay, and kindle 
the loving ; 
Souls here, like ΓΙΒΌΡΙΕ in Heaven, 
By harmony’s laws alone are kept 
moving. 

* The thought here was suggested by some 
beautiful lfnes in Mr. Rogers's poem of Human 
Life, beginning— 

“Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows 

Less and Jess earthly.” 

I would quote the entire passage, did I not 
fear to put my own humble imitation of it out 
of countenance, 


THOUGH HUMBLE THE BAN- 
QUET. 

THoucH humble the banquet to which 

I invite thee, [can command: 

Thou’lt find there the best a poor bard 

Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall 
throng round, to light thee, 

And Love serve the feast with his own 

willing hand. 


And though Fortune may seem to have 
turn’d from the dwelling 

Of him thouregardest her favoring ray, 

Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treas- 

ures excelling, [his way. 

Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled 


’Tis that freedom of mind, which no yul- 
gar dominion [science approves; 
Can turn from the path a pure con- 
Which, with hope in the heart, and no 
chain on the pinion, 
Holds upwards its course to the light 
which it loves. 


Tis this makes the pride of his humble 
retreat, [treasures bereaved, 

And, with this, though of all other 
The breeze of his garden to him is more 
sweet [e’er received. 

Than the costliest incense that Pomp 


Then come,—if aboard so untempting 

hath power [shall be thine ; 

To win thee from grandeur, its best 

And there’s one, long the light of the 
bard’s happy bower, 

Who, smiling, will blend her bright 
welcome with mine. 


SING, SWEET HARP. 
Srna, sweet Harp, oh sing to me 
Some song of ancient days, 
Whose sounds, in this sad memory, 
Long buried dreams shall raise ;— 
Some lay that tells of vanish’d fame, 
Whose light once round us shone ; 
Of noble pride, now turn’d to shame, 
And hopes forever gone.— 
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me; 
Alike our doom is cast, 
Both lost to all but memory, 
We live but in the past. 
How mournfully the midnight air 
Among thy chords doth sigh, 
As if it sought some echo there 
Of voices long gone by ;— 


IRISH MELODIES. 


Of Chieftains, now forgot, who seem’d 
The foremost then in fame ; 

Of Bards who, once immortal deem’d, 
Now sleep without a name.— 

In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air 
Among thy chords doth sigh ; 

In vain it seeks an echo there 
Of voices long gone by. 


Couldst thou but call those spirits round, 
Who once, in bower and hall, 
Sat listening to thy magic sound, 
Now mute and mould’ring all ;— 
But, no; they would but wake to weep 
Their children’s slavery ; 
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, 
The dead, at least, are free !— 
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone, 
That knell of Freedom’s day ; 
Or, listening to its death-like moan, 
Let me, too, die away. 
SONG OF THE BATTLE EVE. 
TIME—THE NINTH CENTURY. 
TO-MORROW, comrade, we 
On the battle-plain must be, 
There to conquer, or both lie low ! 
The morning star is up, — 
But there’s wine still in the cup, 
And we'll take another quaff, ere we 
go, boy, go; 
We'll take another quaff ere we go. 


?Tis true, in manliest eyes 
A passing tear will rise, [lone ; 
When we think of the friends we leave 
But what can wailing do? 
See, our goblet’s weeping too! 
With its tears we'll chase away our 
own, boy, our own ; Lown. 
With its tears we’ll chase away our 
But daylight’s stealing on ;— 
The last that o’er us shone 
Saw our children around us play ; 
The next—ah! where shall we 
And those rosy urchins be? 
But—no matter—grasp thy sword and 
away, boy, away ; 
No matter —grasp thy sword and away. 


Let those, who brook the chain 
Of Saxon or of Dane, 
Ignobly by their firesides stay ; 
One sigh to home be given, 
One heartfelt prayer to heaven, 
Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, 
hurra! hurra! hurra! 
Then, for Erin and her cause, hwra! 


THE WANDERING BARD. 


Wuat life like that of the bard can be,— 
The wandering bard, who roams as free 
As the mountain lark that o’er him sings, 
And, like that lark, a music brings 
Within him, where’er he comes or 
A fount that forever flows ! [ goes,— 
The world’s to him like some play- 

ground, [round ; 
Where fairies dance their moonlight 
If dimm’d the turf where late they trod, 
The elves but seek some greener sod; 
So, when less bright his scene of glee, 
To another away flies he! 


Oh, what would have been young Beau- 
ty’s doom, 

Without a bard to fix her bloom? 

They tell us, in the moon’s bright round, 

Things lost in this dark world are found ; 

So charms, on earth long pass’d and 

In the poet’s lay live on. [gone, 

Would ye have smiles that ne’er grow 
dim ? 

You’ve only to give them all to him, 

Who, with but a touch of Fancy’s wand, 

Can lend them life, this life beyond, 

And fix them high, in Poesy’s sky,— 

Young stars that never die ! 


Then welcome the bard where’er he 
comes, — [homes, 

For, though he hath countless airy 

To which his wing excursive roves, 

Yet still, from time to time, he loves 

To light upon earth and find such cheer 

As brightens our banquet here. 

No matter how far, how fleet he flies, 

You’ve only to light up kind young eyes, 

Such signal-fires as here are given,— 

And down he’ll drop from Fancy’s 
heaven, 

The minute such call to love or mirth 

Proclaims he’s wanting on earth ! 


IN CROWDS TO WAN- 
DER ON. 


ALONE in crowds to wander on, 

And feel that all the charm is gone 

Which voices dear and eyes beloved 

Shed round us once, where’er we roved— 

This, this the doom must be 

Of all who’ve loved, and lived to see 

The few bright things they thought 
would stay 

Forever near them, die away. 


ALONE 


282 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Tho’ fairer forms around us throng, 
Their smiles to others all belong, 

And want that charm which dwells alone 
Round those the fond heart calls its own. 
Where, where the sunny brow? [now ? 
The long-known voice—where are they 
Thus ask 1 still, nor ask in vain, 

The silence answers all too plain. 


Oh, what is Fancy’s magic worth, 

If all her art cannot call forth 

One bliss like those we felt of old 

From lips now mute, and eyes now 

No, no,—her spell is vain, — [cold? 

As soon could she bring back again 

Those eyes themselves from out the 
grave, 

As wake again one bliss they gave. 


TVE A SECRET TO TELL THEE. 


I’ve a secret to tell thee, but hush! not 
here, — [keeps : 
Oh! not where the world its vigil 
ΤΊ] seek, to whisper it in thine ear, 
Some shore where the Spirit of Silence 
sleeps ; [dies, 
Where summer’s wave unmurm’ring 
Nor fay can hear the fountain’s gush ; 
Where, if but anote her night-bird sighs, 
The rose saith, chidingly, ‘‘ Hush, 
sweet, hush!” 


There, amid the deep silence of that hour, 
When stars can be heard in ocean dip, 

Thyself shall, under some rosy bower, 
Sit mute with thy finger on thy lip: 

Like him, the boy,* who born among 
The flowers that on the Nile-stream 

Sits ever thus,—his only song — [blush, 
To earth and heaven, ‘ Hush, all, 

hush !” 


SONG OF INNISFAIL. 


THEY came from a land beyond the sea, 

And now o’er the western main 
Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, 

From the sunny land of Spain. 

“Oh, where’s the Isle we’ve seen in 
dreams, 

‘Our destined home or graye ?”’t 
Thus sung they as, by the morning’s 
They swept the Atlantic wave. [beams, 

* The God of Silence, thus pictured by the 
Egyptians. 

+ Milesius remembered the remarkable pre- 
diction of the prineipal Druid, who foretold 
that the posterity of Gadelus should obtain the 


And, lo, where afar o’er ocean shines 
A sparkle of radiant green, —_ [mines, 
As though in that deep lay emerald 
Whose light through the wave was 
‘OTis Innisfailt—’tis Innisfail!” [seen. 
Rings o’er the echoing sea ; [hail 
While, bending to heay’n, the warriors 
That home of the brave and free. 


Then turn’d they unto the Eastern waye, 
Where now their Day-God’s eye 

A look of such sunny omen gave 
As lighted up sea and sky. 

Nor frown was seen through sky or sea, 
Nor tear o’er leaf or sod, 

When first on their Isle of Destiny 
Our great forefathers trod. 


THE NIGHT DANCE. 


STRIKE the gay harp! see the moon is 

on high, [of the ocean, 

And as true to her beam as the tides 

Young hearts, when they feel the soft 

light of her eye, [ motion. 

Obey the mute call, and heave into 

Then, sound notes—the gayest, the 

lightest, 

That ever took wing when heay’n 

look’d brightest ! 
Again! Again! 

Oh! could such heart-stirring musie be 

heard [romancers, 

In that City of Statues, described by 

| So wak’ning its spell, even stone would 

be stirr’d, [dancers ! 

And statues themselves all start into 


Why then delay, with such sounds in 

our ears, [den before us,— 

And the flower of Beauty’s own gar- 

| While stars overhead leave the song of 

their spheres, {ing o’er us? 

And list’ning to ours, hang wonder- 

/Again, that strain!—to hear it thus 

| sounding [bounding— 

| Might set even Death’s cold pulses 

| Again! Again! [gay, 

| Oh, what delight, when the youthful and 

Hach with eye like a sunbeam and 
foot like a feather, 

Thus dance, like the Hours to the 

music of May, [together ! 

And mingle sweet song and sunshine 


possession of a Western Island, (which was 
| Ireland,) and there inhabit.’’—Keating. 

t The Island of Destiny, one of the ancient 
names of Lreland. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


‘ 


283 


THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH. 


THERE are sounds of mirth in the night- 
air ringing, {shown ; 
And lamps from every casement 
While voices blithe within are singing, 
That seem to say ‘‘Come,” in every 
tone. [season, 
Ah! once how light, in Life’s young 
My heart had leap’d at that sweet lay ; 
' Nor paused to ask of graybeard Reason 
Should I the syren call obey. 


And, see—the lamps still livelier glitter, 
The syren lips more fondly sound ; 
No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter 
To sink in your rosy bondage bound. 
Shall a bard, whom not the world in 

arms 
Could bend to tyranny’s rude control, 
Thus quail, at sight of woman’s charms, 
And yield to a smile his freeborn soul? 


Thus sung the sage, while, slyly steal- 
ing, [cast, 

The nymphs their fetters around him 
And,—their laughing eyes, the while, 
concealing, — [last. 

Led Freedom’s Bard their slave at 
For the Poet’s heart, still prone to loving, 
Was like that rock of the Druid race,* 
Which the gentlest touch at once set 
moving, [from its base. 

But all earth’s power couldn’t cast 


OH! ARRANMORE, LOVED AR- 
RANMORE, 


On! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, 
How oft I dream of thee, 

And of those days when, by thy shore, 
I wander’d young and free. 

Full many a path I’ve tried since then, 
Through pleasure’s flowery maze, 

But ne’er could find the bliss again 
I felt in those sweet days. 


How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs 

At sunny morn I’ve stood, 

With heart as bounding as the skiffs 

That danced along thy flood ; 
Or, when the western wave grew bright 

With daylight’s parting wing, 

*The Rocking Stones of the Druids, some of 
which no force is able to dislodge from their 
stations. 

1" The inhabitants of Arranmore are still per- 
suaded that, in a clear day, they can see from 
this coast Hy Brysail, or the Enchanted Island, 
the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and concern- 


Have ar that Eden in its light 
Which dreaming poets sing ;—t 


That Eden where th’ immortal brave 
Dwellin a land serene,— 

Whose bow’rs beyond the shining waye, 
At sunset, oft are seen. 

Ah dream too full of sad@’ning truth ! 
Those mansions o’er the main 

Are like the hopes I built in youth,— 
As sunny and as vain! 


LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE. 


LAy his sword by his side,t it hath 
served him too well 
Not to rest near his pillow below ; 


‘To the last moment true, from his hand 


ere it fell, 
Its point was still turn’d to a flying foe. 
Fellow-lab’rers in life, let them slumber 
in death, [brave,— 
Side by side, as becomes the reposing 
That sword which he loved still unbroke 
in its sheath, 
And himself unsubdued in his grave. 


Yet pause—for, in fancy, a still voice I 
hear, [remains;— 
Asif breathed from his brave heart’s 
Faint echo of that which, in Slayery’s 
ear, {your chains !” 
Once sounded the war-word, “ Burst 
And it eries, from the grave where the 
hero lies deep, [ever hath set, 
‘“Tho’ the day of your Chieftain for- 
“0 leave not his sword thus glorious to 
sleep, — 
‘“Tt hath victory’s life in it yet! 


“Should some alien, unworthy such 
weapon to wield, [sword, 
“Dare to touch thee, my own gallant 
“Then rest in thy sheath, like a talis- 
man seal’d, [less lord. 
“ Or return to the grave of thy chain- 
‘But, if grasp’d by a hand that hath 
learn’d the proud use 
“ Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle- 
plain,— [ning let loose, 
««Then, at Liberty’s summons, like light- 
“Leap forth from thy dark sheath 
again "ἢ 
ing which they relate a number of romantic 
stories."—Beaufort’s Ancient Topography of 
Ireland. 
t It was the custom of the ancient Trish, in 


the manner of the Seythians, to bury the fayor- 
ite swords of their heroes along with them. 


284 


OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS 
WORLD OF OURS. 


Ou, could we do with this world of ours 

As thou dost with thy garden bowers, 

Reject the weeds and keep the flowers, 
What a heaven on earth we’d make it! 

So bright a dwelling should be our own, 

So warranted free from sigh or frown, 

That angels soon would be coming down, 
By the week or month to take it. 


Like those gay flies that wing through air, 
And in themselves a lustre bear, 
A stock of light, still ready there, 
Whenever they wish to use it ; 
So, in this world Τ᾽ ἃ make for thee, 
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be, 
And the flash of wit or poesy 
Break forth whenever we choose it. 


While ev’ry joy that glads our sphere 
Hath still some shadow hoy’ring near, 
In this new world of ours, my dear, 
Such shadows will all be omitted :— 
Unless they’re like that graceful one, 
Which, when thowrt dancing in the sun, 
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon 
Each spot where it hath flitted ! 


THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING. 
THE wine-cup is circling in Almhin’s 

hall,* [ing, 

And its Chief, ’mid his heroes reclin- 
Looks up, with a sigh, to the trophied 

wall, 

Where his sword hangs idly shining ; 

When, hark! that shout 
From the vale without, — 
Arm ye quick, the Dane, the Dane 
is nigh!” 
Evry Chief starts up 
From his foaming cup, 
And “To battle, to battle!’ is the 
'  Finian’s cry. 
The minstrels have seized their harps of 
gold, [bers, — 

And they sing such thrilling num- 
’Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, 

Breaking forth from their place of 

slumbers ! 
Spear to buckler rang 
As the minstrels sang, 

* The Palace of Fin Mac-Cumhal (the Fin- 
galof Macpherson) in Leinster. It was built 
on the top of the hill, which has retained 
from thence the name of the Hill of Allen, in 
the county of Kildare. The Finians, or Femi, 
were the eelebrated National Militia of Ireland, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And the Sun-burstt o’er them floated 
While rememb’ring the yoke [wide; 
Which their fathers broke, : 

“‘On for liberty, for liberty !”’ the 

Finians cried. 
Like clouds of the night the Northmen 
came, 

O’er the valley of Almhin lowering ; 

While onward moved, in the light of its 
fame, 

That banner of Erin, towering. 


With the mingling shock 
Rung cliff and rock, 
While, rank on rank, the invaders die: 
And the shout, that last 
O’er the dying pass’d, 
Was ‘‘ Victory ! victory !’—the Fin- 
ian’s cry. 


THE DREAM OF THOSE DAYS. 


THE dream of those days when first I 
sung thee is o’er, 

Thy triumph hath stain’d the charm thy 
sorrows then wore ; 

And ev’n of the light which Hope once 
shed o’er thy chains, 

Alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom 
remains. 


Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in 
thy heart, 

That still the dark brand is there, though 
chainless thou art ; 

And Freedom’s sweet fruit, for which 
thy spirit long burn’d, 

Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes 
hath turn’d ? 


Up Liberty’s steep by Truth and Elo- 
quence led, 

With eyes on her temple fix’d, how 
proud was thy tread! 

Ah, better thou ne’er hadst lived than 
submit to gain, [the fane. 

Or died in the porch, than thus dishonor 


FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE 
IS GIVEN. 
From this hour the pledge is given, 
From this hour my soul is thine: 
Come what will, from earth or heaven, 
which this Chief commanded. The introdue- 
tion of the Danes in the above song is an an- 
achronism common to most of the Finian and 
Ossianie Jegends. 
{The name given to the banner of the 
Trish. 


IRISH MELODIES. 


Weal or wo, thy fate be mine. 
When the proud and great stood by thee, 
Yone dared thy rights to spurn ; 
And if now they’re false and fly thee, 
Shall I, too, basely turn ? 
No ;—whate’er the fires that try thee, 
In the same this heart shall burn. 


Though the sea, where thou embarkest, 
Offers now ἃ friendly shore, 

Light may come where all looks darkest, 
Hope hath life, when life seems o’er. 

And, of those past ages dreaming, 
When glory deck’d thy brow, 

Oft I fondly think, though seeming 
So fall’n "πα clouded now, 

Thow’lt again break forth, all beaming,— 
None so bright, so blest as thou! 


SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL 
HALLS.* 


SILENCE is in our festal halls, — 
Sweet Son of Song ! thy course is 0’er; 
In yain on thee sad Erin calls, 
Her minstrel’s voice responds no 
more ;— 
All silent as th’ Holian shell 
Sleeps at the close of some bright day, 
When the sweet breeze, that waked its 
swell 
At sunny morn, hath died away. 


Yet, at our feasts, th7 spirit long, 
Awaked by music’s spell, shall rise ; 
For, name so link’d with deathless song 
Partakes its charm and never dies: 

And ον within the holy fane, 
When nusie wafts the soul to heaven, 
One thought to him, whose earliest strain 
Was echoed there, shall long be given. 


But, where is now the cheerful day, 
The social mght, when, by thy side, 

He, who now weaves this parting lay, 
His skilless voice with thine allied ; 

And sung those songs whose eyery tone, 
When bard and minstrel long have 

pass’d, 

Shall still, in sweetness all their own, 

Embalm’d by fame, undying last. 


Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame,— 
Or, if thy bard have shared the crown, 


* Itis hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the 
reader, that these lines uve meant as a tribute 
of sineere friendship to the memory of an old 
ond valued colleague 1 this work, Sir John 
Stevenson. 


285. 


From thee the borrow’d glory came, 
‘And at thy feet is now laid down. 
Enough, if Freedom still inspire 
His latest song, and still there be, 
| As evening closes round his lyre, 
One ray upon its chords from thee. 


APPENDIX: 


CONTAINING 
THE ADVERTISEMENTS 


ORIGINALLY PREFIXLV TO THE DIFFERENT 
NUMBERS, AND 


THE PREFATORY LETTER ON IRISH 
MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT 
PREFIXED 


TO THE FIRST AND SECOND 
NUMBERS. 


Power takes the liberty of announc- 
|ing to the Public a Work which has long 
i been a Desideratum in this country. 
| Though the beauties of the National 
Music of Ireland have been very gener- 
ally felt and acknowledged, yet it has 
happened, through the want of appro- 
| priate [English words, and of the ar- 
| rangement necessary to adapt them to 
the voice, that many of the most excel- 
lent compositions have hitherto remained 
in obscurity. It is intended, therefore, 
to form a Collection of the best Original 
Irish Melodies, with characteristic Sym- 
phonies and Accompaniments ; and with 
Words containing, as frequently as pos- 
|sible, allusions to the manners and 
| history of the country. Sir John Ste- 
venson has very kindly consented to un- 
dertake the arrangement of the Airs; 
and the lovers of Simple National Musie 


|may rest secure, that, in such tasteful 


| hands, the native charms of the original 
| melody will not be sacrificed to the os- 
| tentation of science. 

In the Poetical Part, Power has had 
promises of assistance from several dis- 
tinguished Literary Characters ; particu- 
larly from Mr. Moore, whose lyricat 
talent is so peculiarly suited to such a 


286 


task, and whose zeal in the undertaking 
will be best understood from the follow- 
ing Extract of a Letter which he has ad- 
dressed to Sir John Stevenson on the 
subject :— 

“1 feel very anxious that a work of 
this kind should be undertaken. We 
have too long neglected the only talent 
for which our English neighbors ever 
deigned to allow us any credit. Our 
National Music has never been properly 
collected ;* and, while the composers of 
the Continent have enriched their 
Operas and Sonatas with melodies bor- 
rowed from Ireland,—very often with- 
out even the honesty of acknowledg- 
ment,—we have left these treasures, in 
a great degree, unclaimed and fugitive. 
Thus our Airs, like too many of our 
countrymen, have, for want of protec- 
tion at home, passed into the service of 
foreigners. But we are come, I hope, 
to a better period of both Politics and 
Music; and how much they are con- 
nected, in Ireland, at least, appears too 
plainly in the tone of sorrow and de- 
pression \vhich characterizes most of our 
early Songs. 

“The task which you propose to me 
of adapting words to these airs is by no 
means easy. The Poet who would fol- 
low the various sentiments which they 
express, must feel and understand that 
iapid fluctuation of spirits, that unac- 
countable mixture of gloom and levity, 
which composes the character of my 
countrymen, and has deeply tinged 
their Music. Even in their liveliest 
strams we find some melancholy note 
intrude,—some minor Third or flat 
Seventh,—which throws its shade as it 
passes, and makes even mirth interest- 
ing. If Burns had been an Irishman, 
(and I would willingly give up all our 
claims upon Ossian for him,) his heart 
would have been proud of such music, 
and his genius would have made it im- 
mortal. 

“Another difficulty (which is, how- 
ever, purely mechanical) arises from the 
irregular structure of many of those airs, 
and the lawless kind of metre which it 
will in consequence be necessary to 
adapt to them. In these instances the 


*The writer forgot, when he made this asser- 
tion, that the publie are indebted to Mr. Bunt- 
ing for a very valuable collection of Irish 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Poet must write, not to the eye, but to 
the ear; and must be content to have his 
verses of that description which Cicero 
mentions, ‘Quos si cantu spoliaveris 
nuda remanebdit oratio.’ That beautiful 
Air, ‘The Twisting of the Rope,’ which 
has all the romantic character of the 
Swiss Ranz des Vaches, is one of those 
wild and sentimental rakes which it 
will not be very easy to tie down in 
sober wedlock with Poetry. However, 
notwithstanding all these difficulties, 
and the very moderate portion of talent 
which I can bring to surmount them, the 
design appears to me so truly National, 
that I shall feel much pleasure in giving 
it all the assistance in my power. 
“Leicestershire, Feb., 1807.” 


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD 
NUMBER. 


In presenting the Third Number of 
this work to the Public, Power begs 
leave to offer his acknowledgments for 
the very liberal patronage with which 
it has been honored; and to express a 
hope that the unabated zeal of those who 
have hitherto so admirably conducted 
it, will enable him to continue it through 
many future Numbers with equal spirit, 
variety, and taste. The stock of popu- 
lar Melodies is far from being exhausted ; 
and there is still in reserve an abun- 
dance of beautiful Airs, which call upon 
Mr. Moore, in the language he so well 
understands, to save them from the ob- 
livion to which they are hastening. 

Power respectfully trusts he will not 
be thought presumptuous in saying, 
that he feels proud, as an Irishman, in 
even the very subordinate share which 
he can claim, in promoting a Work so 
creditable to the talents of the Country, 
—a Work which, from the spirit of na- 
tionality it breathes, will do more, he is 
convinced, towards liberalizing the feel- 
ings of society, and producing that 
brotherhood of sentiment which it is so 
much our interest to cherish, than could 
ever be effected by the mere arguments 
of well-intentioned but uninteresting 
politicians. 

Music; and that the patriotic genius of Miss 


Owenson has been employed upon some of our 
finest airs, 


IRISH MELODIES. 


LETTER 
TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF 
DONEGAL, 


PREFIXED TO THE THIRD NUMBER. 


WuiteE the publisher of these Melo- 
dies very properly inscribes them to 
the Nobility and Gentry of Ireland in 
-general, I have much pleasure in select- 
ing one from that number, to whom my 
share of the Work is particularly ded- 
icated. I know that, though your 
Ladyship has been so long absent from 
Treland, you still continue to remember 
it well and warmly,—that you have not 
suffered the attractions of English so- 
ciety to produce, like the taste of the 
lotus, any forgetfulness of your own 
country, but that even the humble tri- 
bute which I offer derives its chief claim 
upon your interest and sympathy from 
the appeal which it makes to your pat- 
riotism. Indeed, absence, however 
fatal to some affections of the heart, 
rather tends to strengthen our love for the 
land where we were born; and Ireland 
is the country, of all others, which an 
exile from it must remember with most 
enthusiasm. Those few darker and less 
amiable traits with which bigotry and 
misrule have stained her character, and 
which are too apt to disgust us upon a 
nearer intercourse, become at a distance 
softened, or altogether invisible. Noth- 
ing is remembered but her virtues and 
her misfortunes,—the zeal with which 
she has always loved liberty, and the 
barbarous policy which has always with- 
held it from her,—the ease with which 
her generous spirit might be conciliated, 
and the cruel ingenuity which has been 
exerted to ‘‘ wring her into undutiful- 
ness.”” 

* A phrase which occurs in a Letter from the 
Earl of Desmond to the Earl of Ormond, in 


Elizabeth's time.—Scrinia Sacra, as quoted by 
Curry. 


} There are some gratifying accounts of the 
gallantry of these GRA auxiliaries in ‘* The 
complete History of the Wars in Scotland un- 
der Montrose,” (1660.) See particularly, for 
the conduct of an Irishman at the battle of 
Aberdeen, chap. vi. p. 49; and for a tribute to 
the bravery of Colonel O'Kyan, chap. vii. 55. 
Clarendon owns that the Marquis of Montrose 
was indebted for much of his miraculous sue- 
cess to the small band of Irish heroes under 
Macdonnell. 


1 The associations of the Hindu music, though 


/man touch has violated. 
| these mournful songs we seem to hear 


287 


It has been often remarked, and still 
oftener felt, that in our music is found 
the truest of all comments upon our his- 
tory. The tone of defiance, succeeded 
by the languor of despondency,—a 
burst of turbulence dying away into 
softness,—the sorrows of one moment 
lost in the levity of the next,—and all 
that romantic mixture of mirth and sad- 
ness, which is naturally produced by the 
efforts of a lively temperament to shake 
off, or forget, the wrongs which lie upon 
it. Such are the features of our history 
and character, which we find strongly 
and faithfully reflected in our music; 
and there are even many airs, which it 
is difficult to listen to, without recalling 
some period or event to which their ex- 

yression seems applicable. Sometimes, 
for instance, when the strain is open and 
spirited, yet here and there shaded by a 
mournful recollection, we can fancy that 
we behold the brave allies of Montrose,t 
marching to the aid of the royal cause, 
notwithstanding all the perfidy of Charles 
and his ministers, and remembering just 
enough of past sufferings to enhance the 
generosity of their present sacrifice. 


|The plaintive melodies of Carolan take 


us back to the times in which he lived, 
when our poor countrymen were driven 
to worship their God in caves, or to quit 
forever the land of their birth,—like the 
bird that abandons the nest which hu- 
In many of 


the last farewell of the exile,{ mingling 
regret for the ties which he leaves at 
home, with sanguine hopes of the high 
honors that await him abroad,—such 
honors as were won on the field of Fon- 
tenoy, where the valor of Irish Catholics 
turned the fortune of the day, and ex- 


more obvious and defined, were far less touch- 
ing and characteristic. They divided their 
songs according to the seasons of the year, by 
which (says Sir William Jones) “they were 
able to recall the memory of autumnal merri- 
ment, at the close of the harvest, or of separa- 
tion and melancholy during the cold mouths,” 
&e.—Asiatie Transactions, vol. iii. on the Mu- 
sical Modes of the Hindus.—What the Abbé du 
Bos says of the symphonies of Lully, may be 
asserted, with much more probability, of our 
bold and impassioned airs:—‘ Elles auroient 
produit de ces effets, qui nous paroissent fabu- 
eux dans le récit des anciens, si on les avoit 
fait etendre ides hommes d'un naturel aussi 
vif que les Athéniens.”—Réflex. sur la Pein- 
ture, &c. tom. i. sect. 45. 


288 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


torted from George the Second that 
memorable exclamation, ‘‘ Cursed be the 
laws which deprive me of such subjects!” 

Though much has been said of the 
antiquity of our music, it is certain that 
our finest and most popular airs are 
modern; and, perhaps, we may look no 
further than the last disgraceful century 
for the origin of most of those wild and 
melancholy strains which were at once 
the offspring and solace of grief, and 
were applied to the mind as music was 
formerly to the body, ‘‘ decantare loca 
dolentia.” Mr. Pinkerton is of opinion* 
that none of the Scotch popular airs are 
as old as the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury; and though musical antiquaries 
refer us, for some of our melodies, to so 
early a period as the fifth century, I am 
persuaded that there are few, of a civil- 
ized description, (and by this I mean to 
exclude all the savage Ceanans, Cries,t 
&e.,) which can claim quite so ancient 
a date as Mr. Pinkerton allows to the 
Scotch. But music is not the only sub- 
ject upon which our taste for antiquity 
has been rather unreasonably indulged; 
and, however heretical it may be to dis- 
sent from these romantic speculations, I 
cannot help thinking that it is possible 
to love our country very zealously, and 
to feel deeply interested in her honor and 
happiness, without believing that Irish 


* Dissertation prefixed to the2d volume ef his 
Scottish Ballads. 

t Of which some genuine specimens may be 
found at the end of Mr. Walker's Work upon 
the Irish bards. Mr. Bunting has disfigured his 
last splendid volume by too many of these bar- 
barous rhapsodies. 

+ See Advertisement to the Transactions of 
the Gaelic Society of Dublin. 

§ O'Halloran, vol. i. part iv. chap. vil. 

|| Id. ib. chap. vi. 

Ἵ It is also supposed, but with as little proof, 
that they understood the diésis, or enharmonic 
interval.—The Greeks seem to have formed 
their ears to this delicate gradation of sound; 
and, whatever difficulties or objections may lie 
in the way of its practical use, we must agree 
with Mersenne, (Préludes de 1 Harmonie, Quest. 
7,) that the theory of Music would be imperfect 
without it. Eyen in practice, too, as Tosi, 
among others, very justly remarks, (Observa- 
tions on Florid Song, chap. i. sect. 16,) there is 
no good performer on the violin who does not 
make a sensible difference between D sharp and 
Τὸ flat, though,from the imperfection ofthe instru- 
ment, they are the same notes upon the piano- 
forte. The effect of modulation by enharmonic 
transitions is also very striking and beautiful. 

“* The words ποικιλία and ἑτεροφωνια, in a 


was the language spoken in Paradise,t 
that our ancestors were kind enough to 
take the trouble of polishing the Greeks, § 
or that Abaris, the Hyperborean, was a 
native of the North of Ireland. || 

By some of these zealous antiquarians 
it has been imagined that the Irish were 
early acquainted with counterpoint ;{ 
and they endeavor to support this con- 
jecture by a well-known passage in Gi- 
raldus, where he dilates, with such elab- 
orate praise, upon the beauties of our 
national minstrelsy. But the terms of 
this eulogy are much too vague, too 
deficient in technical accuracy, to prove 
that even Giraldus himself knew any- 
thing of the artifice of counterpoint. 
There are many expressions in the Greek 
and Latin writers which might be cited, 
with much more plausibility, to prove 
that they understood the arrangement 
of music in parts ;** and it is in general 
now conceded, I believe, by the learned, 
that, however grand and pathetic the 
melody of the ancients may have been, 
it was reserved forthe ingenuity of mod- 
ern Science to transmit the ‘light of 
Song” through the variegating prism of 
Harmony. 

Indeed, the irregular scale of the early 
Trish (in which, as in the music of Scot- 
land, the interval of the fourth was want- 
ingtt) must have furnished but wild and 


Passage of Plato, and some expressions of Ci- 
cero, in Fragment. lib. 11. de Republ., induced 
the Abbé Fraguier to maintain that the an- 
cients had a knowledge of counterpoint. M. 
Burette, however, has answered him, I think, 
satisfactorily. (Examen d’un Passage de Pla- 
ton, in the 3d vol. of Histoire de ’ Acad.) Μ. 
Huet is of opinion, (Pensées Diverses,) that 
what Cicero says of the music of the spheres, in 
his dream of Seipio, is sufficient to prove an ac- 
quaintance with harmony; but one of the 
strongest passages, which J recollect, in favor 
of this supposition, oceurs in the Treatise 
(Περι Κοσμου) attributed to Aristotle—Mov- 
σικὴ δε οξεις ἅμα και Bapets, κ. τ. A. 

ti Another lawless peculiarity of our music is 
the frequent occurrence of whatcomposers call 
consecutive fifths; but this, Imust say, is an ir- 
regularity which can hardly be avoided by per- 
sons not conversant with all the rules of com- 
position. If I may venture, indeed, to cite my 
own wild attempts in this way, it is a fault 
whichI find myself continually committing, and 
which has even, at times, appeared so pleasing 
to my ear, that I have surrendered it to the eritic 
with no small reluctance. May there not be a 
little pedantry in adhering too rigidly to this 
rule ?—I have been told that there areiustances 
in Haydn, of an undisguised succession of fifths; 


IRISH MELODIES. 


289 


‘refractory subjects to the harmonist. It 


was only when the invention of Guido 
began to be known, and the powers of 
the harp* were enlarged by additional 
strings, that our airs can be supposed to 
have assumed the sweet character which 
interests us at present; and while the 
Scotch persevered in the old mutilation 
of the seale,t our music became by de- 
grees more amenable to the laws of har- 
mony and counterpoint. 

While profiting, however, by the im- 
provements of the moderns, our style 
still keeps its original character sacred 
from their refinements ; and though Car- 
olan, it appears, had frequent opportu- 
nities of hearing the works of Geminiani 
and other great masters, we but rarely 
find him sacrificing his native simplicity 
to any ambition of their ornaments, or 
affectation of their science. In that cu- 
rious composition, indeed, called his 
Concerto, it is evident that he labored to 
imitate Corelli; and this union of man- 
ners, so very dissimilar, produces the 
same kind of uneasy sensation which is 
felt αὖ ἃ mixture of different styles of 
architecture. In general, however, the 
artless flow of our music has preserved 
itself free from all tinge of foreign inno- 
vation;{ and the chief corruptions of 
which we have to complain arise from the 
unskilful performance of our own itiner- 
aut musicians, from whom, too frequent- 


and Mr. Shield, in his Introduction to Harmony, 
seems to intimate that Handel hus been some- 
times guilty of the same irregularity. 

* A singular oversight occurs in an Essay 
upon the Irish Harp, by Mr. Beauford, which 
is inserted in the Appendix to Walker's Histori- 
eal Memoirs:—‘‘ The Irish, (says he,) accord- 
ing to Bromton, in the reign of Henry 11. had 
two kindsof Harps, ‘ Hibernicitamen in duobus 
musicigenerisinstrumentis,quamvis precipitem 
et velocem, suavem tamen et jucundum: the 
one greatly bold and quick, the other soft and 
pcre. "—How a man of Mr. Beauford's 

earning could somistake the meaning, and muti- 
lute the grammatical construction ofthis extract, 
is unaccountable. The following is the passage 
as I find it entire in Bromton; andit requires 
but little Latin to perceive the injustice which 
has been done to the words of the old Chroni- 
cler :— Et cum Scotia, hujus terre filia, utatur 
lyré, tympano et choro, ac Wallia cithard, tu- 
bis et choro Hibernici tamen in duobus musici 
generis instrumentis, guamvis praecipitem et 
velocem, suavem tamen et jucundam, ecrispatis 
modulis et intricatis nots eficiunt harmo- 
niam.”--Hist. Anglie. Script. page 1075. Ishould 
not have thought this error worth remarking, 
but that the compiler of the Dissertation on the 


ly, the airs are noted down, encumber- 
ed by their tasteless decorations, and 
responsible for all theirignorant anoma- 
lies. Though it be sometimes impossi- 
ble to trace the original strain, yet, in 
most of them, “ auri per ramos awra re- 
fulget,”§ the pure gold of the melody 
shines through the ungraceful foliage 
which surrounds it,—and the most deli- 
cate and difficult duty of a compiler is to 
endeavor, by retrenching these inelegant 
superfluities, and collating the various 
methods of playing or singing each air, 
to restore the regularity of its form, and 
the chaste simplicity of its character. 

I must again observe, that in doubt- 
ing the antiquity of our music, my skepti- 
cism extends but to those polished speci- 
mens of the art, which it is difficult to 
conceive anterior to the dawn of modern 
improvement; and that I would by no 
means invalidate the claims of Ireland 
to as early a rank in the annals of min- 
strelsy, as the most zealous antiquary 
may be inclined to allow her. In addi- 
tion, indeed, to the power which music 
must always have possessed over the 
minds of a people so ardent and suscep- 
tible, the stimulus of persecution was 
not wanting to quicken our taste into 
enthusiasm ; the charms of Song were 
ennobled with the glories of martyrdom, 
and the acts against minstrels, in the 
reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, 


Harp, prefixed to Mr. Bunting’s last Work, has 
adopted it implicitly. 

t The Scotch lay claim to some of our best 
airs, but there are strong traits of difference 
between their melodies and ours. They had for- 
merly the same passion for robbing us of our 
Saints, and the iearned Dempster was for this 
offence called “ὙΠῸ Saint Stealer.” It must 
have been some Trishman, I suppose, who, by 
way of reprisal, stole Dempster’s beautiful 
wife from him at Pisa.—See this anecdote 
in the Pinacotheca of Erythrieus, part i. 
page 25. 

+ Among other false refinements of the art, 
our music (with the exception perhaps of the 
air called ‘‘ Mamma, Mamma,” and one or two 
more of the same ludicrous description) has 
avoided that puerile mimicry of natural noises, 
motions, &e., which disgraces so often the 
works of even Handel himself. D'Alembert 
ought to have had better taste than to be- 
come the patron of this imitative affectation. — 
Discours Préliminaire del Encyclopédie. The 
reader may find some good remarks on the 
subject in Avison upon Musical Expression ; 
a work which, though under the name of Avyi- 
son, Was written, it is said, by Dr. Brown. 

§ Virgil, neid, lib. vi. verse 204. 


290 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


were as successful, I doubt not, in 
making my countrymen musicians, as 
the penal laws have been in keeping 
them Catholics. 

With respect to the verses which I 
have written for these melodies, as they 
are intended rather to be sung than 
read, I can answer for their sound with 
somewhat more confidence than for their 
sense. Yet it would be affectation to 
deny that I have given much attention 
to the task, and that itis not through 
any want of zeal or industry, if I unfor- 
tunately disgrace the sweet airs of my 
country by poetry altogether unworthy 
of their taste, their energy, and their ten- 
derness. 

Though the humble nature of my con- 
tributions to this work may exempt them 
from the rigors of literary criticism, it 
was not to be expected that those 
touches of political feeling, those tones of 
national complaint, in which the poetry 
sometimes sympathizes with the music, 
would be suffered to pass without cen- 
sure or alarm. It has been accordingly 
said, that the tendency of this publica- 
tion is mischievous,* and that I have 
chosen these airs but as a vehicle of 
dangerous politics, —as fair and precious 
vessels, (to borrow an image of St. Au- 

‘ustine,t) from which the wine of error 
might be administered. To those who 
ilentify nationality with treason, and 
who see, in every effort for Ireland, a 
system of hostility towards England, — 
to those, too, who, nursed in the gloom 
of prejudice, are alarmed by the faintest 
gleam of liberality that threatens to dis- 
turb their darkness,—like that Demo- 
phon of old, who, when the sun shone 
upon him, shivered,f—to such men I 
shall not condescend to offer an apology 
for the too great warmth of any political 
sentiment which may occur in the course 
of these pages. But as there are many, 
among the more wise and tolerant, who, 
with feeling enough to moun over the 
wrongs of their country, and _ sense 
enough to to perceive all the danger of 
not redressing them, may yet be of opin- 
ion that allusions, in the least degree in- 
flammatory, should be avoided in a pub- 


*See Letters, underthe signaturesof Timzus, 
&c., inthe Morning Post, Pilot, and other papers. 
t ** Non aceuso verba, quasi vasa electa atque 
pretiosa ; sed vinum erroris quod cum eis nobis 


lication of this popwar description—I 
beg of these respected persons to believe 
that there is no one who more sincerely 
deprecates than I do, any appeal to the 
passions of an ignorant and angry multi- 
tude; but that itis not through that gross 
and inflammable region of society, a work 
of this nature could ever have been in- 
tended to circulate. Itlooks much higher 
for its audience and readers, —it is found 
upon the piano-fortes of the rich and the 
educated,—of those who can afford to 
have their national zeal a little stimulat- 
ed, without exciting much dread of the 
excesses into which it may hurry them ; 
and of many whose nerves may be, now 
and then, alarmed with advantage, as 
much more is to be gained by their 
fears, than could ever be expected from 
their justice. 

Having thus adverted to the principal 
objection which has been hitherto made 
to the poetical part of this.work, allow 
me to add a few words in defence of my 
ingenious coadjutor, Sir John Steven- 
son, who has been accused of having 
spoiled the simplicity of the airs by the 
chromatic richness of his symphonies, 
and the elaborate variety of his har- 
monies. We might cite the example of 
the admirable Haydn, who has sported 
through all the mazes of musical science, 
in his arrangement of the simplest Seot- 
tish melodies ; but it appears to me, that 
Sir John Stevenson has brought to this 
task an innate and national feeling, 
which it would be vain to expect from a 
foreigner, however tasteful or judicious. 
Through many of his own compositions 
we trace a vein of Irish sentiment, 
which points him out as peculiarly 
suited to catch the spirit of his country’s 
music; and, far from agreeing with 
those fastidious critics who think that 
his symphonies have nothing kindred 
with the airs which they introduce, I 
would say that, on the contrary, they 
resemble, in general, those illuminated 
initials of old manuscripts, whichvare of 
the same character with the -writing 
which follows, though more highly col- 
ored and more curiously ornamented. 

In those airs which he has arranged 


propinatur."’—Lib. i. Confess. chap. xvi. 

! This emblem of modern bigots was head- 
butler (τραπεζοποιος) to Alexander the Great. 
—Seaxt. Lmpir. Pyrrh, Hypoth. Lib. i. 


wee 
« 


IRISH MELODIES. 


for voices, his skill has particularly dis- 
tinguished itself, and though it cannot 
be denied that a single melody most 
naturally expresses the language of feel- 
ing and passion, yet, often, when a 
favorite strain has been dismissed, as 
having lost its charm of noveity for the 
ear, it returns, in a harmonized shape, 
with new claims on our interest and at- 
tention; and to those who study the 
delicate artifices of composition, the 
construction of the inner parts of these 
pieces must afford, I think, considerable 
satisfaction. Every voice has an air to 
itself, a flowing succession of notes, 
which might be heard with pleasure 
independently of the rest;—so artfully 
has the harmonist (if I may thus express 
it) gavelled the melody, distributing an 
equal portion of its sweetness to every 
art. 
, If your Ladyship’s love of Music were 
not well known to me, I should not 
have hazarded so long a letter upon the 
subject; but as, probably, I may have 
presumed too far upon your partiality, 
the best revenge you now can take is to 
write me just as long a letter upon 
Painting; and I promise to attend to 
your theory of the art, with a pleasure 
only surpassed by that which I have so 
often derived from your practice of it.— 
May the mind which such talents adorn, 
continue calm as it is bright, and happy 
as it is virtuous ! 
Believe me, your Ladyship’s 
Grateful Friend and Servant, 
THOMAS MOORE. 


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE 
FOURTH NUMBER. 


THis Number of the Melodies ought 
to have appeared much earlier; and the 
writer of the words is ashamed to con- 
fess, that the delay of its publication 
must be imputed chiefly, if not entirely, 
to him. He finds it necessary to 
make this avowal, not only for the pur- 
pose of removing all blame from the 
Publisher, but in consequence of a 
rumor which has been circulated indus- 
triously in Dublin, that the Irish Goy- 
ernment had interfered to prevent the 
continuance of the Work. 


291 


This would be, indeed, a revival of 
Henry the Highth’s enactments against 
Minstrels, and itis flattering to find that 
so much importance is attached to our 
compilation, even by such persons as 
the inventors of the report. Bishop 
Lowth, it is true, was of opinion, that 
one song, like the Hymn to Harmodius, 
would have done more towards rousing 
the spirit of the Romans, than all the 
Philippics of Cicero. But we live in 
wiser and less musical times; ballads 
have long lost their revolutionary 
powers, and we question if even a “Lilli- 
bullero” would produce any very serious 
consequences at present. It is needless, 
therefore, to add, that there is no truth 
in the report; and we trust that what- 
ever belief it obtained was founded more 
upon the character of the Government 
than of the Work. 

The Airs of the last Number, though 


full of originality and beauty, were, in 


general, perhaps, too curiously selected 
to become all at once as popular as, we 
think, they deserve to be. The public 
are apt to be reserved towards new ac- 
quaintances in music, and this, perhaps, 
is one of the reasons why many modern 
composers introduce none but old friends 
to their notice. It is, indeed, natural 
that persons who love music only by as- 
sociation, should be somewhat slow in 
feeling the charms of a new and strange 
melody ; while those, on the other hand, 
who have a quick sensibility for this en- 
chanting art, will as naturally seek and 
enjoy novelty, because in every variety 
of strain they find a fresh combination 
of ideas; and the sound has scarcely 
reached the ear, before the heart has as 
rapidly rendered it into imagery and 
sentiment. After all, however, it can- 
not be denied that the most popular of 
our Nationai Airs are also the most beau- 
tiful; and it has been our wish, in the 
present Number, to select from those 
Melodies only which have long been lis- 
tened to and admired. The least known 
in the collection is the Air of ‘‘ Love's 
Young Dream ;” but it will be found, I 
think, one of those easy and artless 
strangers whose merit the heart instant- 
ly acknowledges. 
eM 


Bury Street, St. James's, 
Nov., 1811. 


292 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


SS Ὁ ΦθὃὋὃἣὃ''α'Ῥ'ὃ. 


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIFTH 
NUMBER. 


IT is but fair to those who take an in- 
terest in this Work, to state that it is now 
very near its termination, and that the 
Sixth Number, which shall speedily ap- 
pear, will, most probably, be the last of 
the series. 


Three volumes will then | 


have been completed, according to the | 


original plan, and the Proprietors desire 
me to say that a List of Subscribers will 
be published with the concluding Num- 
ber. 

It is not so much, I must add, from a 
want of materials, and still less from any 
abatement of zeal, or industry, that we 


have adopted the resolution of bringing | 


our task to a close; but we feel so proud, 
still more for our country’s sake than our 
own, of the general interest which this 
purely Imsh Work has excited, and so 
anxious lest a particle of that interest 
should be lost by too long a protraction 
of its existence, that we think it wiser to 
take away the cup from the lip, while 
its flavor is yet, we trust, fresh and 
sweet, than to risk any further trial of 
the charm, or give so much as not to 
leave some wish for more. In speaking 
thus, I allude entirely to the Airs, which 
are, of course, the main attraction of 
these Volumes; and though we have 
still a great many popular and delightful 
Melodies to produce,* it cannot bedenied 
that we should soon experience consid- 
erable difficulty in equalling the richness 
and novelty of the earlier numbers, for 
which, as we had the choice of all before 
us, we naturally selected only the most 
rare and beautiful. The Poetry, too, 
would be sure to sympathize with the 
decline of the Music; and, however fee- 
bly my words have kept pace with the 
excellence of the Airs, they would follow 
their falling off, I fear, with wonderful 
alacrity. Both pride and prudence, 
therefore, counsel us to come to a close, 
while yet our Work is, we believe, flour- 
ishing and attractive, and thus, in the 
imperial attitude, ‘‘ stantes mori,” before 
we incur the charge either of altering 


* Among these is Savourna Deelish, which I 
haye been hitherto only withheld from seleeting 
by the diffidence I feel in treading upon the 
same ground with Mr. Campbell, whose bean- 
tiful words to this fine Air have taken too strong 


for the worse, or, what is equally unpar- 
donable, continuing too long the same. 
We beg to say, however, that it is 
only in the event of our failing to find 
Airs as good as most of those we have 
given, that we mean thus to anticipate 
the natural period of dissolution, (like 
those Indians who, when their relatives 
become worn out, put them to death ;) 
and they who are desirous of retarding 
this Euthanasia of the Irish Melodies, 
cannot better effect their wish than by 
contributing to our collection,-—not what 
are called curious Airs, for we have 
abundance of such, and they are, in gen- 
eral, only curious,—but any real sweet 


/and expressive Songs of our Country, 


which either chance or research may 


| have brought into their hands. 


ΠΡ ΜῚ 
Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, 
December, 1813. 


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH 
NUMBER. 


In presenting this Sixth Number to 


| the public as our last, and bidding adieu 


to the Irish Harp forever, we shall not 
answer very confidently for the strength 
of our resolution, nor feel quite sure that 
it may not turn out to be one of those 
eternal farewells which a lover takes oc- 
casionally of his mistress, merely to en- 
hance, perhaps, the pleasure of their 
next meeting. Our only motive, indeed, 


for discontinuing the Work was a fear 


that our treasures were nearly exhaust- 


ed, and a natural unwillingness to de- 


scend to the gathering of mere seed- 
pearl, after the really precious gems it 
has been our lot to string together. The 
announcement, however, of this inten- 
tion, in our Fifth Number, has excited 
a degree of anxiety in the lovers of Trish 
Music, not only pleasant and flattering, 
but highly ἜΠΗ to us; for the various 
contributions we have received in con- 
sequence, have enriched our collection 
with so many choice and beautiful Airs, 
that should we adhere to our present 
resolution of publishing no more, it 


possession of all ears and hearts, for me to think 
of following in his footsteps with any suecess. 
I suppose, however, as a mutter of duty, I must 
attempt the air for our next Number. 


ee 


IRISH MELODIES. 


293 


would certainly furnish an instance of 
forbearance unexampled in the history 
of poets and musicians. To one gentle- 
man in particular, who has been for 
many years resident in England, but 
who has not forgot, among his various 
pursuits, either the language or the mel- 
odies of his native country, we beg to 
offer our best thanks for the many inter- 
esting communications with which he 
has favored us. We trust that neither 
he nor any other of our kind friends will 


relax in those e{forts by which we have | 


been so considerably assisted; for, 
though our work must now be looked 
upon as defunct, yet-—as Reaumur found 


out the art of making the cicada sing | 


after it was dead—itis just possible that 

we may, some time or other, try a sim- 

ilar experiment upon the Irish Melodies. 
ee 


Mayfield, Ashbourne, 
arch, 1815. 


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE 
SEVENTH NUMBER. 


Hap I consulted only my own judg- 
ment, this Work would not have extend- 
ed beyond the Six Numbers already pub- 
lished; which contain the flower, per- 
haps, of our national melodies, and have 
now attained a rank in public favor, of 
which I would not willingly risk the 
forfeiture, by degenerating, in any way, 
from those merits that were its source. 
Whatever treasures of our music were 


still in reserve, (and it will be seen, I | 


trust, that they are numerous and valu- 


able,) I would gladly have left to future | 
poets to glean, and, with the ritual words | 


‘“‘tibi trado,” would have delivered up 
the torch into other hands, before it had 
lost much of its light in my own. 
the call for a continuance of the work 
has been, as I understand from the Pub- 
lisher, so general, and we have received 
so many contributions of old and beau- 
tiful airs,*—the suppression of which, 
for the enhancement of those we have 
published, would too much resemble the 
policy of the Dutch in burning their 


* One gentleman, in particular, whose name 


T shall feel happy in being allowed to mention, | 


has not only sent us nearly forty ancient airs, 
but has communicated many curious fragments 
of Irish poetry, and some interesting traditions 


But | 


spices,—that I have been persuaded, 
though not without much diffidence in 
my success, to commence a new series 
of the Irish Melodies. TM 


DEDICATION TO THE MARCHION- 
ESS OF HEADFORT, 
PREFIXED TO THE TENTH NUMBER. 


Ir is with a pleasure, not unmixed 

with melancholy, that I dedicate the last 
| Number of the Irish Melodies to your 
| Ladyship; nor can I have any doubt 
that the feelings with which you receive 
the tribute will be of the same mingled 
and saddened tone. To you,—who, 
though but little beyond the season of 
childhood when the earlier numbers of 
this work appeared, —lent the aidof your 
beautiful voice, and, even then, exquisite 
feeling for music, to the happy circle who 
|met, to sing them together, under your 
| father’s roof, the gratification, whatever 
‘it may be, which this humble offering 
brings, cannot be otherwise than dark- 
/ened by the mournful reflection, how 
δὴν of the yoices, which then joined 
with ours, are now silent in death! 

I am not without hope that as far as 
regards the grace and spirit of the Mel- 
odies, you will find this closing portion 
of the work not unworthy of what has 
_precededit. The Sixteen Airs of which 
the Nwmber and the Supplement con- 
sists, have been selected from the im- 
mense mass of Irish music, which has 
been for years past accumulating in my 
hands; and it was from a desire to in- 
clude all that appeared most worthy of 
preservation, that the four supplement- 
ary songs, which follow this Tenth Num- 
ber, have been added. 

Trusting that I may yet again, in re- 
membrance of old times, hear our veices 
together in some of the harmonized airs 
of this Volume, I have the honor to sub- 
scribe myself, 

Your Ladyship’s 
faithful Friend and Servant, 
THOMAS MOORE, 


Sloperton Cottage, 
May, 1834. 


current in the country where he resides, illus- 

trated by sketches of the romantic scenery to 

| which they refer; all of which, though too late 

| for the present Number, will be of infinite ser- 
vice to us in the prosecution of our task. 


294 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


1819 TO 1828. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Ir is Cicero, I believe, who says, 
“natura ad modos ducimur ;” and the 
abundance of wild, indigenous airs, 
which almost every country, except 
England, possesses, sufficiently proves 
the truth of his assertion. The lovers of 
this simple, but interesting kind of mu- 
sic, are here presented with the first 
number of a collection, which, I trust, 
their contributions will enable us to con- 
tinue. A pretty air without words re- 
sembles one of those half creatures of 
Plato, which are described as wander- 
ing in search of the remainder of them- 
selves through the world. To supply 
this other half, by uniting with congen- 
ial words the many fugitive melodies 
which have hitherto had none,—or only 
such as are unintelligible to the general- 
ity of their hearers,—is the object and 
ambition of the present work. Neither 
is it our intention to confine ourselves to 
what are strictly called National Melo- 
dies, but, wherever we meet with any 
wandering and beautiful air, to which 
poetry has not yet assigned a worthy 
home, we shall venture to claim it as 
an estray swan, and enrich our humble 
Hippocrene with its song. 

* * * * * 


Ms 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.* 
(SPANISH AIR.) 
“«\ Temple to Friendship,” said Laura, 
enchanted, 
“411 build in this garden, — the 
thought is divine "ἢ 


Her temple was built, and she now only 
wanted [the shrine. 

An image of Friendship to place on 
She flew to asculptor, who set down 
before her [invent ; 

A Friendship, the fairest his art could 
But so cold and so dull, that the youth- 
ful adorer [meant. 

Saw plainly this was not the idol she 


“Oh! never,” she cried, ‘could I 
think of enshrining 
‘« An image, whose looks are so joy- 
less and dim ;— 
“ But yon little god,upon roses reclining, 
“‘We’ll make, if you please, Sir, a 
Friendship of him. 
So the bargain was struck ; with the lit- 
tle god laden [grove : 
She joyfully flew to her shrine in the 
“ Farewell,” said the sculptor, ‘‘ you're 
not the first maiden 
“Who came but for Friendship and 
took away Love. 


FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 


FLow on, thou shining river ; 
But, ere thou reach the sea, 
Seek Ella’s bower, and give her 

The wreaths I fling o’er thee. 

And tell her thus, if she’ll be mine, 
The current of our lives shall be, 
With joys along their course to shine, 
Like those sweet flowers on thee. 


But if, in wand’ring thither, 
Thou find’st she mocks my prayer, 
Then leave those wreaths to wither 
Upon the cold bank there ; 


* The thought is taken from a song by Le 
Pricur, called ‘‘ La Statue de ]'Amitié.” 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


295 


And tell her thus, when youth is o’er, 
Her lone and loveless charms shall be 

Thrown by upon life’s weedy shore, 
Like those sweet flowers from thee. 


ALLTHAT’S BRIGHT MUST FADE. 
(INDIAN ΑΜ.) 


Att that’s bright must fade,— 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that’s sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest. 
Stars that shine and fall ;— 

The flower that drops in springing ;— 
These, alas! are types of all 

To which our hearts are clinging. 
All that’s bright must fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that’s sweet was made 

But to be lost when sweetest ! 


Who would seek or prize 
Delights that end in aching? 
Who would trust to ties 
That every hour are breaking? 
Better far to be 
In utter darkness lying, 
Than to be bless’d with light and see 
That light forever flying. 
All that’s bright must fade,— 
The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that’s sweet was made 
But to be lost when sweetest ! 


SO WARMLY WE MET. 
(HUNGARIAN AIR.) 


So warmly we met and so fondly we 
parted, {could not tell,— 

That which was the sweeter ev’n I 
That first look of welcome her sunny eyes 
~ darted, [our farewell. 

Or that tear of passion, which bless’d 
To meet was a heaven, and to part thus 
another, — {in bliss ; 

Our joy and our sorrow seem’d rivals 
Oh! Cupid’s two eyes are not liker each 
other [ment to this. 

In smiles and in tears, than that, mo- 


The first was like daybreak, new, sud- 
den, delicious, — [up yet; 

The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled 
The last like the farewell of daylight, 
more precious, [its set. 

More glowing and deep, as ’tis nearer 


Our meeting, though happy, was tinged 
by a sorrow [remain ; 
To think that such happiness could not 
While our parting, though sad, gave a 
hope that to-morrow 
Would bring back the bless’d hour of 
meeting again. 


THOSE EVENING BELLS. 
(Air.—THE BELLS OF ST. PETERSBURGH ) 


THOSE evening bells! those evening bells! 
How many a tale their music tells, 

Of youth, and home, and that sweettime, 
When last I heard their soothing chime. 


Those joyous hours are pass’d away ; 
And many a heart, that then was gay, 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bell.. 


And so ’twill be when I am gone ; 
That tuneful peal will still ring on, 
While other bards shall walk these delis, 
Andsing your praise, sweetevening bells. 


SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 


SHOULD those fond hopes e’er forsake 
thee, * [ploy ; 
Which now so sweetly thy heart em- 
Should the cold world come to wake thee 
From all thy visions of youth and joy ; 
Should the gay friends, for whom thou 
wouldst banish [his own, 
Him who once thought thy youngheart 
All, like spring birds, zlsel vanish, 
And leave thy winter unheeded and 
lone ;— 


Oh! ’tis then that he thou hast slighted 
Would come to cheer thee, when all 
seemed 0’er ; 
Then the truant, lost and blighted, 
Would to his bosom be taken once 
more. Lber, 
Like that dear bird we both can remem- 
Who left us while summer shone round, 
But, when chill’d by bleak December, 
On our threshold a welcome still found. 


* This is one of the many instances among 
my lyrical poems,—though the above, it must 
be owned, is an extreme case,—where the me- 
tre has been necessarily sacrificed to the strue- 
ture of the air. 


Ὧ90 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY. 
(ITALIAN AIR.) 
REAsoN, and Folly, and Beauty, they 


say, 
Went ae party of pleasure one day : 
Folly play’d 
Around the maid, 
The bells of his cap rung merrily out ; 
While Reason took 
To his sermon-book— 
Oh! which was the pleasanter no one 
need doubt, [doubt. 
Which was the pleasanter no one need 


Beauty, who likes to be thought very 
sage, [page, 
Turn’d for a moment to Reason’s dull 
Till Folly said, 
“‘ Look here, sweet maid !”’— 
The sight of his cap brought her back to 
herself ; 
While Reason read 
His leaves of lead, 
With no one to mind him, poor sensible 
elf! [elf! 
No,—no one to mind him, poor sensible 


Then Reason grew jealous of Folly’s gay 
Cap ; [trap— 
Had he that on, he her heart might en- 
comhere it 1s,” 
Quoth Folly, ‘‘old quiz!” 
(Folly was always good-natured, ’tis 
said, ) 
“‘ Under the sun 
“<There’s no such fun, 
‘As Reason with my cap and bells on 
his head, [head !” 
‘Reason with my cap and bells on his 


But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly 

wore, [before ; 

That Beauty now liked him still lessthan 
While Folly took 
Old Reason’s book, 

And twisted the leaves in a cap of such 
That Beauty vow’d [ton, 
(Though not aloud, 

She liked him still better in that than his 

own, [his own. 

Yes, —liked him still better in that than 


FARE THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY 
ONE. 
(SICILIAN AIR.) 
Fare thee well, thou lovely one! 
Lovely still, but dear no more; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 


Love’s sweet life is o’er. 
Thy words, whate’er their flatt’ring spell, 
Could scarce have thus deceived ; 
But eyes that acted truth so well 
Were sure to be believed. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! 
Lovely still, but dear no more ; 
Once his soul of truth is gone, 
Love’s sweet life is o’er. 


Yet those eyes look constant still, 
True as stars they keep their light; 
Still those cheeks their pledge ful 
Of blushing always bright. 
Tis only on thy changeful heart 
The blame of falsehood 1165; 
Love lives in every other part, 
But there, alas! he dies. 
Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! 
Lovely still, but dear no more; 
Once bis soul of truth is gone, 
Love’s sweet life is o’er. 


DOST THOU REMEMBER. 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 

Dost thou remember that place so lone- 
A place for lovers, and lovers only, [ly, 
Where first I told thee all my secret 
sighs ? [o’er thee, 
When, as the moonbeam, that trembled 
Illumed thy blushes, I knelt before thee, 
And read my hope’s sweet triumph in 
those eyes? [drawn to heart, 

Then, then, while closely heart was 
Love bound us—never, never more to 


part ! 
And when I eall’d thee by names the 
dearest* [lest;—— 


That love could fancy, the fondest, near- 
““My life, my only life!” among the 
rest ; {me, 
In those sweet accents that still enthral 
Thou saidst, “Ah! wherefore thy life 
thus call me? [love best ; 
‘Thy soul, thy soul’s the name that I 
“ For life soon passes, —but how bless’d 
to be [from thee !”’ 
“That Soul which never, never parts 
OH, COME TO ME WHEN DAY- 
LIGHT SETS. 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 
On, come to me when daylight sets ; 
Sweet! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 


* The thought in this verseis borrowed from 
the original Portuguese words. 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


O’er the moonlight sea. 

When Mirth’s awake, and Love begins, 
Beneath that glancing ray, 

With sound of lutes and mandolins, 
To steal young hearts pull 

Then, come to me when daylight sets; 
Sweet! then come to me, 

When smoothly go our gondolets 
O’er the moonlight sea. 


Oh, then’s the honr for those who love, 
Sweet! like thee and me; 
When all’s so calm below, abeve, 
In heay’n and o’er the sea. 
When maidens sing sweet barcarolles* 
And Heho sings again 
So sweet, that all with ears and souls 
Should love and listen then. 
So, come to me when daylight sets ; 
_ Sweet! then come to me, 
When smoothly go our gondolets 
O’er the moonlight sea. 


OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT. 
(ScorcH AIR.) 
OFT, in the stilly night, 
Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me, 
Fond Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me; 
The smiles, the tears, 
Of boyhood’s years, 
The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes that shone 
Now dimm’d and gone, 
The cheerful hearts now broken! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 
_ Bre Slumber’s chain hath bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 


When Τ remember all 
The friends, so link’d together, 
I’ve seen around me fall, 
Like leaves in wintry weather ; 
I feel like one, 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled, 
Whose garland’s dead, 
And all but.he departed ! 
Thus, in the stilly night, 
Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me, 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 


* Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue 
Vénitienne, que chantent les gondoliers ἃ Ven- 


 ise.—Rousseau, Dictionnaire de Musique. 


297 


HARK! THE VESPER HYMN IS 
STEALING. 
(RUSSIAN AIR.) 


HARK! the vesper hymn is stealing 
O’er the waters soft and clear; 
Nearer yet and nearer pealing, 
And now bursts upon the ear: 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Farther now, now farther stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear: 
Jubilate, Amen. 


Now, like moonlight waves retreating 
To the shore, it dies along ; 
Now, like angry surges meeting, 
Breaks the mingled tide of song: 
Jubilate, Amen. 
Hush! again, like waves, retreating 
To the shore, it dies along : 
Jubilate, Amen. 


LOVE AND HOPE. 
(Swiss ΑἸ.) 


AT morn, beside yon summer sea, 
Young Hope and Love reclined ; 
But scarce had noontide come, when he 
Into his bark leap’d smmilingly, 
And left poor Hope behind. 


“1 go,” said Love, “ to sail awhile 
“ Across this sunny main ;” 
And then so sweet his parting smile, 
That Hope, who never dream’d of guile, 
Believed he’d come again. 


She linger’d there till evening’s beam 
Along the waters lay ; 

And o’er the sands, in thoughtful dream, 

Oft traced his name, which still the 
As often wash’d away. {stream 


At length a sail appears in sight, 
And tow’rd the maiden moves ! 
’Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and 
bright, 
His golden bark reflects the light, 
But ah! it is not Love’s. 


Another sail—’twas Friendship show’d 
Her night-lamp o’er the sea; 

And calm the light that lamp bestow’d; 

But Love had lights that warmer glow’d, 
And where, alas! was he? 


Now fast around the sea and shore 
Night threw her darkling chain ; 


298 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


The sunny sails were seen no more, 
Hope’s morning dreams of bliss were 
Love never came again. [o’er,— 


THERE COMES A TIME. 
(GERMAN AIR.) 


THERE comes a time, a dreary time, 
To him whose heart hath flown 
O’er all the fields of youth’s sweet prime, 
And made each flower its own. 
’Tis when his soul must first renounce 
Those dreams so bright, so fond ; 
Oh! then’s the time to die at once, 
For life has naught beyond. 


When sets the sun on Afric’s shore, 
That instant all is night ; 

And so should life at once be o’er, 
When Love withdraws his light ;— 

Nor, like our northern day, gleam on 
Through twilight’s dim delay, 

The cold remains of lustre gone, 
Of fire long pass’d away. 


MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANG- 
ING THEME. 


(SWEDISH AIR.) 


My harp has one unchanging theme, 
One strain that still comes o’er 

Its languid chord, as twere a dream 
Of joy that’s now no more. 

In vain I try, with livelier air, 
To wake the breathing string; 

That voice of other times is there, 
And saddens all I sing. 


Breathe on, breathe on, thou languid 
Henceforth be all my own;  [strain, 
Though thou art oft so full of pain 
Few hearts can bear thy tone, 
Yet oft thou’rt sweet, as if the sigh, 
The breath that Pleasure’s wings 
Gave out, when last they wanton’d by, 
Were still upon thy strings. 
NO—NOT EV’N WHEN FIRST 
WE LOVED. 


(CASHMERIAN AIR.) 


OH, 


On, no—not ον ἢ when first we loved, 
Wert thou as dear as now thou art; 

Thy beauty then my senses moved, 
But now thy virtues bind my heart. 

What was but Passion’s sigh before, 


Has Bhat been turned to Reason’s 

[more, 

And, thongs I then might love thee 
Trust me, I love thee better now. 


Although my heart in earlier youth 
Might kindle with more wild desire, 
Believe me, it has gain’d in truth 
Much more than it has lost in fire. 
The flame now warms my inmost core, 
That then but sparkled o’er my brow, 
And, though I seem’d to love thee more, 
Yet, oh, I love thee better now. 


PEACE BE AROUND THER. 
(ScotcH AIR.) 


PEACE be around thee, wherever thou 
rovest ; 
May life be for thee one summevr’s day, 
And all that thou wishest, and all that 
thou lovest, 
Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
If sorrow e’er this calm should break, 
May even thy tears pass off so lightly, 
Like spring-showers, they’ll only make 
The smiles that follow shine more 
brightly. 


May Time, who sheds his blight o’er all, 
And daily dooms some joy to death, 
O’er thee let years so gently fall, [meath. 
They shall not crush one flower be- 
As half in skade and half in sun 
This world along its path advances, 
May that side the sun’s upon 
Be all that e’er shall meet thy glances ! 


COMMON SENSE AND GENIUS. 
(FRENCH AIR.) 


WuiLe 1 touch the string, 

Wreath my brows with laurel, 
For the tale I sing 

Has, for once, a moral. 
Common Sense, one night, 

Though not used to gambols, 
Went out by moonlight, 

With Genius, on his rambles. 

While I touch the string, &e. 


Common Sense went on, 
Many wise things saying; 

While the light that shone 
Soon set Genius straying. 


One his eye ne’er raised 
From the path before him. 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


T’other idly gazed 
On each night-cloud o’er bim. 
While I touch the string, &c. 


So they came, at last, 
To a shady river; 
Common Sense soon pass’d, 
Safe, as he doth ever; 
While the boy, whose look 
Was in Heaven that minute, 
Never saw the brook, 
But tumbled headlong in it! 
While I touch the string, &c. 


How the Wise One smiled, 

When safe o’er the torrent, 
At that youth, so wild, 

Dripping from the current ! 
Sense went home to bed; 

Genius, left to shiver 
On the bank, ’tis said, 

Died of that cold river ! 

While I touch the string, &c. 


THEN, FARE THEE WELL. 
(OLD ENGLISH AIR.) 


THEN, fare thee well, my own dear love, 
This world has now for us 
No greater grief, no pain above 
The pain of parting thus, 
Dear love! 
The pain of parting thus 


Had we but known, since first we met, 
Some few short hours of bliss, 
We might, in numb’ring them, forget 
The deep, deep pain of this, 
Dear love! 
The deep, deep pain of this. 


But no, alas, we’ve never seen 
One Pee of pleasure’s ray, 
But still there came some cloud between, 
And chased it all away, 
Dear love! 
And chased it all away. 


Yet, ev’n could those sad moments last, 
Far dearer to my heart 
Were hours of grief, together pass’d, 
Than years of mirth apart, 
Dear love ! 
Than years of mirth apart. 


Farewell! our hope was born in fears, 
And nursed ’mid vain regrets ; 
Like winter suns, it rose in tears, 


| Like them in tears it sets, 
Dear love! 
Like them in tears it sets. 


GAYLY SOUNDS THE CASTANET. 
(MALTESE AIR.) 


GAYLY sounds the castanet, 
Beating time to bounding feet, 
When, after daylight’s golden set, 
Maids and youths by moonlight meet. 
Oh, then, how sweet to move 
Through all that maze of mirth 
Led by light from eyes we love 
Beyond all eyes on earth. 


Then, the joyous banquet spread 
On the cool and fragrant ground, 
With heay’n’s bright sparkles overhead, 
And still brighter sparkling round. - 
Oh, then, how sweet to say 
Into some loved one’s ear, 
Thoughts reserved through many a day 
To be thus whisper’d here. 


When the dance and feast are done, 
Arm in arm as home we stray, 
How sweet to see the dawning sun 
O’er her cheek’s warm blushes play ! 
Then, too, the farewell kiss— 
The words, whose parting tone 
Lingers still in dreams of bliss, 
That haunt young hearts alone. 


LOVE IS A HUNTER BOY. 
(LANGUEDOCIAN AIR.) 


LOVE is a hunter boy, 
Who makes young hearts his prey ; 
And, in his nets of joy, 
Ensnares them night and day. 
In vain conceal’d they lie— 
Love tracks them everywhere ; 
In vain aloft they fly— 
Love shoots them flying there. 


| But ’tis his joy most sweet, 
At early dawn to trace 
The print of Beauty’s feet, 
And give the trembler chase, 
And if, through virgin snow, 
He tracks her footsteps fair, 
| How sweet for Love to know 
| None went before him there. 


900 
COME, CHASE THAT STARTING 
TEAR AWAY. 


(FRENCH AIR.) 


Come, chase that starting tear away, 
Ere mine to meet it springs; 
To-night, at least, to-night be gay, 
Whate’er to-morrow brings. 
Like sunset gleams, that linger late 
When all is dark’ning fast, [Fate— 
Are hours like these we snatch from 
The brightest and the last. 
Then, chase that starting tear, &e. 


To gild the deep’ning gloom, if Heaven 
But one bright hour allow, 

Oh, think that one bright hour 1s given 
In all its splendor now. 

Let’s live it out—then sink in night, 
Like waves that from the shore 

One minute swell, are touch’d with light, 
Then lost for evermore ! 

Come, chase that starting tear, &c. 


JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEET- 
ING! 


(PORTUGURSE AIR.) 


WuHisp’RINGS, heard by wakeful maids, 
To whom the night stars guide us; 
Stolen walks through moonlight shades, 

With those we love beside us; 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting ; 
Tears starting, 
At parting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades ! 
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting! 


Wand’rings far away from home, 
With life all new before us; 
Greetings warm, when home we come, 
From hearts whose prayers watch’d 
Tears starting, [o’er us. 
At parting ; 
Hearts beating, 
At meeting ; 
Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some ! 
To some, how bright and fleeting! 


HEAR ME BUT ONCE. 
(FRENCH AIR.) 


HEAR me but once, while o’er the grave, 
In which our Love lies cold and dead, 
I count each flatt’ring hope he gaye 


Of joys now lost, and charms now fled, | 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Who could have thought the smile he © 


wore, 
When first we met, would fade away ? 
Or that a chill would e’er come o’er 
Those eyes so bright through many a 
day? 
Hear me but once, &e. 


WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. 
(SWEDISH AIR.) 


WHEN Love was a child, and went idling 
round, [day, 
’Mong flowers, the whole summer’s 
One morn in the valley a bower he found, 
So sweet, it allured him to stay. 


O’erhead, from the trees, hung a garland 
fair 
A fountam ran darkly beneath ;— 
’T was Pleasure had hung up the flow’r- 
ets there; [wreath. 
Love knew it, and jump’d at the 


But Love didn’t know—and, at his weak 
years, 
What urchin was likely to know ?— 
That Sorrow had made of her own salt 
3 


The fountain that murmur’d below. 


He caught at the wreath—but with too 
much haste, 
As boys when impatient will do— 
It fell in those waters of briny taste, 
And the flowers were all wet through. 


This garland he now wears night and 


day ; 
And, though it all sunny appears 
With Pleasure’s own light, each leaf, 
they say, 
Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears. 


SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR 
SPORT TO-DAY? 


(SICILIAN AIR.) 


Say, what shall be our sport to-day? 
There’s nothing on earth, in sea, or air, 
Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, 
Tor spirits like mine to dare ! 
’Tis like the returning bloom 
Of those days, alas, gone by, 
When I loved, each hour—I searce knew 
whom— 
And was bless’d—I scarce knew why. 


Aas 
‘=e 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


Ay—those were days when life had 
wings, 
And flew, oh, flew so wild a height, 
That, like the lark which sunward 
springs, 
’Twas giddy with too much light. 
And, though of some plumes bereft, 
With that sun, too, nearly set, 
T’ve enough of light and wing still left 
For a few gay soarings yet. 


BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. 
(WELSH AIR.) 


Brieut be thy dreams—may all thy 
weepin [ing. 
Turn into smiles while thou art sleep- 
May those by death or seas removed, 
The friends, who in thy spring-time 
knew thee, 

All, thou hast ever prized or loved, 

In dreams come smiling to thee! 


There may the child, whose love lay 
deepest, 
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ; 
Still as she was—no charm forgot— 
No lustre lost that life had given ; 
Or, if changed, but changed to what 
Thow It find her yet in heaven! 


GO, THEN—’TIS VAIN. 
(SICILIAN AIR.) “ 
Go, then—’tis vain to hover 
Thus round a hope that’s dead; 


At length my dream is over; 
Twas sweet—twas false—'tis fled ! 


Farewell! since naught it moves thee, 


Such truth as mine to see — 
Some one, who far less loves thee, 
Perhaps more bless’d will be. 


Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness 
New life around me shed ; 

Farewell, false heart, whose lightness 
Now leaves me death instead. 

Go, now, those charms surrender 
To some new lover’s sigh— 

One who, though far less tender, 
May be more bless’d than I. 


THE CRYSTAL-HUNTERS. 
(Swiss Arr.) 


O’ER mountains bright 
With snow and light, 


301 


We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 
While rocks and caves, 
And icy waves, 

Each instant echo to our song ; 
And, when we meet with store of gems, 
We grudge not kings their diadems. 

O’er mountains bright 
With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along; 
While grots and caves, 
And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 


Not half so oft the lover dreams 

Of sparkles from his lady’s eyes, 
As we of those refreshing gleams 

That tell where deep the crystal lies ; 
Though, next to crystal, we too grant, 


| That ladies’ eyes may most enchant. 


O’er mountains bright, &c. 


Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose 

The golden sunset leaves its ray, 
So like a gem the flow’ ret glows, 

We thither bend our headlong way; 
And, though we find no treasure there, 
We bless the rose that shines so fair. 

O’er mountains bright 
With snow and light, 
We Crystal-Hunters speed along ; 
While rocks and caves, 
And icy waves, 
Each instant echo to our song. 


ROW GENTLY HERE. 


(VENETIAN AIR.) 


Row gently here, 
My gondoler, 
So softly wake the tide, 
That not an ear, 
On earth, may hear, 
But hers to whom we glide. 
Ha Heaven buttonguestospeak, as well 
As starry eyes to see, 
Oh. think what tales ’twould have to tell 
Of wandering youths like me! 


Now rest thee here, 

My gondolier ; 
Hush, hush, for up I go, 

To climb yon light 

Baleony’s height, 
While thou keep’st watch below. 
Ah! did we take for Heaven aboye 

But half such pains as we 

Take, day and night, for woman’s love, 
What Angels we should be! 


302 MOORE’S 


H, DAYS OF YOUTH. 
(FRENCH AIR.) : 


On, days of youth and joy, long clouded, 
Why thus forever haunt my view? [ed, 
When in the grave your light lay shroud- 
Why did not Memory die there too? 
Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing 
Telling of joys that yet remain— [me, 
No, never more can this life bring me 
One joy thatequals youth’s sweet pain. 


Dim lies the way to death before me, 
Cold winds of Time blow round my 
brow ; [me, 
Sunshine of youth! that once fell o’er 
Whereis your warmth, yourglory now? 
’Tis not that then no pain could sting 


me ; 
’Tis not that now no joys remain ; 
Oh, ’tis that life no more can bring me 
One joy so sweet as that worst pain. 


WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 


Wuen first that smile, like sunshine, 
bless’d my sight, 


Oh what a vision then came o’er me! | 
Long years of love, of calm and pure 


delight, 
Seem’d in that smile to pass before me. 
Ne’er did the peasant dream of summer 
skies, [ing, 
Of golden fruit, and harvests spring- 
With fonder hope than I of those sweet 
eyes, {ing. 
And of the joy their light was bring- 


Where now are all those fondly promised 


hours ? 
Ah! woman’s faith is like her bright- 
ness— [flowers, 


Fading as fast as rainbows, or day- 

Or aught that’s known for grace and 

lightness. 

Short as the Persian’s prayer, at close of 

Should be each vow of Love’s repeat- 

ing; [ray— 

Quick let him worship Beauty’s precious 

Even while he kneels, that ray is fleet- 
ing ! 


PERACE TO THE SLUMB’RERS! 
(CATALONIAN AIR.) 


PEACE to the slumb’rers ! 
They lie on the battle-plain, 


[day, | 


WORKS. 


| 
With no shroud to cover them; . 


The dew and the summer rain 
Are all that weep over them. 
Peace to the slumb’rers ! 


Vain was their brav’ry !— 
The fallen oak lies where it lay 
| Across the wintry river ; 
But brave hearts, once swept away, 
Are gone, alas! forever. 
Vain was their bray’ry ! 


Wo to the conq’ror! 
Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs 
Of whom his sword bereft us, 
Ere we forget the deep arrears 
Of vengeance they have left us! 
Wo to the conq’ror ! 


WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER. 
(SICILIAN AIR.) 


| WHEN thou shalt wander by that sweet 
light ; 
We used to gaze on so many an eve, 
When love was new and hope was bright, 
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive— 
Oh, then, remem’bring how swift went 
Υ͂ [may’st sigh. 
'Those hours of transport, even thou 


Yes, proud one ! even thy heart may own 
That love like ours was far too sweet 
To be, like summer garments, thrown 
Aside, when pass’d the summer’s heat; 
And wish in vain to know again [then. 
Such days, such nights, as bless’d thee 


WHO’LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS? 
(PORTUGUESE AIR.) 


Hymen, late, his love-knots selling, 

'Call’d at many a maiden’s dwelling, 

None could doubt, who saw or knew 
them, 

Hymen’s call was welcome to them. 
‘Who'll buy my love-knots? 
“Who'll buy my love-knots ?” 

Soon as that sweet cry resounded, 

How his baskets were surrounded ! 


Maids, who now first dream’d of trying 
These gay knots of Hymen’s tying ; 

Dames, who long had sat to watch him 

| Passing by, but ne’er could catch him 5 

| “Who'll buy my love-knots ? 

| “Who'll buy my love-knots ?”— 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


All at that sweet ery assembled ; 
Some laugh’d, some blush’d, and some 
trembled. 


“‘ Here are knots,” said Hymen, taking 
Some loose flowers, “οἵ Love’s own 
making ; [’em ”— 
“Here are gold ones—you may trust 
(These, of course, found ready custom, ) 
“Come, buy my love-knots ! 
“Come, buy my love-knots ! 
“Some are labell’d ‘ Knots to tie men— 
“* Love the maker —Bought of Hymen.’” 


Scarce their bargains were completed, 
When the nymphs all cried, ‘ We’re 
cheated ! [sadly ; 
“See these flowers—they’re drooping 
“This gold-knot, too, ties but badly — 
“Who'd buy such love-knots ? 
“Who'd buy such love-knots ? 
*‘ Vven this tie, with Love’s name round 
it— 
“* All a sham—He never bound it.” 


Love, who saw the whole proceeding, 
Would have laugh’d but for good-breed- 


ing, 
While Old Hymen, who was used to 
Cries like that these dames gave loose 
to— 
‘Take back our love-knots! 
‘Take back our love-knots !” 
Coolly said, ‘‘There’s no returning 
“Wares on Hymen’s hands—Good morn- 
ing |” 


SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN. 
(To AN AIR SUNG AT ROME, ON CHRISTMAS 
EVE.) 

SEE, the dawn from Heaven 15 breaking 
O’er our sight, 

And Earth, from sin awaking, 
Hails the hght ! 

See those groups of angels, winging 
From the realms above, 

On their brows, from Eden, bringing 
Wreaths of Hope and Love. 


Hark, their hymns of glory pealing 
Through the air, 

To mortal ears revealing 
Who hes there ! 

In that dwelling, dark and lowly, 
Sleeps the Heavenly Son, 

He, whose home’s above,—the Holy, 
Ever Holy One! 

* Suggested by the followmg remark of 
Swift:—“ The reason why so few marriages 


303 


NETS AND CAGES.* 
(SWEDISH AIR.) 


ComE, listen to my story, while 
Your needles’ task you ply ; 
At what I sing some maids will smile, 
While some, perhaps, may sigh. 
Though Love’s the theme, and Wisdom 
blames 
Such florid songs as ours, [dames, 
Yet Truth sometimes, like eastern 
Can speak her thoughts by flowers. 


Then listen, maids, come listen, while 
Your needles’ task you ply ; 

At what I sing there’s some may smile, 
While some, perhaps, will sigh. 


Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, 
Such nets had learn’d to frame, 
That none, in all her vales and groves, 
Ler caught so much small game: 
But gentle Sue, less giv’n to roam, 
While Cloe’s nets were taking 
Such lots of Loves, sat still at home, 
One little Love-cage making. 
Come, listen, maids, &c. 


Much Cloe laugh’d at Susan’s task ; 
But mark how things wenton: [ask 
These lhight-caught Loves, ere you could 
Their name and age, were gone ! 

So weak poor Cloe’s nets were wove, 
That, though she charm’d into them 
New game each hour, the youngest Love 
Was able to break through them. 

Come, listen, maids, &e. 


Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was 
wrought 

Of bars too strong to sever, 

One Love with golden pinions caught, 
And caged him there forever ; 

Instructing, thereby, all coquettes, 
Whate’er their looks or ages, 

That, though ’tis pleasant weaving Nets, 
’Tis wiser to make Cages. 

Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile 
The task your fingers ply.— 

May all who hear like Susan smile, 
And not, hke Cloe, sigh! 


WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZETTA, 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 
WueEn through the Piazetta 
Night breathes her cool air, 


are happy, is, because young ladies spend their 
time in making nets, not in making cages.” 


904 MOORE'S WORKS. 


Then, dearest Ninetta, 
111 come to thee there. 
Beneath thy mask shrouded, 
T’ll know thee afar, 
As Love knows, though clouded, 
His own Evening Star. 


In garb, then, resembling 
Some gay gondolier, 
711 whisper thee, trembling, 
“ Our bark, love, is near: 
‘‘Now, now, while there hover 
“Those clouds o’er the moon, 
‘Twill watt thee safe over 
““Yon silent Lagoon.” 


GO, NOW, AND DREAM. 
(SICILIAN AIR.) 


Go, now, and dream o’er that joy in thy 
slumber— {number. 


Moments so sweet again ne’er shalt thou 


Of Pain’s bitter draught the flavor ne’er 

flies, [ere it dies. 

While Pleasure’s scarce touches the lip 
Go, then, and dream, &c. 


That moon, which hung o’er your part- 

ing, so splendid, [did— 

Often will shine again, bright as she then 

But, never more will the beam she saw 

burn [return. 

In those happy eyes, at your meeting, 
Go, then, and dream, &e. 


TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. 
(NEAPOLITAN AIR.) 


TAKE hence the bow]l;—though beaming 
Brightly as bowl e’er shone, 
Oh, it but sets me dreaming 
Of lappy days now gone. 
There, in its clear reflection, 
As in a wizard’s glass, 
Lost hopes and dead affection, 
Like shades, before me pass. 


Each cup I drain brings hither 
Some scenes of bliss gone by ;— 
Bright lips, too bright to wither, 
Warm hearts, too warm to die. 
Till, as the dream comes o’er me 
Of those long-yanish’d years, 
Alas, the wine before me 
Seems turning a!l to tears! 


FAREWELL, THERESA ! 
(VENETIAN AIR.) 


FAREWELL, Theresa! yon cloud that 
over [see, 
Heaven’s pale night-star gatl’ring we 
Will scarce from that pure orb have 
pass’d, ere thy lover [from thee. 

Swift o’er the wide wave shall wander 


Long, like that dim cloud, I’ve hung 
around thee, [brow ; 
Dark’ning thy prospects, sadd’ning thy 
With gay heart, Theresa, and bright 
cheek I found thee ; 
Oh, think how changed, love, how 
changed art thou now ! 


But here I free thee: like one awaking 

From fearful slumber, thou break’st 

the spell; [is breaking— 

’Tis over—the moon, too, her bondage 

Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, 
farewell! 


HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING 
STARS. 


(SAVOYARD AIR. 


Ort, when the watching stars grow pale, 
And round me sleeps the moonlight 
scene, 
To hear a flute through yonder vale 
I from my casement lean. 
“Come, come, my love!”’ each note then 
seems to say, [fast away !” 
“Oh, come, my love! the night wears 
Never to mortal ear 
Could words, though warm they be, 
Speak Passion’s language half so 
As do those notes tome! [clear 


Then quick my own light lute I seek, 
And strike the chords with loudest 
swell; [speak, 
And, though they naught to others 
He knows their language well. 
«© come, my love!’ each note then 
eems to say, [break of day.’’ 
“. come, my love!—thine, thine till 
Oh, weak the power of words, 
The hues of painting dim, 
Compared to what those simple 
chords 
Then say and paint to him! 


ΠΈΣΕ, 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


305 


eee νΠΙρρΟορο»ἕ͵ρηἨοηἠ ἑ |ιοἠὀἠἠἠΤτ γρττᾷυῸςςς..--ςςς 


WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE. | Then the sky of this life opens o’er us, 


(GERMAN ATR.) 


Wuen the first summer bee 
O’er the young rose shall hover, 
Then, like that gay rover, 
l’llcome to thee. 


He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets 
ite and for him ! 
What a meeting, what a meeting for 


to the brim— 


When the first summer bee, &c. 


Then to every bright tree 
In the garden he’ll wander; 
While I, oh, much fonder, 
Will stay with thee. 


In search of new sweetness through 


thousands he'll run, [in one. 


While I find the sweetness of thousands 


Then, to every bright tree, dc. 


THOUGH ’TIS ALL BUT A DREAM. 
(FRENCH AIR.) 


THOUGH ’tis all but a dream at the best, 
Andstill, when happiest, soonest o’er, 
Yet, even in a dream, to be bless’d 
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. 
The bosom that opes 
With earliest hopes, 
The soonest finds those hopes untrue ; 
As flowers that first 
In spring-time burst 
The earliest wither too ! 
Ay—tis all but a dream, &c. 


Though by Friendship we oft are de- 
ceived, [cast, 
And find Love’s sunshine soon o’er- 
Yet Friendship will still be believed, 
And Love trusted on to the last. 
The web ’mong the leaves 
The spider weaves [men ; 
Is like the charm Hope hangs o’er 
Though often she sees 
Tis broke by the breeze, 
She spins the bright tissue again. 
Ay—'tis all but a dream, ἄο. 


WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMIL- 
ING. 
(ITALIAN AIR.) 
WHEN the wine-cup is smiling before us, 


And we pledge round to hearts that 
are true, boy, true, 


And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. 
Talk of Adam in Eden reclining, 

We are better, far better off thus, boy, 

thus ; [ing— 

For him but two bright eyes were shin- 

See, what numbers are sparkling for us! 


When on one side the grape-juice is 
dancing, [boy, beams, 
While on t’other a blue eye beams, 
Tis enough, ’twixt the wine and the 
glancing, 
To disturb ev’na saint from his dreams. 
Yet, though life like a river is flowing, 
I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, 
So the grape on its bank is still growing, 
And love lights the waves as they run. 


WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR 
SHAME? 


(NEAPOLITAN AIR.) 


WHeEre shall we bury our shame ? 
Where, in what desolate place, 
Hide the last wreck of a name 
Broken and stain’d by disgrace ? 
Death may dissever the chain, 
Oppression will cease when we're gone; 
But the dishonor, the stain, 
Die as we may, will live on. 


Was it for this we sent out 
Liberty’s ery from our shore ? 
Was it for this that her shout 
Thrill’d to the world’s very core ? 
Thus to live cowards and slaves !— 
Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead, 
Do you not, ev’n in your graves, 
Shudder, as o’er you we tread? 


NE’ER TALK OF WISDOMS 
GLOOMY SCHOOLS. 


(MAHRATTA AIR.) 


Nw’rr talk of Wisdom’s gloomy schools ; 
Give me the sage who’s able 

To draw his moral thoughts and rules 
From the study of the table ;— 

Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass 
This world and all that’s in it, [glass, 

From the bumper that but crowns his 
And is gone again next minute ! 


The diamond sleeps within the mine, 
The pearl beneath the water ; 

While Truth, more precious, dwells im 
The grape’s own rosy daughter.[wine, 


306 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


TT ES 


And none can prize her charms like him, 
Oh, none like him obtain her, 

Who thus can, like Leander, swim 
Through sparkling floods to gain her ! 


HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. 
(HIGHLAND AIR.) 
HERE sleeps the Bard who knew so well 
All thesweet windings of Apollo’s shell ; 
Whether its music roll’d like torrents 
near, Lear. 
Or died, like distant streamlets, on the 
Sleep, sleep, mute bard ; alike unheeded 
now [brow — 
The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless 
That storm, whose rush is like thy mar- 
tial lay ; [dies away! 
That breeze which, like thy love-song, 


DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS 
WANING. 


Do not say that life is waning, 
Or that Hope’s sweet day is set; 
While I’ve thee and love remaining, 
Life is in th’ horizon yet. 


Do not think those charms are flying, 
Though thy roses fade and fall; 

Beauty hath a grace undying, 
Which in thee survives them all. 


Not for charms, the newest, brightest, 
That on other cheeks may shine, 

Would I change the least, the slightest, 
That is ling’ring now o’er thine. 


THE GAZELLE. 


Dost thou not hear the silver bell, 

Through yonder lime-trees ringing ? 
"Tis my lady’s light gazelle, 

To me her love thoughts bringing, — 
All the while that silver bell 

Around his dark neck ringing. 


See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, 
My love hath kiss’d in tying; 

Oh, what tender thoughts beneath 
Those silent flowers are lying,— 

Hid within the mystic wreath, 
My love hath kiss’d in tying! 


Welcome, dear g¢zelle, to thee, 
And joy to her, the fairest, 
Who thus hath breathed her soul to me, 
In every leaf thou bearest ; 
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, 
And joy to her, the fairest i 


Hail ye living, speaking flowers, 
That breathe of her who bound ye; 
Oh, ’twas not in fields or bowers, 
’*T was on her lips, she found ye ;— 
Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 
"T'was on her lips she found ye. 


NO—LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. 


No—leave my heart to rest, if rest it 
may, [pass’d away. 

When youth, and love, and hope, have 

each Hous when summer hours are 

2 ed, 

To some poor leaf that’s fall’n and dead, 

Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it 
shed? 

No—leave this heart torest, if rest itmay, 

When youth, and love, and hope, have 
pass’d away. 


Oh, had I met thee then, when life was 
bright, [light ; 
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil 
But now thou com’st like sunny skies, 
Too late to cheer the seaman’s eyes, 
When wreck’d and lost his bark before 
him lies! [may, 
No—leave this heart to rest, if rest it 
Since youth, and love, and hope, have 
pass’d away. 


WHERE ARE THE VISIONS. 


“WHERE are the visions that round me 
once hoyer’d, [shadows alone; 
“Forms that shed grace from their 
Looks fresh as light from a star just dis- 
cover’d, [her own?” 

“ And voices that Music might take for 


Time, while I spoke, with his wings 
resting o’er me, [ions, oh, where ?” 
Heard me say, ‘‘ Where are those vis- 
And pointing his wand to the sunset be- 
fore me, [wind, “ There.” 

Said, with a voice like the hollow 


Fondly I look’d, when the wizard had 
spoken, [οἵ day, 

And there, mid the dim shining ruins 
Saw, by their light, like a talisman 
broken, [melt away. 

The last golden fragments of hope 


WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER 
BOY. 


Winp thy horn, my hunter boy, 
And ieave thy lute’s inglorious sighs ; 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


307 


Hunting is the hero’s joy, 

Till war his nobler game supplies. 
Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet, 
While hunters shout, and the woods re- 


peat, 
Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho ! 


Wind again thy cheerful horn, 
Till echo, faint with answ’ring, dies ; 
Bum, bright torches, burn till morn, 
And lead us where the wild boar lies. 
Hark! the cry, “‘ He’s found, he’s found,” 
While hill and valley our shouts resound, 
Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho ! 


OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION. 


Ou, guard our affection, nor e’er let it 
eel {est will steal : 
The blight that this world o’er the warm- 
While the faith of all round us is fading 
or past, [the last. 
Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to 


Far safer for Love ’tis to wake and to 
weep, [to sleep ; 
As he used in his prime, than go smiling 
For death on his slumber, cold death 
follows fast, to the last. 
While the love that is wakeful lives on 


And though, as Time gathers his clouds 
o’er our head, [may spread, 
A shade somewhat darker o’er life they 
Transparent, at least, be the shadow 
they cast, [through to the last. 
So that Love’s soften’d light may shine 


SLUMBER, OH SLUMBER. 


‘‘S_umsBeEr, oh slumber, if sleeping thou 
mak’st thou wak’st.” 
“‘My heart beat so wildly, I’m lost if 
Thus sung I to a maiden, 
Who slept one summer's day, 
And, like a flower o’erladen 
With too much sunshine, lay. 
Slumber, oh slumber, &e. 


‘Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, 
o’er her cheeks; 
‘Tf mute thus she charms me, I’m lost 
when she speaks.”’ 
Thus sing I, while, awaking, 
She murmurs words that seem 
As if her lips were taking 
Farewell of some sweet dream. 
Breathe not, oh breathe not, &e. 


BRING THE BRIGHT GARLANDS 
HITHER. 


Brine the bright garlands hither, 
Ere yet a leaf is dying ; 

If so soon they must wither, 
Ours be their last sweet sighing. 

Hark, that low dismal chime! 

’Tis the dreary voice of Time. 

Oh, bring beauty, bring roses, 
Bring all that yet is ours; 

Let life’s day, as it closes, 
Shine to the last through flowers. 


Haste, ere the bowl’s declining, 
Drink of it now or never; 

Now, while Beauty is shining, 
Love, or she’s lost forever. 

Hark ! Spain that dull chime, 

’Tis the dreary voice of Time. 

Oh, if life be a torrent, 
Down to oblivion going, 

Like this cup be its current, 
Bright to the last drop flowing ! 


IF IN LOVING, SINGING. 


ΤΕ in loving, singing, night and day 

We could trifle merrily life away, 

Like atoms dancing in the beam, 

Like day-flies skimming o’er the stream, 
Or summer blossoms, born to sigh 
Their sweetness out, and die— 

How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, 
Thou and I could make our minutes 
No atoms ever glanced so bright, [glide! 
No day-flies ever danced so light, 

Nor summer blossoms mix’d their sigh, 
So close as thou and I! 


THOU LOV’ST NO MORE. 
Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken, 
Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o’er ; 
Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken, 
Thou loy’st no more—thou loy’st no 


more. 
Though kindly still those eyes behold 
me [wore ; 


The smile is gone which once they 
Though fondly still those arms enfold 
me, {more. 

Tis not the same—thou loy’st no 


Too long my dream of bliss believing, 
l’ve thought thee all thou wert before ; 

But now—alas ! there’s no deceiving, 
Tis all too plain, thon loy’st no more. 


808 MOORE’S WORKS. 


Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, 
As lost affection’s life restore, 

Give peace to her that is forsaken, 
Or bring back him who loves no more. 


But hush, gentle syren—for, ah, there’s 
less danger [again. 
In still suff’ring on, than in hoping 


Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for re- 
pining, [lain ; 
Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath 
And joy coming now, like a sudden 
light shining [me but pain. 

O’er eyelids long darken’d, would bring 


Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would 
shed o’er me ; [rest 

Lost to the future, my sole chance of 
Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that’s 
before me, [blest. 

But ah—in forgetting how once I was 


WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD. 


WHEN abroad in the world thou appear- 
est, [there, 
And the young and the lovely are 
To my heart while of all {που τὺ the 
dearest, 
To my eyes thou’rt of all the most fair. 
They pass, one by one, 
Like waves of the sea, 
That say to the Sun, 
““ See, how fair we can be.” 
But where’s the light like thine, 
Tn sun or shade to shine? 
No—no, ’mong them all, there is noth- 
ing like thee, 
Nothing like thee. 


Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, 
Beauty’s self used to steal from the 
skies ; [morning, 
Fling a mist round her head, some fine 
And post down to earth in disguise ; 
But, no matter what shroud 
Around her might be, 
Men peep’d through the cloud, 
And whisper’d ‘’Tis She.” 
So thou, where thousands are, 
Shin’st forth the only star— 
Yes, yes, ’mong them all, there is noth- 
ing like thee, 
Nothing like thee. 


KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURE- 
LY MINE. 


Keep those eyes still purely mine, 


0 SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHT- 
EST. 


O say, thou best and brightest, 
My first love and my last, 
When he, whom now thou slightest, 
From life’s dark scene hath pass’d, 
Will kinder thoughts then move thee ? 
Will pity wake one thrill 
For him who lived to love thee, 
And dying, loved thee still? 


Tf when, that hour recalling 
From which he dates his woes, 
Thou feel’st a tear-drop falling, 
Ah, blush not while it flows : 
But, all the past forgiving, 
Bend gently o’er his shrine, 
And say, ‘‘This heart, when living, 
ἐς With all its faults, was mine.” 


WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE 


Though far off I be; HOUR. 
When on others most they shine, WHEN night brings the hour 
Then think they’re turn’d on me. Of starlight and joy, 


There comes to my bower 
A fairy-wing’d boy ; 
With eyes so bright, 
So full of wild arts, 
Like nets of light, 

To tangle young hearts ; 
With lips, in whose keeping 
Love’s secret may dwell, 

Like Zephyr asleep in 
Some rosy sea-shell. 
Guess who he is, 
Name but his name, 
And his best kiss, 
For reward, you may claim. 


Should those lips as now respond 
To sweet minstrelsy, 

When their accents seem most fond, 
Then think they’re breathed for me. 


Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, 
If when all on thee 

Fix their charmed thoughts alone, 
Thou think’st the while on me. 


HOPE COMES AGAIN. 

Hope comes again, to this heart long a 
stranger, [strain ; 

Once more she sings me her flattering 


NATIONAL AIRS. 


309 


Where’er o’er the ground 

He prints his light feet, 
The flow’rs there are found 

Most shining and sweet: 
His looks, as soft 

As lightning in May, 
Though dangerous oft, 

Ne’er wound but in play: 
And oh, when his wings 

Have brush’d o’er my lyre, 
You'd fancy its strings 

Were turning to fire. 
Guess who he is, 

Name but his name, 
And his best kiss, 

For reward, you may claim. 


LIKE ONE WHO, DOOM’D. 


LIKE one who, doom’d o’er distant seas 
His weary path to measure, [breeze, 

When home at length, with fay’ring 
He brings the far-sought treasure; 


His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, 
That shore to which he hasted; 

And all the wealth he thought his own 
Is o’er the waters wasted— 


Like him, this heart, thro’ many a track 
Of toil and sorrow straying, 

One hope alone brought fondly back, 
Its toil and grief repaying. 


Like him, alas, I see that ray 
Of hope before me perish, 

And one dark minute sweep away 
What years were given to cherish. 


FEAR NOTTHAT, WHILE AROUND 
THER. 


Fear not that, while around thee 
Life’s varied blessings pour, 
One sigh of hers shall wound thee, 
Whose smile thou seek’st no more. 
No, dead and cold forever 
Let our past love remain ; 
Once gone, its spirit never 
Shall haunt thy rest again. 


May the new ties that bind thee 
Far sweeter, happier prove, 
Nor e’er of me remind thee, 
But by their truth and love. 
Think how, asleep or waking, 
Thy image haunts me yet; 
But, how this heart is breaking 
For thy own peace forget. 


WHEN LOVE IS KIND. 


WHEN Love is kind, 
Cheerful and free, 

Love’s sure to find 
Welcome from me 


But when Love brings 
Heartache or pang, 
Tears, and such things— 
Love may go hang! 


If Love can sigh 
For one alone, 
Well pleased am I 

To be that one. 


But should I see 
Love giv’n to rove 

To two or three, 
Then—good-by, Love! 


Love must, in short, 
Keep fond and true, 

Through good report, 
And eyil too. 


Else, here I swear, 
Young Love may go, 
For aught I care— 
To Jericho. 


THE GARLAND I SEND THEE. 


Tut Garland I send thee was eull’d 
: from those bowers 
Where thou and I wander’d in long 
vanish’d hours ; [displays, 
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here 
But bears some remembrance of those 
happy days. 


The roses were gather’d by that garden 
gate, _ [seem’d always too late ; 

Where our meetings, though early, 

Where ling’ring full oft through a sum- 
mer night’s moon, 

Our partings, though late, 
always too soon. 


appear’d 


The rest were all cull’d from the banks 
of that glade, [we’ve stray’d, 
Where, watching the sunset, so often 
And mourn’d, as the time went, that 
Love had no power [hour. 
To bind in his chain even one happy 


HOW SHALL I W00? 
ΤΕ I speak to thee in ἘΗΒΆΘΗΣΤΗ name, 
Thou think’st I speak too coldly ; 


310 MOORE’S 


If I mention Love’s devoted flame, 
Thou say’st I speak too boldly. 
Between these two unequal fires, 
Why doom me thus to hover ? 
I’m a friend, if such thy heart requires, 
If more thou seek’st, a lover. 
Which shall it be? How shall I woo? 
Fair one, choose between the two. 


Tho’ the wings of Love will brightly play, 
When first he comes to woo thee, 

There’s a chance that he may fly away 
As fast as he flies to thee. [ come, 

While Friendship, though on foot she 
No flights of fancy trying, 

Will, therefore, oft be found at home, 
When Love abroad is flying. 

Which shall it be ? How shall I woo? 

Dear one, choose between the two. 


If neither feeling suits thy heart, 
Let’s see, to please thee, whether 
We may not learn some precious art 
To mix their charms together ; 

One feeling, still more sweet, to form 
From two so sweet already— 

A friendship that like love is warm, 
A love like friendship steady. 

Thus let it be, thus let me woo, 

Dearest, thus we'll join the two. 


SPRING AND AUTUMN. 


Ey’ry season hath its pleasures ; 
Spring may boast her flow’ry prime, 
Yet the vineyard’s ruby treasures 
Brighten Autumn’s sob’rer time. 
So life’s year begins and closes ; 
Days, though short’ning, still can shine; 
What though youth give love and roses, 
Age still leaves us friends and wine. 


WORKS. 


Phillis, when she might have caught me, 
All the Spring look’d coy and shy, 
Yet berself in Autumn sought me, 
When the flowers were all gone by. 
Ah, too late ;—she found her lover 
Calm and free beneath his vine, 
Drinking to the Spring-time over 
In his best autumnal wine. 


Thus may we, as years are flying, 
To their flight our pleasures suit, 
Nor regret the blossoms dying, 
While we still may taste the fruit. 
Oh, while days like this are ours, 
Where’s the lip that dares repine ? 
Spring may take our loves and flow’rs, 
So Autumn leavesus friends and wine. 


LOVE ALONE. 


Ir thou wouldst have thy charms en- 
chant our eyes, [pire lies : 

First win our hearts, for there thy em- 

Beauty in vain would mount a heartless 
throne, 

Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. 


What would the rose with all her pride 
be worth, [forth ? 
Were there no sun to call her brightness 
Maidens, unloved, like flowers in dark- 
ness thrown, [Love alone. 
Wait but that light, which comes from 


Fair as thy charms in yonder glass ap- 
pear, [year to year; 

Trust not their bloom, they’ll fade from 

Wouldst thou they still should shine as 
first they shone, 

Go, fix thy mirror in Loye’s eyes alone. 


SACRED SONGS. 


311 


SACRED 


SONGS. 


TO 
EDWARD TUITE DALTON, BSQ. 


THIS FIRST NUMBER OF SACRED SONGS IS INSCRIBED, 


BY HIS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 


Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, May, 1816. 


THOU ART, OH GOD. 
(AIR—UNKNOWN.*) 

“The day is thine, the night also is thine: 
thou hast prepared the light and the sun. 

“Thou hast set all the borders of the earth : 
thou hast made summer and winter.”—Psali 
lxxiv. 16, 17. 
Tuov art, O Gop, the life and light 

Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from Thee. 
Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 


When Day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the op’ning clouds of Even, 
And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden vistas into Heayen— 
Those hues that make the Sun’s decline 
So soft, so radiant, Lorp! are thine. 


When Night, with wings of starry 
gloom, 
O’ershadows all the earth and skies, 
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose 
plume 
Is sparkling with unnumber’d eyes— 
That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 
So grand, so countless, Lorp ! are Thine. 


When youthful Spring around us 
breathes, 
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 
*T have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. 
Sheridan. It is sung to the beautifulold words, 


“1 do confess thou'rtsmooth and fair.”’ 
i The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies 


THOMAS MOORE. 


And every flower the Summer wreathes 
Is born beneath that kindling eye. 
Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are 
thine ! 


THE BIRD LET LOOSE. 
(AIR—BEETHOVEN.) 

THE bird, let loose in eastern skies, t 
When hast’ning fondly home, 

Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 
Where idle warblers roam. {hght, 

But high she shoots through air and 
Above all low delay, 

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 
Nor shadow dims her way. 


So grant me, Gon, from every care 
And stain of passion free, 

Aloft, through Virtue’s purer air, 
To hold my course to Thee ! 

No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 
My Soul, as home she springs ;— 

Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, 
Thy Freedom in her wings! 


FALLEN IS THY THRONE. 
(Ark.— MARTINI.) 
ΤΑΙ͂Ν is thy Throne, oh Israel! 
Silence is o’er thy plains ; 


at an elevated pitch, in order to surmount 
every obstacle between her and the place to 
which she is destined. 


312 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Thy dwellings ail lie desolate, 
Thy children weep in chains. 
Where are the dews that fed thee 
On Etham’s barren shore ? 
That fire from Heaven which led thee, 
Now lights thy path no more. 


Lorp! thou didst love Jerusalem— 
Once she was all thy own ; 
Her love thy fairest heritage,* 
Her power thy glory’s throne,t 
Till evil came, and blighted 
Thy long-loved olive tree; ἢ 
And Salem’s shrines were lighted 
For other gods than Thee. 


Then sunk the star of Solyma— 
Then pass’d her glory’s day, 
Like heath that, in the wilderness,§ 
The wild wind whirls away. 
Silent and waste her bowers, 
Where once the mighty trod, 
And sunk those guilty towers, 
While Baal reign’d as God. 


““Go”—said the Lorp—‘‘Ye Con- 
querors 
“«Steep in her blood your swords, 
« And raze to earth her battlements, || 
“ For they are not the Lorp’s. 
“Till Zion’s mournful daughter 
“¢O’er kindred bones shall tread, 
** And Hinnow’s vale of slau ghter J 
“Shall hide but half her dead ! ” 


WHO IS THE MAID? 
ST. JEROME’S LOVE.** 
(AIrn.—BEETHOVEN.) 


Wuo is the Maid my spirit seeks, 
Through cold reproof and slander’s 
blight ? 
Has she Love’s roses on her cheeks ? 
Is hers an eye of this world’s light ? 
No—wan and sunk with midnight prayer 
Are the pale looks of her I love ; 


*“T have left mine heritage; I have given 
the dearly beloved of my soul into the hands 
of her enemies.’’—Jeremiah, xii, 7. 

1 ‘Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory.” 
—Jer. xiv. 2). 

{ ‘ The Lord called thy name a green olive- 
tree; fair, and of goodly fruit,’ &e.—Jer. xi. 16. 

§ “ For he shall be like the heath in the des- 
ert.” —Jer. xvii. 6. 

|| “Dake away her battlements ; for they are 
not the Lord’s.""—Jer. v. 10. 

"| “Therefore, behold, the days come, saith 
the Lord, that it shall no more be ealled Tophet, 
nor the Valley of the Son of Hinnom, but the 


= 
Or if, at times, a light be there, 
Its beam is kindled from above. 


I chose not her, my heart’s elect, 
From those who seek their Maker’s 
shrine 
In gems and garlands proudly deck’d, 
As if themselves were things divine. 
No—Heaven but faintly warms the 
breast 
That beats beneath a broider’d veil ; 
And she who comes in glitt’ring vest 
To mourn her frailty, still is frail. tt 


Not so the faded form I prize 
And love, because its bloom is gone ; 
The glory in those sainted eyes 
Is all the grace her brow puts on. 
And ne’er was Beauty’s dawn so bright, 
So touching as that form’s decay, 
Which, like the altar’s trembling light, 
Tn holy lustre wastes away. 


THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEET- 
ING SHOW. 


(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 


THIS world is all a fleeting show, 
For man’s illusion given ; 

The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo, 

Deceitful shine, deceitful flow— 
There’s nothing true, but Heaven ! 


And false the light on Glory’s plume, 
As fading hues of Even; [bloom, 

And Love and Hope, and Beauty’s 

Are blossoms gather’d for the tomb— 
There’s nothing bright, but Heaven ! 


Poor wand’rers of a stormy day ! 
From wave to wave we’re driven, 
And Fancy’s flash, and Reason’s ray, 
Serve but to light the troubled way— 

There’s nothing calm, but Heaven ! 


Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury in 
Tophet till there be no place.”"—Jer. vil. 32. 

ἈΚ These lines were suggested by a pussage 
in one of St. Jerome's Letters, replying to some 
calumnious remarks that had been circulated 
respecting his intimacy with the matron Paula: 
—‘' Numquid me vestes sericie, nitentes gem- 
mie, pieta facies, aut auri rapuit ambitio? 
Nulla fuit alia Rome matronarum, que meam 
possit edomare mentem, nisi lugens atquo jeju- 
nans, fletu pene cecata.”—Hpist. “Si tibi 


| putem.” 


tt Ov yap κρουσῴφορειν τὴν daxpvovaav δει.--- 
Chrysost. Homil. 8,in Epist. ad Tim. 


SACRED SONGS. 


313, 


OH, THOU! WHO DRY’ST THE | Mourn not for her, the young Bride of 


MOURNER’S TEAR. 
(AIR.—HAYDN.) 
“He healeth the broken in heart, and bind- 
eth up their wounds.”—Psalm exlvii. 3. 
Ou, Thou! who dry’st the mourner’s 
How dark this world would be, [tear, 
Tf, when deceived and wounded here, 
We could not fly to Thee! 
The friends, who in our sunshine live, 
When winter comes, are flown; 
And he who has but tears to give, 
Must weep those tears alone. 
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, 
Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 
Breathes sweetness out of wo. 


When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 
And e’en the hope that threw 

A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears, 
Ts dimm/’d and yanish’d too, 

Oh, who would bear life’s stormy doom, 
Did not thy Wing of Love 

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 
Our Peace-branch from above ? 

Then sorrow, touch’d by Thee, grows 
With more than rapture’s ray ; [bright 

As darkness shows us worlds of light 
We never saw by day! 


WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. 
(AIR. —AVISON.) 

Weep not for those whom the veil of the 
tomb, Lour eyes, 
In life’s happy morning, hath hid from 
Ere sin threw a blight o’er the spirit’s 
young bloom, [for the skies. 
Or earth had profaned what was born 
Death chill’d the fair fountain, ere sor- 
row had stain’d it; [15 course, 
’Twas frozen in all the 
And but sleeps till the sunshine of Hea- 
ven has unchain’d it, [its source. 
To water that Eden where first was 
Weep not for those whom the veil of the 
tomb, [our eyes, 
Tn life’s happy morning, hath hid from 
Ere sin threw a blight o’er the spirit’s 
young bloom, {for the skies. 
Or earth had profaned what was born 
* This second verse, which I wrote long after 
the first, alludes to the fate of a very lovely and 
amiable girl, the daughter of the late Colonel 
3ainbrigge, who was married in Ashbourne 
church, October 31, 1815, and diced of a fever in 
a few weeks after: the sound of her marriage- 


bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we 
heard of her death. During her last delirium 


pure light of 


the Vale,* [now, 

Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us 
Ere life’s early lustre had time to grow 
ale, [on her brow. 

And the garland of Love was yet fresh 
Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, 
for flying [gloom was unknown— 

From this gloomy world, while its 
And the wild hymns she warbled so 
sweetly, in dying, [her own. 

Were echoed in Heayen by lips like 
Weep not for her—in her spring-time 
she flew [soul are unfurl’d ; 

To that land where the wings of the 
And now, like a star beyond evening’s 
cold dew, [this world. 
Looks radiantly down on the tears of 


THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRA- 
GRANT SHRINE. 


(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 


Tne turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; 
My temple, Lorp! that Arch of thine ; 
My censer’s breath the mountain airs, 
And silent thoughts my only prayers.t 


My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 
When murm’ring homeward to their 
Or when the stillness of the sea, [caves, 
B’en more than music, breathes of Thee. 


Τ᾽] seek, by day, some glade unknown, 
All light and silence, like thy Throne ; 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 


Thy Heaven, on which ’tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 


I'll read thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam’s track; 
Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through. 


There’s notning bright, above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that 
But in its light my soul can see [glow, 
Some feature of thy Deity. 

she sung several hymns, in a voice even clearer 
and sweeter than usual, and among them were 
some from the present collection, (particularly, 
“There's nothing bright but Heaven,”) which 
this very interesting girl had often heard me 
sing during the summer. 


j Pii orant tacite. 


314 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


There’s nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy Love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 


SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL. 
MIRIAM’S SONG. 
(AIR.—A VISON.*) 


«“And Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of 
Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the 
women went out after her with timbrels and 
with dances.”— Exod. xy. 20. 

Sounp the loud Timbrel o’er Egypt’s 
dark sea! [free. 
JEHOVAH has triumph’d—his people are 
Sing—for the pride of the Tyrant is 
broken, {did and brave— 

His chariots, his horsemen, all splen- 
How vain was their boast, for the Lorp 

hath but spoken, [in the wave. 

And chariots and horsemen are sunk 
Sound the loud Timbrelo’er Egypt’s dark 

sea ; [free. 
JEHOVAH has triumph’d—his people are 


Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the 
Lorp! { our sword— 
His word was our arrow, his breath was 
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story 
Of those she sent forth in the hour of 
her pride ? [pillar of glory,t 
For the Lorp hath look’d out from his 
And all her brave thousands are dash’d 
in the tide. dark sea ; 
Sound the loud Timbrel o’er Egypt’s 
JEHOVAH aes triumph’d—his people are 
free ! 


GO, LET ME WEEP. 
(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 


Go, let me weep—there’s bliss in tears, 
When he who sheds them inly feels 

Some ling’ring stain of early years 
Effaced by every drop that steals. 

The fruitless showers of worldly wo 
Fall dark to earth and never rise ; 

While tears that from repentance flow, 
In bright exhalement reach the skies. 

Go, let me weep. 


* T have so much altered the character of this 
air, which is from the beyinning of one of 
Avison’s old-fashioned concertos, that, without 
this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, 
be recognized. 

|‘ And it came to pass, that, in the morning 
watch the Lord looked unto the hosts of the 


Leave me to sigh o’er hours that flew 
More idly than the summev’s wind, 
And, while they pass’d, a fragrance 

threw, 

But left no trace of sweets behind. — 
The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves 
15 cold, is faint, to those that swell 
The heart, where pure repentance 

grieves 
O’er hours of pleasure, loved too well. 
Leave me to sigh. 


COME NOT, OH LORD. 
(AIr.— HAYDN.) 


CoME not, oh Lorn, in the dread robe 
of splendor [of thine ire ; 

Thou wor’st on the Mount, in the day 
Come veil’d in those shadows, deep, aw- 
ful, but tender, [of fire ! 
Which Mercy flings over thy features 


Lorp, thou rememb’rest the night, when 
thy Naticnt [ing stream ; 

Stood fronting her Foe by the red-roll- 
O’er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desola- 
tion, [ beam. 
While Israel bask’d all the night in its 


So, when the dread clouds of anger en- 
fold Thee, [remove ; 

From us, in thy mercy, the dark side 
While shrouded in terrors the guilty be- 
hold Thee, [Love ! 

Oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy 


WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY’S 
TEARS. 


(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 


Were not the sinful Mary’s tears 
An offering worthy Heaven, 

When, o’er the faults of former years, 
She wept—and was forgiven? 


When, bringing every balmy sweet 
Her day of luxury stored, 

She o’er her Saviour’s hallow’d feet 
The precious odors pour’d ;— 


And wiped them with that golden hair, 
Where once the diamond shone ; 


Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the 
cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians.” 
— Exod, xiv. 24. 

} ‘And it came between the camp of the 
Egyptians and the camp of Israel; and it was 
a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light 
by night to these.""--Paod. xiy. 20. 


SACRED 


Though now those gems of grief were 
Which shine for Gop alone! [there 


Were not those sweets, sohumbly shed— 
That hair—those weeping eyes— 

And the sunk heart, that inly bled— 
Heaven’s noblest sacrifice ! 


Thou, that hast slept in error’s sleep, 
Oh, wouldst thou wake in Heaven, 

Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 
“Love much” * and be forgiven ! 


AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RE- 
TREATS. 
(AIR—HAYDN.) 


As down in the sunless retreats of the 
Ocean, [can see, 
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal 
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of 
devotion, [Thee, 
Unheard by the world, rises silent to 
My Gop! silent, to Thee, 
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. 


As still to the star of its worship, 

though clouded, {dim sea, 

The needle points faithfully o’er the 

So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world | 

shrouded, [to Thee, 

The hope of my spirit turns, trembling, 
My Gop! trembling, to Thee— 
True, fond, trembling, to Thee. 


BUT WHO SHALL SEE. 
(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 


Burt who shall see the glorious day 
When, throned on Zion’s brow, 
The Lorp shall rend that veil away 
Which hides the nations now ?t 


* “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven ; 
for she loved much.” — Luke, vii. 47 

t+“ And he will destroy, in this mountain, | 
the face of the covering east over all people, 
and the veil that is spread over all nations. ’*"— 
Isaiah, xxv. 7. 

‘The rebuke of his people shall he take 
away from off all the ΡΞ ΟΣ Xxyv. 8. 

§ “And Gop shall wipe away all tears from | 
their eyes; . - neither shall there be any 
more pain.”——Rev. xxi. 4. 

l|** And he that sat upon the throne said, 
Behold, [ make ali things new.”—Rev. xxi. 5. | 

§| ‘And whosoever will, let him take the | 
water of life freely.”—Rev. xxii. 17. 

ἈΚ “The Scriptures having declared that the | 
Temple of Jerusalem was a type of the Messiah, 
it is natural to conclude that the Palms, whieh 
made so conspicuous a figure in that structure, 
represented that Life and Immortality which 


SONGS. 315 


When earth no more beneath the fear 
Of his rebuke shall lie ;t 

When pain shall cease, and every tear 
Be wiped from ey’ry eye.§ 


Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn 
Beneath the heathen’s chain; 

Thy days of splendor shall return, 
And all be new again.|| 

The Fount of Life shall then be quaff’d 
In peace, by all who come; 

And every wind that blows shall waft 
Some long-lost exile home. 


ALMIGHTY GOD! 
CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 
(A1IR.—MOZART.) 
AuMIcuty Gop! when round thy shrine 
The Palm-tree’s heavenly branch we 
(Emblem of Life’s eternal ray, [twine,** 
And Love that “ fadeth not away,’’) 


We bless the flowers, expanded all, tt 


We bless the leaves that never fall, 
And trembling say,—‘‘ In Eden thus 
“The Tree of Life may flower for us !” 


When round thy Cherubs—smiling calm, 

Without their flamestt—we wreathe the 
Palm, 

Oh Gop! we feel the emblem true— 

Thy Mercy is eternal too. 

Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes, 

That crown of Palm which never dies, 

Are but the types of Thee aboye— 

[ternal Life, and Peace, and Love ! 


OH FAIR! OH PUREST! 
SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER.Q$ 
(AIR.—Moore.) 

On fair! oh purest! be thou the dove 
That flies alone to some sunny grove, 
were brought to light by the Gospel.” —Obser- 
rations on the Palm, as a Sacred Emblem, by 
W. Vighe. 

1" And he earved all the walls of the house 
round about with carved figures of cherubims, 
and palm-trees, and open jlowers.”—1 Kings, 
Vi. 29. 

ti ‘When the passover of the tabernacles 
was revealed to the great lawgiver in the 


| mount, then the cherubie images which ap- 


peared in that structure were no longer sur- 
rounded by flames ; for the tabernacle was a 
type of the dispensation of merey, by which 
JENOVAH confirmed his gracious covenant to 
redeem mankind."’—Observations on the Palm. 

§§ In St. Augustine's Treatise upon the ad- 
vantages of a solitary life, addressed to his sis- 
ter, there is the following fanciful passage, 
from which, the reader will pereeive, the 
thought of this song was taken:—* Te, soror, 


910 Ξ 


MOOREH’S WORKS. 


And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, 
All vestal white, in the limpid spring. 
There, if the hoy’ring hawk be near, 
That limpid spring, in its mirror clear, 
Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, 
And warns the timorous bird away. 

Be thou this dove; 
Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. 


The sacred pages of Gop’s own book 
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook 
In whose holy mirror, night and day, 
Thow’lt study Heaven’s reflected ray ;— 
And should the foes of virtue dare, 
With gloomy wing, to seek thee there, 
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie 
Between Heaven and thee, and tremb- 
Be thou that dove; _ [ling fly! 
Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. 


ANGEL OF CHARITY. 
(AIR.—HANDEL.) 
ANGEL of Charity, who, from above, 
Comest to dwell a pilgrim here, 
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, 
And Pity’s soul is in thy tear. 
When on the shrine of Gop were laid 
First-fruits of all most good and fair, 
That ever bloom’d in Eden’s shade, 
Thine was the holiest offering there. 
Hope and her sister, Faith, were given, 
But as our guides to yonder sky ; 
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, 


There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.* | 


But, long as Love, Almighty Love. 
Shall on his throne of thrones abide, 

Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above, 
Smiling forever by His side! 


BEHOLD THE ‘S UN. 
(ArTk.—LORD MORNINGTON.) 


BEHOLD the sun, how bright 
From yonder Hast he springs, 

As if the soul of life and light 
Were breathing from his wings. 


nunquam nolo esse securam, sed timere sem- 
perque tuam fragilitatem habere suspectam, ad 
instar pavide eolum)be frequentare  rivos 
aquarum et quasi in speculo aecipitris cernere 
supervolantis efligiem et cavere. Rivi aqua- 
rum sententivw sunt secripturarum, que de 
limpidissimo sapientiw fonte profluentes,” &e., 
ἄο. --1)6 Vit. Eremit. ad Sororem. 
* «Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall 
die, 
One lost in certainty, and one in joy.” 
—Prior- 
t ‘‘And the angel which I saw stand upon 


So bright the Gospel broke 
Upon the souls of men ; 

So fresh the dreaming world awoke 
In Truth’s full radiance then. 


Before yon Sun arose, 
Stars cluster’d through the sky— 
But, oh, how dim ! how pale were those, 
To His one burning eye! 


So Truth lent many a ray, 
To bless the Pagan’s night— __ [they 
But, Lorp, how weak, how cold were 
To Thy One glorious Light ! 


LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT 
DAY. 


(Arr.—Dr. Boyce.) 


Lorp, who shall bear that day, so dread, 
so splendid, [o’er 
When we shall see thy Angel, hoy’ring 
This sinful world, with hand to heay’n 
extended, [Time’s no more ἢ 

And hear him swear by Thee that 
When Earth shall feel thy fast consum- 
ing ray— {that day? 

Who, Mighty Gop, oh who shall bear 


When through the world thy awful call 
hath sounded— 
“Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment 
wake, ye Déad !’’ [rounded, 
And from the clouds, by seraph eyes sur- 
The Saviour shall put forth his radiant 
head ;§ [pass away—]| 
While Harth and Heav’n before Him 
Who, mighty Gop, oh who shall bear 
that day ? 


When, with a glance, th’ Eternal Judge 
shall sever 
Earth’s evil spirits from the pure and 
bright, [forever "Ὁ 
And say to those, “Depart from me 
To these, “Come, dwell with me in 
endless light ΤῈ 


the sea and upon the earth, lifted up his hand 


| to heaven, and sware by Him that liveth forever 


and ever, . . that there should be time no 


| longer.” —Rev. x. 5, 6. 


“ Awake, ye Dead, and come to judgment.” 
“They shall see the Son of Man coming in 
the clouds of heaven—and all the angels with 
him.”— Matt: xxiv. 30, and xxv. 31. 
|| «From whose face the earth and the heayen 
fled away-’’—Wev. xx. 11. 
4|‘* And before Him shall be gathered all 
nations, and He shall separate them one from 
another. + 


SACRED SONGS. 


When each and all in silence take their 
way— 


Who, Mighty Gop, oh who shall bear | 


that day ? 


OH, TEACH ME TO LOVE THEE. 


(Airn.—Haypn.) 


Ou, teach me to love Thee, to feel what 
thou art, [heart 
Till, fill’d with the one sacred image, my 
Shall all other passions disown ; 
Like some pure temple, that shines apart, 
Reserved for Thy worship alone. 


Tn joy and in sorrow, through praise and 
through blame, [ same, 
Thus still let me, living and dying the 
In Thy service bloom and decay— 
Like some lone altar, whose votive flame 
Tn holiness wasteth away. 


Though born in this desert, and doom’d 
by my birth [dearth, 


To pain and affliction, to darkness and | 


On Thee let my spirit rely— 
Like some rude dial, that, fix’d on earth, 
Still looks for its light from the sky. 


WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. 
(AIn.—STEVENSON.) 


Weep, weep for him, the Man of Gop—* 
In yonder vale he sunk to rest ; 
But none of earth can point the sod 1 
That flowers above his sacred breast. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep! 


His doctrine fell like Heaven’s rain,t 
His words refresh’d lke Heaven’s 
dew— 
Oh, ne’er shall Israel see again 
A Chief, to Gop and her so true. 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 


“Then shall the King say unto them on 
his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Fa- 
ther, inherit the kingdom prepared for you, 
(che gp de 

“Then shall He say also unto them on the 
left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, &e. 

“And these shall go away into everlasting 
punishment; but the righteous into life eter- 
nal ’’— Matt. xxy. 32, et seq. 

* “And the children of Israel wept for Moses 
in the plains of Moab.” —Deut. xxxiy. 8. 

t ‘And he buried himin a valley in the land 
of Moab; .... but no man knoweth of his 
sepulchre unto this day."—Jbid. ver. 6. 


317 


Remember ye his parting gaze, 
His farewell song by Jordan’s tide, 
When, full of glory and of days, 
He saw the promised land—and died.§ 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 


Yet died he not as men who sink, 
Before our eyes, to soulless clay ; 
But, changed to spirit, like a wink 
Of summer lightning, pass’d away.|| 
Weep, children of Israel, weep ! 


LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER 
EARLY BREEZE. 


(AIR.—BEETHOVEN.) 


| LIKE morning, when her early breeze 

| Breaks up the surface of the seas, 

That, in those furrows, dark with night, 
Her hand may sow the seeds of light— 


Thy Grace can send its breathings o’er 
The Spirit, dark and lost before, 
| And, fresh’ning all its depths, prepare 
For Truth divine to enter there. 


Till David touch’d his sacred lyre, 

In silence lay th’ unbreathing wire ; 
But when he swept its chords along, 
Ey’n Angels stoop’d to hear that song. 


So sleeps the soul, till Thou, oh Lorp, 
Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord— 
Till, waked by Thee, its breath shall rise 
In music, worthy of the skies! 


COME, YE DISCONSOLATE. 
(AIR.—GERMAN.) 


ComE, ye disconsolate, where’er you 
languish, 

Come, at Gon’s altar fervently kneel ; 

Here bring your wounded hearts, here 

tell your anguish— [not heal. 

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can- 


t “My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my 
| speech shall distil as the dew.”—Moses’ Song, 
Deut. xxxii. 2. 
§ ‘“‘Thave caused thee to see it with thine 
eyes, but thoushalt not go over thither.”"— Deut. 
χχχῖν. 4. 
|| ** As he was going to embrace Eleazer and 
Joshua, and was still discoursing with them, a 
cloud stood over him onthe sudden, and he dis- 
appeared in a certain valley, although he wrote 
| in the Holy Books that he died, which was done 
| out of fear, lest they should venture to say that, 

because of his extraordinary virtue, he went to 
| God.” —Josephus, book iv., chap viii. 


318 MOORH’S 


Joy of the desolate, Light of the stray- 
ing, [and pure, 
Hope, when all others die, fadeless 
Here speaks the Comforter, in Gop’s 
name saying— [cannot cure.” 
“arth has no sorrow that Heaven 


Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings 
us, [reveal, 

What charm for aching hearts he can 
Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope 
sings us— [not heal.” 

“¢ Harth has no sorrow that Gop can- 


AWAKE, ARISH, THY LIGHT IS 
COME. 
(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 

AWAKE, arise, thy light is come; * 
The nations, that before outshone thee, 
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb— 
The glory of the Lorp is on thee ! 


Arise—the Gentiles to thy ray, 
From ev’ry nook of earth shall cluster; 
And kings and princes haste to pay 
Their homage to thy rising lustre.t 


Lift up thine eyes around, and see, 
O’er foreign fields, o’er farthest waters, 
Thy exiled sons return to thee,  [ters.} 
Yo thee return thy home-sick daugh- 


And camels rich, from Midian’s tents, 
Shall lay their treasures down before 

And Saba bring her gold and scents, [thee; 
To fill thy air and sparkle o’er thee. ᾧ 


See, who are these that, like a cloud,|| 
Are gathering from all earth’s domin- 
ions, 
Like doves, long absent, when allow’d 
Homeward to shoot their trembling 
pinions. 


ἘΠῚ Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and 
the glory of the Lorp is risen upon thee.”— 
Isaiah, \x. 

t * And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, 
and kings to the brightness of thy rising.”—Jb. 

+ « Tift up thine eyes round about, and see ; 
allthey gather themselves together, they come 
to thee: thy sons shalleome from afar, and thy 
daughters shall be nursed at thy side.’’— Isaiah, 
ix. 

§ “* The multitude of camels shall cover thee; 
the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah; all they 
from Sheba shall come; they shall bring gold 
and ineense.”’"—IJb. 

|| ‘‘ Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as 
the doves to their windows ?”—Ib. 

| “Surely the isles shall wait for me, and 
the ships of Tarshish first, to bring thy sons 
from far, their silver and their gold with them,”’ 
--10. 


WORKS. 


Surely the isles shall wait for me,§ 
The ships of Tarshish round will hover, 
To bring thy sons across the sea, 
And waft their gold and silver over. 


And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace—** 
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious 
Shall beautify our Holy Place, Lous. 

And make the ground I tread on glori- 


No more shall Discord haunt thy ways, tt 
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; 
But thou shalt call thy portals, Praise, 
And thou shalt name thy walls, Sal- 
vation. 


The sun no moreshallmake thee bright, tt 
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee ; 

But Gop, Himself, sball be thy Light, 
And flash eternai glory through thee. 


Thy sun shall never more go down; 
A ray, from Heavy’n itself descended, 
Shall hight thy everlasting crown— 
Thy days of mourning all are ended. §§ 


My own, elect, and righteous Land ! 
The Branch, forever green and vernal, 

Which I have planted with this hand— 
Live thou shalt in Life Eternal. |||| 


THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT. 
(AIrn.—CRESCENTIN.) 
| THERE is a bleak Desert, where daylight 
grows weary 
Of wasting its smile on aregionsodreary— 
What may that desert be ? 
ΤῚΝ Life, cheerless Life, where the few 
joys that come [their home. 
Are lost like that daylight, for ’tis not 


'There is a lone Pilgrim, before whose 
faint eyes 


ἈΚ “The glory of Lebanon shall come unto 
thee; the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box to- 
| gether, to beautify the place of my sanctuary ; 
and I will make the place of my feet glorious.” 
| —Ib. 

Hf ‘*Violenee shall no more be heard in thy 
| land, wasting nor destruction within thy bor- 
| ders ; but thou shalt call thy walls, Salvation, 
and thy gates, Praise.”—TJsaiah, Ix. 

{{ ‘Thy sun shall be no more thy light by 
day ; neither for brightnessshall the moon give 
light unto thee: but the Lorp shall be unto 
thee an everlasting light, and thy Gop thy 
glory.”—Ib. 

δὲ "ΤῊΝ sun shall no more godown;... . 
for the LORD shall be thine everlasting light, and 
the days of thy mourning shall be ended.’"—Jb 

lil ‘Phy people also shall be all righteous ; 
they shall hiker the land forever, the branch of 
my planting, the work of my hands.”—Jb. 


The water he pants for but sparkles and 
flies— 
Who may that Pilgrim be? 
’Tis Man, hapless Man, through this life 
tempted on [gone. 
By fair shining hopes, that in shining are 


There is a bright Fountain, through that 

Desert stealing, i 

To pure lips alone its refreshment reveal- 
What may that Fountain be ? 

Tis Truth, holy ‘lruth, that, like springs 

under ground, (found. * 

By the gifted of Heaven alone can be 


There is a fair Spirit, whose wand hath 

the spell {[dwell— 

To point where those waters in secrecy 
Who may that Spirit be ? 

’Tis Faith, humble faith, who hath learn’d 

that, where’er {must be there. 

Her wand bends to worship, the Truth 


SINCE FIRST THY WORD. 
(AiR.—NICHOLAS FREEMAN.) 


ΒΙΝΟῈ first Thy Word awaked my heart, 
Like new life dawning o’er me, 
Where’er I turn mine eyes, Thou art, 
All light and love before me ; 
Naught else I feel, or hear, or see— 
All bonds of earth I sever— 
Thee, O Gop, and only Thee 
I live for, now and ever. 


Like him whose fetters dropp’d away 
When light shone o’er his prison,t 

My spirit, touch’d by Mercy’s ray, 
Hath from her chains arisen. 

And shall a soul Thou bidd’st be free, 
Return to bondage ?—never ! 

Thee, O Gop, and only Thee 
I live for, now and ever. 


HARK! ’TIS THE BREEZE. 
(AIR.— ROUSSEAU.) 


HARK ! ’tis the breeze of twilight calling 
Earth’s weary children to repose ; 
While, round the couch of Nature falling, 
Gently the night’s soft curtains close. 
Soon o’er a world, in sleep reclining, 
Numberless stars, through yonder 
dark, 


* In singing, the following line had better 
be adopted :— 


“Can but by the gifted of Heaven be found.” 


SACRED 


319 


SONGS. 


Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining 
From out the veils that hid the Ark. 


Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest, 
Thou who, in silence throned above, 
Throughout all time, unwearied keepest 

Thy watch of Glory, Pow’r, and Love. 
Grant that, beneath Thine eye, securely, 

Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn, 
May, in their darkness, stilly, purely, 

Like ‘‘sealed fountains,” rest till dawn. 


WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE 
SAINTED ? 


(AIR. —HASSE.) 


WHERE is your dwelling, ye Sainted ? 
Through what Elysium more bright 
Than fancy or hope ever painted, 
Walk ye in glory and light? 
Who the same kingdom inherits ? 
Breathes there a soul that may dare 
Look to that world of Spirits, 
Or hope to dwell with you there ? 


Sages! who, ev’n in exploring 
Nature through all her bright ways, 
Went, like the Seraphs, adoring, 
And veil’d your eyes in the blaze— 
Martyrs! who left for our reaping 
Truths you had sown in your blood— 
Sinners! whom long years of weeping 
Chasten’d from evil to good— 


Maidens ! who, like the young Crescent, 
Turning away your pale brows 

From earth, and the light of the Present, 
Look’d to your Heavenly Spouse— 

Say, through what region enchanted, 
Walk ye, in Heaven’s sweet air? 

Say, to what spirits ’tis granted, 
Bright souls, to dwell with you there ? 


HOW LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE 
MUSE’S WING. 


(AIrn.—ANONYMOUS.) 


How lightly mounts the Muse’s wing, 
Whose theme is in the skies— 

Like mourning larks, that sweeter sing 
The nearer Heavy’n they rise. 


Though Love his magic lyre may tune, 
Yet ah, the flow’rs he round it wreathes, 


1 “ And, behold, the angel of the Lorn eame 
upon him, and a light shied in the prison, 
: and his chains fell off from his hands.” 
— Acts, xii. 7 


320 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Were pluck’d beneath pale Passion’s 
moon, 
Whose madness in their odor breathes. 


How purer far the sacred lute, 
Round which Devotion ties 

Sweet flow’rs that turn to heav’nly fruit, 
And palm that never dies. 


Though War's high-sounding harp may 
Most welcome to the hero’s ears, [be 
Alas, his chords of victory 
Are wet, all o’er, with human tears. 


How far more sweet their numbers run, 
Who hymn, like Saints above, 

No victor, but th’ Eternal One, 
No trophies but of Love ! 


GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. 
(AIR.—STEVENSON.) 


Go forth to the Mount—bring the olive- 
branch home, * [is come ! 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom 
From that time,t when the moon upon 
Ajalon’s vale, 
Looking motionless down,t saw the 
kings of the earth, 
In the presence of Gop’s mighty Cham- 
pion, grow pale— mirth ! 
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such 


Go forth to the Mount—bring the olive- | 


branch home, [is come! 
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom 


Bring myrtle and palm—bring 
beughs of each tree [the free.§ 
‘That’s worthy to wave o’er the tents of 


From that day, when the footsteps of | 


Israel shone, 
With a light not their own, through 
the Jordan’s deep tide, 
Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark 
glided on— || 

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such 

pride! 

* “ And that they should publish and pro- 
‘claim in all their cities, and in Jerusalem, say- 
ing, Go forth unto the mount and fetch olive- 
branches,” ἄο., &ce.—Neh. viii. 15. 


t ‘For since the days of Joshua the son of | 


Nun unto that day had not the children of Israel 
done so: and there was very great gladness.” 
—WNeh. viii 17 

} “Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and 
thou, Moon, m the valley of Ajalon.”—Josh 
x5 12 

§ ‘Fetch olive- branches, and pine-branches, 


Go forth to the Mount—bring the olive- 
branch home, 

And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom 
is come ! 

IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, 
HEREATFER. 
(AIn.—Haybn.) 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 
When the Spirit leaves this sphere, 
Love, with deathless wing, shall waft 

her [here ? 
To those she long hath mourn’d for 


Hearts, from which ’twas death to sever, 
Hyes, this world can ne’er restore, 

There, as warm, as bright as ever, 
Shall meet us and be lost no more. 


When wearily we wander, asking 
Of earth and heav’n where are they, 
Beneath whose smile we once lay bask- 
ing, 
Bless’d, and thinking bliss would stay? 
Hope still lifts her radiant finger, 
Pointing to th’ eternal Home, 
Upon whose portal yet they linger, 
Looking back for us to come. 


Alas, alas—doth Hope deceive us? 
Shall friendship—love—shall all those 
ties 
That bind a moment, and then leave us, 
Be found again where nothing dies ? 


| Oh, if no other boon were given, [stain, 
the | 


To keep our hearts from wrong and 
Who would not try to win a Heaven 
Where all we love shall live again ? 


WAR AGAINST BABYLON. 
(AIR.—NOVELLO ) 


“War against Babylon!” shout we 

around, J {furl’d; 

Be our banners through earth un- 

Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the 
sound—** 


and myrtle-branehes, and palm-branehes, and 
branches of thick trees, to make booths.” — Neh. 
Vili. 15. 

|| “* nd the priests that bare the ark of the 
covenant of the Lop stood firm on dry ground 
in the midst of Jordan, and all the tabielites 
passed oyer on dry ground.”’—Josh. iii. 17. 

Ἵ “Shout against her round about.’”’—Jer. 1. 
15 

** “Set ye up a standard in the land, blow 
the trumpet among the nations, prepare the 
nations against her, call together against her 
the kingdoms,” &e., &e,—Jer. li. 27. 


THE SUMMER FRTE. 


321 


“War against Babylon!” shout 
through the world! 

Oh thon, that dwellest on many waters, * 

Thy day of pride is ended now ; [ters 

And the dark curse of Israel’s daugh- 


Set the standard of God on high ; 
Swarm we, like locusts, o’er all her 
fields, 
“Zion” our watchword, and “‘ yenge- 
ance” our cry ! 


Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over| Wo! wo !—the time of thy visitation ¢ 


thy brow ! 
War, war, war against Babylon! 


Make bright the arrows, and gather the 
shields,t 


Is come, proud Land, thy doom is 
cast— 
And the black surge of desolation 
Sweeps o’er thy guilty head, at last! 
War, war, war against Babylon! 


THE SUMMER FETE. 


TO THE HONORABLE MRS. NOR- 
TON. 


For the groundwork of the following 
Poem I am indebted to a memorable 
Féte, given some years since, at Boyle 
Farm, the seat of the late Lord Henry 
Fitzgerald. In commemoration of that 
evening—of which the lady to whom 
these pages are inseribed was, I well re- 
collect, one of the most distinguished 
ornaments—I was induced at the time 
to write some verses, which were after- 
wards, however, thrown aside unfinish- 
ed, on my discovering that the same 
task had been undertaken by a noble 
poect,§ whose playful and happy jeu- 
Wesprit on the subject has since been 
ΤῊ cre It was but lately, that, on 
inding the fragments of my own sketch 
among my papers, I thought of found- 
ing on them such a description of an 
imaginary Féte as might furnish me 
with situations for the introduction of 
music. 

Such is the origin and object of the 
following Poem, and to Mrs. Norton 
it is, with every feeling of admiration 


* “Oh thou that dwellest upon many waters, 
... . thine end is come.”—Jer. li. 13. 

t ‘Make bright the arrows; gather the 
shields, . . . . set up the standard upon the walls 


and regard, inscribed by her father’s 
warmly attached friend, 
THOMAS MOORE. 
Sloperton Cottage, 
November, 1831. 


THE SUMMER FETE. 


‘- WHERE are ye now, ye summer days, 

‘That once inspired the poet’s lays? 

‘* Bless’d time ! ere England’s nymphs 
and swains, 

““ Por lack of sunbeams, took to coals— 
“Summers of light, undimm’d by rains, 
““ Whose only mocking trace remains 

“Tn watering-pots and parasols.” 


Thus spoke a young Patrician maid, 
As, on the morning of that Fete 
Which bards unborn shall celebrate, 

She backward drew her curtain’s shade, 

And, closing one half-dazzled eye, 

Peep’d with the other at the sky— 

'Th’ important sky, whose light or gloom 

Was to decide, this day, the doom 

Of some few hundred beauties, wits, 

Blues, Dandies, Swains, and Exquisites. 


of Babylon.”—Jer. li. 11, 12. 

t “ Wounto them! for their day is come, 
the time of their visitation !’’—Jer. 1. 27. 

§ Lord Francis Egerton. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


----------.---- -------ς----.-.-.- ς- -ς-ςς-ς-ςςς-ς  —~— as 


Faint were her hopes; for June had now 
Set in with all his usual rigor ! 
Young Zephyr yet scarce knowing how 
To nurse a bud, or fan a bough, 
But Eurus in perpetual vigor; 
And, such the biting summer air, 
That she, the nymph now nestling 
there— 
Snug as her own bright gems recline, 
At night, within their cotton shrine— 
Had, more than once, been caught of late 
Kneeling before her blazing grate, 
Like a young worshipper of fire, 
With hands uplifted to the flame, 
Whose glow, as if to woo them nigher, 
Through the white fingers flushing 
came. 


But oh! the light, th’ unhoped-for light, 
That now illumed this morning’s hea- 
Up sprung Ianthe at the sight,  [ven! 
Though—hark!—the clocks but strike 
eleven, 
And rarely did the nymph surprise 
Mankind so early with her eyes. 


Who now will say that England’s sun 
(Like England’s self, these spendthrift 


days) 
His stock of wealth hath near outrun, 
And must retrench his golden rays— 
Pay for the pride of sunbeams past, 
And to mere moonshine come at last ? 


““Calumnious thought " Tanthe cries, 
While coming mirth lit up each glance, 

And, prescient of the ball, her eyes 
Already had begun to dance: 

For brighter sun than that which now 
Sparkled o’er London’s spires and tow- 


ers, 
Had never bent from heaven his brow 

To kiss Firenze’s City of Flowers. 
What must it be—if thus so fair 
’Mid the smoked groves of Grosvenor 

Square— 

What must it be where Thames is seen 
Gliding between his banks of green, 
While rival villas, on each side, 
Peep from their bowers to woo his tide, 
And, like a Turk between two rows 
Of Harem beauties, on he goes— 
A lover, loved for ev’n the grace 
With which he slides from their embrace. 
In one of those enchanted domes, 

One, the most flow’ry, cool, and bright 
Of all by which that river roams, 

* Archimedes. 


The Fete is to be held to-night— 
That Fete already link’d to fame, 

Whose cards, in many a fair one’s sigh. 
(When look’d for long, at last they came, ) 

Seem’d circled with a fairy light ;— 
That Féte to which the cull, the flower 
Of England’s beauty, rank and power, 
From the young spinster, just come out, 

To the old Premier, too long in— 
From legs of far-descended gout, 

To the last new-moustachio’d chin— 
All were convoked by Fashion’s spells 
To the small circle where she dwells, 
Collecting nightly, to allure us, 

Live atoms, which, together hurl’d, 
She, like another Epicurus, [World.” 

Sets dancing thus, and calls ‘“ the 


Behold how busy in those bowers 
(Like May-flies, in and out of flowers,) 
The countless menials swarming run, 
To furnish forth, ere set of sun, 
The banquet-table richly laid 
Beneath yon awning’s lengthen’d shade, 
Where fruits shall tempt, and wines en- 
tice, 
And Luxury’s self, at Gunter’s call, 
Breathe from her summer-throne of ice 
A spirit of coolness over all. 


And now th’ important hour drew nigh, 
When, ’neath the flush of evening’s sky, 
The west end “ world” for mirth let loose, 
And moved, as he of Syracuse* 
Ne’er dreamt of moving worlds, by force 
Of four-horse power, had all combined 
Through Grosvenor Gate to speed their 
course, 
Leaving that portion of mankind, 
Whom they call ‘“‘Nobody,” behind;— 


No star for London’s feasts to-day, 
No moon of beauty, new this May, 
To lend the night her crescent ray !— 
Nothing, in short, for ear or eye, 
But veteran belles, and wits gone by, 
The relics of a past beau-monde, 
A world, like Cuvier’s, long dethroned ! 
Τὰν Parliament this evening nods 
Beneath th’ harangues of minor gods, 
On half its usual opiate’s share ; 
The great dispensers of repose, 
The first-rate furnishers of prose 
Being all call’d to—prose elsewhere. 
Soon as through Grosvenor’s lordly 
square—t 
That last impregnable redoubt, 


t Iam not certain whether the Dowagers of 


᾽ THE SUMMER FETE. 


323 


Where, guarded with Patrician care, 
Primeval Error still holds out— 

Where never gleam of gas must dare 
’Gainst ancient Darkness to revolt, 

Nor smooth Macadam hope to spare 
The dowagers one single jolt ;— 

Where, far too stately and sublime 

To profit by the lights of time, 

Let Intellect march how it will, 

They stick to oil and watchmen still :— 

Soon as through that illustrious square 
The first epistolary bell, 

Sounding by fits upon the air, 
Of parting pennies rung the knell, 

Warn’d by that tell-tale of the hours, 
And by the daylight’s westering beam, 

The young Iinthe, who, with flowers 
Half-crown’d, had sat in idle dream 

Before her glass, scarce knowing where 

Herfingersroved through that brighthair, 
While, all capriciously, she now [brow, 
Dislodged some curl from her white 

And now again replaced it there ;— 

As though her task was meant to be 

One endless change of ministry— 

A routing-up of Loves and Graces, 

But to plant others in their places. 


Meanwhile—what strain is that which 
floats {notes 

Through the small boudoir near—like 

Of some young bird, its task repeating 

For the next linnet music-meeting ? 

A voice it was, whose gentle sounds 

Still kept a modest octave’s bounds, 

Nor yet had ventured to exalt 

Its rash ambition to B alt, 

That point towards which when ladies 


rise, 
The wise man takes his hat and—flies. 
Tones of a harp, too, gently play’d, 
Came with this youthful voice com- 
muning, 
Tones true, for once, without the aid 
Of that inflictive process, tuning— 
A process which must oft have given 
Poor Milton’s ears a deadly wound ; 
So pleased, among the joys of Heay’n, 
He specifies “ harps ever tuned.”* 
She who now sung this gentle strain 
Was our young nymph’s still younger 
sister— 


this Square have yet yielded to the innovations 
of Gas and Police, but at the time when the 
above lines were written, they still obstinately 
persevered in their old regime ; and would not 
suffer themselves to be either well guarded or 
well lighted. 


Scarce ready yet for Fashion’s train 
In their light legions to enlist her, 

But counted on, as sure to bring 

Her force into the field next spring. 


The song she thus, like Jubal’s shell, 
Gave forth ‘‘so sweetly and so well,” 
Was one in Morning Post much famed, 
From a divine collection, named, 

‘‘ Songs of the toilet’’—every Lay 
Taking for subject of its Muse, 

Some branch of feminize array, 
Some item, with full scope, to choose, 
From diamonds down to dancing shoes; 
From the last hat that Herbault’s hands 

Bequeath’d to an admiring world, 
Down to the latest flounce that stands 
Like Jacob’s ladder—or expands 

Far forth, tempestuously unfurl’d. 


Speaking of one of these new Lays, 
The Morning Post thus sweetly says :— 
“Not all that breathes from Bishop’s 
lyre, [ceives, 
“‘That Barnett dreams, or Cooke con- 
‘Can match for sweetness, strength, or 
fire, 
‘‘This fine Cantata upon Sleeves. 
‘The very notes themselves reveal 
‘<The cut of each new sleeve so well; 
“A flat betrays the Imbecilles,t 
‘« Light fugues the flying :appets tell ; 
“‘ While rich cathedral chords awake 
“Our homage for the Manches @ 
Evéque.” 


’T was the first op’ning song—the Lay 
Of all least deep in toilet-lore, 

That the young nymph, to while away 
The tiring hour, thus warbled o’er :— 


SONG. 


ARRAY thee, love, array thee, love, 
In all thy best array thee; 

The sun’s below, the moon’s above— 
And Night and Bliss obey thee. 

Put on thee all that’s bright and rare, 
The zone, the wreath, the gem, 

Not so much gracing charms so fair, 
As borrowing grace from them. 

Array thee, love, array thee, love, 
In all that’s bright array thee ; 

The sun’s below—the moon’s aboye— 
And Night and Bliss obey thee. 
* “their golden harps they took— 
Harps ever tuned.” Paradise Lost, book iii. 
{ The name given to those large sleeves that 

hang loosely. 


324 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Put on the plumes thy lover gave, 
The plumes, that, proudly dancing, 
Proclaim to all, where’er they wave, 
Victorious eyes advancing. [ven 
Bring forth the robe, whose hue of hea- 
From thee derives such light, 
That Iris would give all her seven 
To boast but one so bright. 
Array thee, love, array thee, love, 
&e. &e. &e. 


Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 
Through Pleasure’s circles hie thee, 
And hearts, where’er thy footstepsmove, 

Will beat, when they come nigh thee. 
Thy every word shall be a spell, 
Thy every look a ray, 
And tracks of wond’ring eyes shall tell 
The glory of thy way ! 

Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, 
Through Pleasure’s circles hie thee, 
And hearts, where’er thy footsteps move, 

Shall beat when they come nigh thee. 


Now in his Palace of the West, 
Sinking to slumber, the bright Day, 
Like a tired monarch fann’d to rest, 
Mid the cool airs of Evening lay ; 
While round his couch’s golden rim 
The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, 
crept— 
Struggling each other’s light to dim, 
And catch his last smile ere he slept. 
How gay, as o’er the gliding Thames 
The golden eve its lustre pour’d, 
Shone out the high-born knights and 
dames 
Now group’d around that festal board; 
A living mass of plumes and flowers, 
As though they’d robb’d both birds and 
bowers— 
A peopled rainbow, swarming through 
With habitants of every hue ; 
While as the sparkling juice of France 
High in the crystal brimmers flow’d, 
Kach sunset ray that mix’d by chance 
With the wine’s sparkles, show’d [dance. 
How sunbeams may be taught to 


If not in written form express’d, 
"T'was known, at least, to every guest, 
That, though not bidden to parade 
Their scenic powers in masquerade, 
(A pastime little found to thrive 
In the bleak fog of England’s skies, 
Where wit’s the thing we best contrive, 
As masqueraders, to disquise, ) 
It yet was hoped—and well that hope 


Was answer’d by the young and gay— 

That, in the toilet’s task to-day, 
Fancy should take her wildest scope ;— 
That the rapt milliner should be 
Let loose through fields of poesy, 
The tailor, in inventive trance, - 

Up to the heights of Epic clamber, 
And all the regions of Romance 

Be ransack’d by the femme de chambre. 


Accordingly, with gay Sultanas 

Rebeccas, Sapphos, Roxalanas— 

Circassian slaves whom Love would pay 
Half his maternal realms to ransom ;— 

Young nuns, whose chief religion lay 
In looking most profanely hand 

some ;— 

Muses in muslin—pastoral maids 

With hats from the Arcade-ian shades, 

And fortune-tellers, rich, ’twas plain, 

As fortune-hunters form’d their train. 


With these, and more such female groups, 
Were mix’d no less fantastic troops 
Of male exhibiters—all willing 
To look, ey’n more than usual, killing ;— 
Beau-tyrants, smock-faced braggadocios, 
And brigands, charmingiy ferocious ;— 
M. P.’s turn’d Turks, good Moslems 
then, 

Who, last night, voted for the Greeks ; 
And Friars, stanch No-Popery men, 

In close confab with Whig Caciques. 


But where is she—the nymph, whom late 
We left before her glass delaying, 

Like Eve, when by the lake she sate, 
In the clear wave her charms survey- 


ing 
And saw in that first glassy mirror 
The first fair face that lured to error, 


“Where is she ?” ask’st thou ?—watch 
all looks 
As cent’ring to one point they bear, 
Like sun-flowers by the sides of brooks, 
Turn’d to the sun—and she is there. 
Ev’n in disguise, oh never doubt 
By her own light you'd track her out: 
As when the moon, close shawl’d in fog, 
Steals, as she thinks, through heaven 
incog, 
Though hid herself, some sidelong ray, 
At every step, detects her way. 
But not in dark disguise to-nigh. 
Hath our young heroine veil’d her 
ight ;— 
For see, she walks the earth, Love’s own, 
His wedded bride, by holiest vow 


THE SUMMER FETE. 


325 


Pledged in Olympus, and made known 
To mortals by the type which now 
Hangs glitt’ring on her snowy brow, 

That butterfly, mysterious trinket, 

Which means the Soul, (tho’ few would 

think it,) 

And sparkling thus on brow so white, 

Tells us we’ve Psyche here to-night! 


But hark! some song hath caught her 
ears— {ne’er 


And, lo, how pleased, as though she’d | 


Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, 
Her goddess-ship approves the air ; 
And to a mere terrestrial strain, 
Inspired by naught but pink champagne, 
Her butterfly as gayly nods 
As though she sat with all her train 
At some great concert of the Gods, 
With Pheebus, leader—Jove director, 
And half the audience drunk with nectar. 


From a male group the carol came — 

A few gay youths, whom round the 

board 

The last-tried flask’s superior fame 

Had lured to taste the tide it pour’d; 
And one, who, from his youth and lyre, 
Seem’d grandson to the Teian sire, 
Thus gayly sung, while, to his song, 
Replied in chorus the gay throng :— 


SONG. 


SomME mortals there may be, so wise or 
so fine, [to see ; 

As in evenings like this no enjoyment 
But, as I’m not particular—wit, love, 
and wine, [cient for me. 

Are for one night’s amusement sufli- 
Nay—humble and strange as my tastes 
may appear— [thank Heaven, 

If driv’n to the worst, [ could manage, 
To put up with eyes such as beam round 
me here, [days out of seven. 

And such wine as we're sipping, six 
So pledge me a bumper—your sages pro- 
found [patent plan: 

May be blest, if they will, on their own 
But as we are not sages, why—send the 
cup round — [we can. 

We must only be happy the best way 


A reward by some king was once offerd, 
we're told, [mankind ; 

To whoe’er could invent a new bliss for 
But talk of new pleasures !—give me but 
the old, {ones they find. 

And Vl leave your inventors all new 


Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of 


bliss, [day, 

Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some 

Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this, 

And such eyes as we’ye here be the 

stars of my way! ([gels, on high, 

In the mean time, a bumper—your An- 

May have pleasures unknown to life’s 

limited span ; [flask fly— 

But, as we are not Angels, why—let the 

We must only be happy all ways that 
we can. 


Now nearly fled was sunset’s light, 
Leaving but so much of its beam 
As gave to objects, late so bright, 
The coloring of a shadowy dream ; 
And there was still where Day had set 
A flush that spoke him loath to die— 
A last link of his glory yet, 
Binding together earth and sky. 
Say, why is it that twilight best 
Becomes even brows the loveliest ? 
That dimness, with its soft’ning touch, 
Can bring out grace, unfelt before, 
And charms we ne’er can see too much, 
When seen but half enchant the more ? 
Alas, it is that every joy 
In fullness finds its worst alloy, 
And half a bliss, but hoped or guess’d, 
Is sweeter than the whole possess’d ;— 
That Beauty, when least shone upon, 
A creature most ideal grows ; 
And there’s no light from moon or sun 
Like that Imagination throws ;— 
It is, alas, that Fancy shrinks 
Ey’n from a bright reality, 
And turning inly, feels and thinks 
_ Far heay’nlier things than e’er will be, 


Such was th’ effect of twilight’s hour 
Onthe fair groupsthat,roundandround, 
From glade to grot, from bank to bow’r, 
Now wanderd through this fairy 
ground ; 
And thus did Fancy—and champagne — 
Work on the sight their dazzling spells, 
Till nymphs that look’d, at noonday, 
plain, [belles ; 
Now brighten’d, in the gloom, to 
And the brief interval of time, 
’Twixt after dinner and before, 
To dowagers brought back their prime, 
And shed a halo round two-score. 


Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, 
The ear, the fancy, quick succeed ; 


326 


And now along the waters fly 
Light gondoles, of Venetian breed, 
With knights and dames, who, calm re- 
clined, 
Lisp out love-sonnets as they glide— 
Astonishing old Thames to find 
Such doings on his mortal tide. 


So bright was still that tranquil river, 
With thelastshaftfrom Daylight’s quiver, 
That many a group, in turn, were seen 
Embarking on its wave serene ; 
And, ’mong the rest, in chorus gay, 

A band of mariners, from th’ isles 

Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles, 
As smooth they floated, to the play 
Of their oar’s cadence, sung this lay :— 


TRIO. 


Our home is on the sea, boy, 
Our home is on the sea; 
When Nature gave 
The ocean-waye, 
She mark’d it for the Free. 
Whatever storms befall, boy, 
Whatever storms befall, 
The island bark 
Is Freedom’s ark, 
And floats her safe through all. 


Behold yon sea of isles, boy, 
Behold yon sea of isles, 
Where ev’ry shore 
Is sparkling o’er 
With Beauty’s richest smiles. 
For us hath Freedom claim’d, boy, 
For us hath Freedom claim’d 
Those ocean-nests 
Where Valor rests 
His eagle wing untamed. 


And shall the Moslem dare, boy, 
And shall the Moslem dare, 
While Grecian hand 
Can wield a brand, 
To plant his Crescent there ? 
No—by our fathers, no, boy, 
No, by the Cross we show— 
From Maina’s rills 
To Thracia’s hills 
All Greece re-echoes ‘‘ No !” 
Like pleasant thoughts that o’er the 
mind 
A minute come, and go again, 
*In England the partition of this opera of 


Rossini was transferred to the story of Peter 
the Hermit; by which means the indecorum 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Ev’n so, by snatches, in the wind, 
Was caught and lost that choral 
strain, 
Now full, now faint upon the ear, 
As the bark floated far or near. 
At length when, lost, the closing note 
Had down the waters died along, 
Forth from another fairy boat, 


Freighted with music, came this 
song :— 
SONG. 
SMOOTHLY flowing through verdant 
vales, 


Gentle river, thy current runs, 
Shelter’d safe from winter gales, 

Shaded cool from summer suns. 
Thus our Youth’s sweet moments glide, 

Fenced with flow’ry shelter round ; 
No rude tempest wakes the tide, 

All its path is fairy ground. 


But, fair river, the day will come, 
When, woo’d by whisp’ring groves in 
vain, [home, 
Thou’lt leave those banks, thy shaded 
To mingle with the stormy main. 
And thou, sweet youth, too soon wilt 
ass 
Into the world’s unshelter’d sea, 
Where, once thy wave hath mix’d, alas, 
All hope of peace is lost for thee. 


Next turn we to the gay saloon, 
Resplendent as a summer noon, [lights,- 
Where, “neath a pendent wreath of 
A Zodiac of flowers and tapers— 
(Such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds 
Its glory o’er young dancers’ heads)— 
Quadrille performs her mazy rites, 
And reigns supreme o’er slides and 
capers ;— 
Working to death each opera strain, 
As, with a foot that ne’er reposes, 
She jigs through sacred and profane, 
From ‘‘Maid and Magpie” up to 
‘6 Moses ;’’—* 
Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes, 
Till fagg’d Rossini scarce respires ; 
Till Mayerbeer for mercy sues, 
And Weber at her feet expires. 


And now the set hath ceased—the bows 
Of fiddlers taste a brief repose, 


of giving such names as ‘‘ Moise,” ‘‘ Pharaon,” 
&e., to the dances selected from it (as was done 
in Paris) has been avoided. 


THE SUMMER FETE. 


While light along the painted floor, 
Arm within arm, the couples stray, 
Talking their stock of nothings o’er, 
Till—nothing’s left, at last, to say. 
When, lo ! —most opportunely sent— 
Two Exquisites, a he and she, 
Just brought from Dandyland, and 
meant 
For Fashion’s grand Menagerie, 
Enter’d the room—and scarce were there, 
When all flock’d round them, glad to 
stare 
At any monsters, any where. 


Some thought them perfect, to their 
tastes ; 
While others hinted that the waists 
(That in particular of the he thing) 
Left far too ample room for breathing : 
Whereas, to meet these critics’ wishes, 
The isthmus there should be so small, 
That Exquisites, at last, like fishes, 
Must manage not to breathe at all. 
The female (these same critics said, ) 
Though orthodox from toe to chin, 
Yet lack’d that spacious width of head 
To hat of toadstool much akin— 
That build of bonnet, whose extent 
Should, like a doctrine of dissent, 
Puzzle church-doors to let it in. 


However—sad as ’twas, no doubt, 

That nymph so smart should go about, 

With head unconscious of the place 

It ought to fill in Infinite Space— 

Yet all allow’d that, of her kind, 

A prettier show ’twas hard to find ; 

While of that doubtful genus, “ dressy 
men,”’ [men. 

The male was thought a first-rate speci- 

Such Savans, too, as wish’d to trace 

The manners, habits, of this race— 

To know what rank (if rank at all) 

*Mong peeing things to them should 
ali— 

What sort of notions heaven imparts 

To high-built heads and tight-laced 
hearts, 

And how far Soul, which, Plato says, 

Abhors restraint, can act in stays— 

Might now, if gifted with discerning, 

Find opportunities of learning : 

As these two creatures—from their pout 

_ And frown, ’twas plain—had just fall’n 
out ; 

* It is hardly necessary to remind the reader 
that this Duet is a parody of the often-trans- 


327 


And all their little thoughts, of course, 
Were stirring in full fret and force ;— 
Like mites, through microscope espied, 
A world of nothings magnified. 


But mild the vent such beings seek, 
The tempest of their souls to speak : 
As Opera swains to fiddles sigh, 

To fiddles fight, to fiddles die, 
Even so this tender couple set 
Their well-bred woes to a Duet. 


WALTZ DUET.* 
HE, 


Lone as I waltz’d with only thee, 
Each blissful Wednesday that went by, 
Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugee 
Adorn’d a youth so blest as I. 
Oh! ah! ah! oh! 
Those happy days are gone—heigho! 
SHE. 
Long as with thee I skimm’d the ground 
Nor yet was scorn’d for Lady Jane, 
No blither nymph tetotum’d round 
To Collinet’s immortal strain. 
Oh! ah! &e. 
Those happy days are gone—heigho! 
HE. 
With Lady Jane now whirl’d about, 
I know no bounds of time or breath ; 
And, should the charmer’s head hold out, 
My heart and heels are hers till death. 
Oh! ah! &e. [we'll go. 
Still round and round through life 
SHE. 


To Lord Fitznoodle’s eldest son, 
A youth renown’d for waistcoats 
smart, 
I now have given (excuse the pun) 
A vested interest in my heart. 
Oh! ah! &e. [go- 
Still round and round with him Ill 
ΠΕ. 


What if, by fond remembrance led 
Again to wear our mutual chain, 
For me thou cutt’st Fitznoodle dead, 
And I levant from Lady Jane. 
Oh! ah! &e. 
Still round and round again we'll go. 
SHE. 


Though he the Noodle honors give, 
And thine, dear youth, are not so high, 


lated and parodied ode of Horace, ‘Donec 
gratus eram tibi,”’ &c. 


328 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


With thee in endless waltz Τ᾽ ἃ live, 
With thee, to Weber’s Stop-Waltz, 
Oh! ah! &e. [die ! 
Thus round and round through life 
we'll go. 
[Eaxeunt waltzing. 


While thus, like motes that dance away 
Hxistence in a summer ray, 
These gay things, born but to quadrille, 
The circle of their doom fulfil— 
(That dancing doom, whose law decrees 
That they should live, on the alert toe, 
A life of ups-and-downs, like keys 
Of Broadwood’sin a long concerto :—) 
While thus the fiddle’s spell, within, 
Calls up its realm of restless sprites, 
Without, as if some Mandarin 
Were holding there his Feast of Lights, 
Lamps of all hues, from walks and 
bowers, 
Broke on the eye like kindling flowers, 
Till, budding into light, each tree 
Bore its full fruit of brilliancy. 


Here shone a garden—lamps all o’er, 
As though the Spirits of the Air 
Had tak’n it in their heads to pour 
A shower of summer meteors there ;— 
While here a lighted shrubb’ry led 
To a small lake that sleeping lay, 
Cradled in foliage, but, o’erhead, 
Open to heayen’s sweet breath and 
Tay ; 
While round its rim there burning stood 
Lamps, with young flowers beside 
them bedded, [borhood ; 
That shrunk from such warm neigh- 
And, looking bashful in the flood, 
Blush’d to behold themselves 
wedded. 


Hither, to this embower’d retreat, 
Fit but for nights so still and sweet ; 
Nights, such as Eden’s calm recall 
In its first lonely hour, when all 

So silent is, below, on high, 

That if a star falls down the sky, 
You almost think you hear it fall— 
Hither, to this recess, a few, 

To shun the dancers’ wild’ring noise, 
And give an hour, ere night-time flew, 

To Music’s more ethereal joys, 
Came with their yoices—ready all 
As Hecho, waiting for a call— 

In hymn or ballad, dirge or glee, 
To weave their mingling minstrelsy. 


50 


And, first, ἃ dark-eyed nymph, array’d— 
Like her, whom Art hath deathless made 
Bright Mona Lisa*—with that braid 
Of hair across the brow, and one 
Small gem that in the centre shone— 
With face, too, in its form resembling 
Da Vinci’s Beauties—the dark eyes, 
Now lucid, as through crystal trembling, 
Now soft, as if suffused with sighs— 
Her lute, that hung beside her, took, 
And, bending o’er it with shy look, 
More beautiful, in shadow thus, 
Than when with life most luminous, 
Pass’d her light finger o’er the chords, 
And ae to them these mournful 
words : 


SONG. 

Brin@ hither, bring thy lute, while day 
is dying; [song ; 
Here will I lay me, and list to thy 
Should tones of other days mix with its 
sighing, [so long, 
Tones of a light heart, now banish’d 
Chase them away—they bring but pain, 

And let thy theme be wo again. 


Sing on, thou mournful lute—day is fast 


[away ;. 


going, 
Soon will its light from thy chords die 
One little gleam in the west is still 
glowing, [thy lay. 
When that hath vanish’d, farewell to 
Mark, how it fades !—see, it is fled! 
Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead. 


The group, that late, in garb of Greeks, 
Sung their light chorus o’er the tide— 
Forms, such as up the wooded creeks 
Of Helle’s shore at noonday glide, 
Or, nightly, on her glist’ning sea, 
Woo the bright waves with melody— 
Now link’d their triple league again 
Of voices sweet, and sung a strain, 
Such as, had Sappho’s tuneful ear 
But caught it, on the fatal steep, 
She would have paused, entranced, to 


hear, 
- And, for that day, deferr’d her leap. 


SONG AND TRIO. 
On one of those sweet nights that oft 
Their lustre o’er th’ Agean fling, 
*The celebrated portrait by Leonardo da 


Vinci, which he is said to have vecupied four 
years in painting.— Vasari, vol. vii. 


THE SUMMER FETE. 


Beneath my casement, low and soft, 
T heard a Lesbian lover sing ; 


329 


: . 
Or green, or crimson, lent its hue; 


As though a live chameleon’s skin 


And, list’ning both with ear and thought, | He had despoil’d to robe him in. 


These sounds 
caught— 
“Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
“Who gazes at this hour on ("ee !” 


upon the night-breeze 


The song was one by Sappho sung, 
In the first love-dreams of her lyre, 
When words of passion from her tongue 
Fell like a shower of living fire. 
And still, at close of ev’ry strain, 
IT heard these burning words again— 
‘Oh, happy as the gods is he, 
‘Who listens at this hour to thee!” 


Once more to Mona Lisa turn’d 

Each asking eye—nor turn’d in vain; 
Though the quick, transient blush that 

burn’d 

Bright o’er her cheek, and died again, 
Show’d with what inly shame and fear 
Was utter’d what all loved to hear. 
Yet not to sorrow’s languid lay 

Did she her lute-song now devote ; 
But thus, with voice that, like a ray 

Of southern sunshine, seem’d to float— 

So rich with climate was each note— 
Call’d up in every heart a dream 
Of Italy, with this soft theme :— 


SONG. 


On, where art thou dreaming, 
On land, or on sea? 
In my lattice is gleaming 
The watch-light for thee; 
And this fond heart is glowing 
To welcome thee home, 
And the night is fast going 
But thou art not come: 
No, thou com’st not! 


’Tis the time when night-flowers 
Should wake from their rest; 
’Tis the hour of all hours, 
When the lute singeth best. 
But the flowers are half sleeping 
Till thy glance they see! 
And the hush’d lute is keeping 
Its music for thee. 
Yet, thou com’st not! 


Searce had the last word left her lip, 
When a light, boyish form, with trip 
Fantastic, up the green walk came, 
Prank’d in gay vest, to which the flame 
Of every lamp he pass’d, or blue, 


A zone he wore of clatt’ring shells, 
And from his lofty cap, where shone 
A peacock’s plume, there dangled bells 
That rung as he came dancing on, 
Close after Sin a page—in dress 
And shape, his miniature express— 
An ample basket, fill’d with store 
Of toys and trinkets, laughing bore; 
Till, having reach’d this verdant seat, 
He laid it at his master’s feet, 
Who, half in speech and half in song, 
Chanted this invoice to the throng :— 


SONG. 
WHO'LL buy ?—’tis Folly’s shop, who’ll 
buy? 
We’ve toys to suit all ranks and ages; 
Besides our usual fools’ supply, 
We've lots of playthings, too, for sages. 
For reasoners, here’s a juggler’s cup, 
That fullest seems when nothing’s in 
And nine-pins set, like systems, up, [it; 
To be knock’d down the following 
minute. [buy ? 
Who'll buy ?—’tis Folly’s shop, who'll 


Gay caps we here of foolscap make, 
For bards to wear in dog-day weather ; 
Or bards the bells alone may take, 
And leave to wits the cap and feather. 
Tetotums we’ve for patriots got, 
Who court the mob with antics hum- 
Like theirs the patriot’s dizzy lot, [ble ; 
A glorious spin, and then—a tumble. 
Who'll buy, &e., &e. 
Here, wealthy misers to inter, 
We’ve shrouds of neat post-obit paper; 
While, for their heirs, we’ve quicksilver, 
That, fast as they can wish, will caper. 
For aldermen we’ve dials true, 
That tell no hour but that of dinner; 
For courtly parsons sermons new, 
That suit alike both saint and sinner. 
. Who'll buy, &e., &e. 
No time we’ve now to name our terms, 
But, whatsoe’er the whims that sieze 
This oldest of all mortal firms, [you, 
Folly and Co., will try to please you. 
Or, showld you wish a darker hue 
Of goods than we canrecommend you, 
Why then (as we with lawyers do) 
To Knavery’s shop next door we'll 


send you. 
Who'll buy, &e., &e. 


990 


While thus the blissful moments roll’d, 
Moments of rare and fleeting light, 
That show themselves, like grains of gold 
In the mine’s refuse, few and bright ; 
Behold where, opening far away, 
The long Conservatory’s range, 
Stripp’d of the flowers it wore all day, 
But gaining lovelier in exchange, 
Presents, on Dresden’s costliest ware, 
A supper, such as Gods might share. 


Ah, much-loved Supper !—blithe repast 
Of other times now dwindling fast, 
Since Dinner far into the night 
Advanced the march of appetite ; 
Deploy’d his never-ending forces 
Of various vintage and three courses, 
And, like those Goths who play’d the 
dickens 
With Rome and all her sacred chickens, 
Put Supper and her fowls so white, 
Legs, wings, and drumsticks, all to 
flight. 


Now waked once more by wine—whose 
tide 

Is the true Hippocrene, where glide 

The Muse’s swans with happiest wing, 

Dipping their bills before they smg— 

The minstrels of the table greet 

The list’ning ear with descint sweet :-— 


SONG AND TRIO. 
THE LEVEE AND COUCHEE. 


CALL the Loves around, 
Let the whisp’ring sound 
Of their wings be heard alone, 
Till soft to rest 
My Lady blest 
At this bright hour hath gone. 
Let Fancy’s beams 
Play o’er her dreams, 
Till, touch’d with light all through, 
Her spirit be 
Like a summer sea, 
Shining and slumb’ring too. 
And, while thus hush’d she lies, 
Let the whisper’d chorus rise— 
“Good-evening, good-evening, to our 
Lady’s bright eyes.” 


But the day-beam breaks, 
See, our Lady wakes! 

Call the Loves around once more, 
Like stars that wait 
At Morning’s gate, 

Her first steps to adore. 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Let the veil of night 
From her dawning sight 
All gently pass away, 
Like mists that flee 
From a summer sea, 
Leaving it full of day. 
And, while her last dream flies, 
Let the whisper’d chorus rise— 
““Good-morning, good-morning, to our 
Lady’s bright eyes.” 


SONG. 


ΤῈ to see thee be to love thee, 
If to love thee be to prize 

Naught of earth or heav’n above thee, 
Nor to live but for those eyes: 

If such love to mortal given, 

Be wrong to earth, be wrong to heay’n, 

Tis not for thee the fault to blame, 

For from those eyes the madness came. 

Forgive but thou the crime of loving, 
In this heart more pride ’twill raise 

To be thus wrong, with thee approving, 
Than right, with all a world to praise! 


But say, while light these songs resound, 
What means that buzz of whisp’ring 
round, 

From lip to lip—as if the Power 

Of Mystery, in this gay hour, 

Had thrown some secret (as we fling 

Nuts among children) to that ring 

Of rosy, restless lips, to be 

Thus scrambled for so wantonly 3 

And, mark ye, still as each reveals 

The mystic news, her hearer steals 

A look tow’rds yon enchanted chair, 
Where, like the Lady of the Mask, 

A nymph, as exquisitely fair 
As Love himself for bride could ask, 

Sits blushing deep, as if aware 

Of the wing’d secret circling there. 

Who is this nymph? and what, oh Muse, 
What, in the name of all odd things 

That woman’s restless brain pursues, 
What mean these mystic whisperings ? 


Thus runs the tale :—yon blushing maid, 
Who sits in beauty’s light array’d, 
While o’er herleans a tall young Dervise, 
(Who from her eyes, as all observe, is 
Learning by heart the Marriage Service, ) 
Is the bright heroine of our song,— 

The Love-wed Psyche, whom so long 
We've miss’d among this mortal train, 
We thought her wing’d to heaven again. 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


But no—earth still demands her smile ; 
Her friends, the Gods, must wait awhile. 
And if, for maid of heavenly birth, 

A young Duke’s proffer'd heart and 

hand 

Be things worth waiting for on earth, 

Both are, this hour, at her command. 
To-night, in yonder half-lit shade, 

For love concerns expressly meant, 
The fond proposal first was made, 

And love and silence blushed con- 


sent. 
Parents aud friends (all here, as Jews, 
Enchanters, housemaids, Turks, Hin- 
doos, ) 
Have heard, approved, and bless’d the 
tie ; 
And now, hadst thou a poet’s eye, 
Thou might’st behold, in th’ air above, 
That brilliant brow, triumphant Love, 
Holding, as if to drop it down 
Gently upon her curls, a crown 
Of Ducal shape—but, oh, such gems ! 
Pilfer’d from Peri diadems, 
And set in gold like that which shines 
To deck the Fairy of the Mines: 
In short, a crown all glorious—such as 
Love orders when he makes 4 Duchess. 


EVENINGS 


IN 


331 


But see, ’tis morn in heaven; the Sun 
Up the bright orient hath begun 
To canter his immortal team; 

And, though not yet arrived in sight, 
His leader’s nostrils send a steam 

Of radiance forth, so rosy bright 

As makes their onward path all light. 
What’s to be done? if Sol will be 
So deuced early, so must we; 
And when the day thus shines outright, 
Ev’n dearest friends must bid good 

night. [ing, 

So farewell, scene of mirth and mask- 

Now almost a by-gone tale ; 
Beauties, late in lamp-light basking, 

Now, by daylight, dim and pale ; 
Harpers, panning o’er your harps, 
Searcely knowing flats from sharps ; 
Mothers who, while bored you keep 
Time by nodding, nod to sleep ; 
Heads of air, that stood last night 
Crépé, crispy, and upright, 
But have now, alas! one sees, a 
Leaning like the tower of Pisa; 
Fare ye well—thus sinks away 

All that’s mighty, all that’s bright ; 
Tyre and Sidon had their day, 

And ev’n a Ball—has but its night! 


GREECE. 


1827. 


In thus connecting together a series 
of Songs by a thread of poetical narra- 
tive, my chief object has been to com- 
bine Recitation with Music, so as to en- 
able a greater number of persons to join 
in the performance, by enlisting, as 
readers, those who may not feel willing 
or competent to take a part as singers. 

The Island of Zea, where the scene is 
laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, 
and was the birthplace of Simonides, 
Bacchylides, and other eminent persons. 
An account of its present state may be 
found in the Travels of Dr. Clarke, who 


says that ‘‘it appeared to him to be the 
best cultivated of any of the Grecian 
Isles.”—Vol. vi. p. 174. 

sags | 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


FIRST EVENENG. 
“ΠῊΕ sky is bright—the breeze is fair. 
‘‘And the mainsail flowing, full and 
free— 


332 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


“Our farewell word is woman’s pray’, 
“ And the hope before us—Liberty ! 
“ Farewell, farewell. 
“To Greece we give our shining blades, 
“And our hearts to you, young Zean 
Maids! 


**The moon is in the heavens above, 
«And the windis on the foaming sea— 
“Thus shines the star of woman’s love 
“On the glorious strife of Liberty! 
“ Farewell, farewell. 
““To Greece we give our shining blades, 
“ And our hearts to you, young Zean 
Maids !” 


Thus sung they from the bark, that now 

Turn’d to the sea its gallant prow, 

Bearing within it hearts as brave 

As e’er sought Freedom o’er the waye ; 

And leaving on that islet’s shore, 
Where still the farewell beacons burn, 

Friends, that shall many a day look o’er 
The long, dim sea for their return. 


Virgin of Heaven! speed their way— 

Oh, speed their way,—the chosen 
flow’r, 

Of Zea’s youth, the hope and stay 
Of parents in their wintry hour, 

The love of maidens, and the pride 

Of the young, happy, blushing bride, 

Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died— 

All, all are in that precious bark, 
Which now, alas, no more is seen— 

Though every eye still turns to mark 
The moonlight spot where it had been. 


Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, 
And mothers, your beloved 
gone !— 
Now may you quench those signal fires, 
Whose light they long look’d back 
upon [flame 
From their dark deck—watching the 
As fast it faded from their view, 
With thoughts, that, but for manly 
shame, [you. 
Had made them droop and weep like 
Home to your chambers ! home, and pray 
For the bright coming of that day, 
When, bless’d by Heaven, the Cross 
shall sweep 
*«Nerium Oleander. In Cyprus it retains 
its ancient name, Rhododaphne, and the Cypri- 
ots adorn their churehes with the flowers on 
feast-days.”—Journal of Dr. Sibthorpe, Wal- 
pole’s Turkey. Td. 
; Loniceri. Caprifolium, used by the girls of 
Patmos for garlands. 


are 


| 


The Crescent from the Agean deep, 
And your brave warriors, hast’ning back, 
Will bring such glories in their track, 
As shall, for many an age to come, 
Shed light around their name and home. 


There is a Fount on Zea’s isle, 
Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile 
All the sweet flowers, of every kind, 
On which the sun of Greece looks 
Pleased as aloveron the crown [down, 
His mistress for her brow hath twined, 
When he beholds each flow’ret there, 
Himself had wish’d her most to wear; 
Here bloom’d the laurel-rose,* whose 
wreath [shrines, 
Hangs radiant round the Cypriot 
And here those bramble-flowers that 
breathe 
Their odor into Zante’s wines :—t 
The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, 
To grace their floral diadems, 
The lovely maids of Patmos weave :—t 
And that fair plant, whose tangled 
stems 
Shine like a Nereid’s hair, § when spread, 
Dishevell’d, o’er her azure bed ;— 
All these bright children of the clime, 
(Each at its own most genial time, 
The summer, or the year’s sweet prime, ) 
Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn 
The Valley, where that Fount is born: 
While round, to grace its cradle green, 
Groups of Velani oaks are seen, 
Tow’ring on every verdant height— 
Tall, shadowy, in the evening light, 
Like Genii, set to watch the birth 
Of some enchanted child of earth— 
Fair oaks, that over Zea’s vales, 
Stand with their leafy pride unfurl’d ; 
While Commerce, from her thousand 
sails, [world ἢ} 
Seatters their fruit throughout the 


’T was here—as soon as prayer and sleep 


| (Those truest friends to all who weep) 


Had lighten’d every heart, and made 
liy’n sorrow wear a softer shade— 
’T was here, in this secluded spot, 
Amid whose breathings calm and 
sweet 
Grief might be sooth’d, if not forgot, 

§ Cuseuta europea. ‘ From the twisting 
and twining of the stems, it is compared by 
the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nere- 
ids.” — Walpole’s Turkey. 

| ‘The produce of the island in these acorns 
alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand 
quintals.”’—Clarke’s Travels. 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


The Zean nymphs resolved to meet 
Each evening now, by the same light 
That saw their farewell tears that night; 
And try, if sound of lute and song, [ers 

If wand’ring ’mid the moonlight flow- 
Tn various talk, could charm along 

With lighter step, the ling’ring hours, 
Till tidings of that Bark should come, 
Or Victory waft their warriors home! 


When first they met—the wonted smile 
Of greeting having gleam’d awhile— 
’T would touch ey’n Moslem heart to see 
The sadness that came suddenly 
O’er their young brows, when they look’d 
round 
Upon that bright, enchanted ground ; 
And thought, how many a time, with 
those 
Who now were gone to the rude wars, 
They there had met, at evening’s close, 
And danced till morn outshone the 
stars ! 


But seldom long doth hang th’ eclipse 
Of sorrow o’er such youthful breasts— 
The breath from her own blushing lips, 
That on the maiden’s mirror rests, 
Not swifter, lighter from the glass, 
Than sadness from her brow doth pass. 
Soon did they now, as round the Well 
They sat, beneath the rising moon— 
And some, with voice of awe, would tell 
Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell 
In holy founts—w bile some w ould tune 
Their idle lutes, that now had lain, 
For days, without a single strain ;— 
And others, from the rest apart, 
With laugh that told the lighten’d heart, 
Sat, whisp’ring in each other’s ear 
Secrets, that all in turn would hear ;— 


Soon did they find this thoughtless play | 


So swiftly steal their griefs away, 

That many a nymph, though pleased 
the while, 
Reproach’d her own forgetful smile, 

And sighed to think she could be gay. 


Among these maidens there was one, 
Who to Leucadia* late had been— 

Had stood, beneath the evening sun, 
On its white tow’ring cliffs, and seen 


* Now Santa Maura—the island, from whose 
cliffs Sappho leaped into the sea. 

t * The precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is 
about one hundred and fourteen feet from the 
water, which is of a profound depth, as ap- 
pears from the dark-blue color and the eddy 
that plays round the pointed and projecting 
rocks.’ —Goodisson's Ionian Isles. 


333 


The very spot where Sappho sung 
Her ἐκ εξ μος music, ere she sprung 
(Still holding, in that fearful leap, 
By her loved lyre) into the deep, 
And dying quench’d the fatal fire, 
At once, of both her heart and lyre. 
Mutely they listen’d all—and well 


Did the young travell’d maiden tell 
Of the dread height to which that steep 


‘Beetles above the eddying deep—t 


Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round 
The dizzy edge with mournful sound— 
And of those scented liliest found 
Still blooming on that fearful place— 
As if call’d up by Love, to grace 

Th’ immortal spot, o’er which the last 
Bright footsteps of his martyr pass’d! 


While fresh to ev’ry listener’s thought 
These legends of Leucadia brought 
All that of Sappho’s hapless flame 
Is kept alive, still watch’d by Fame— 
The maiden, tuning her soft lute, 
While all the rest stood round her, mute, 
Thus sketch’d the languishment of soul, 
That o’er the tender Lesbian stole ; 
And, in a yoice, whose thrilling tone 
Fancy might deem the Lesbian’s own, 
One of those fervid fragments gave, 
Which still,—like sparkles of Greek 
Fire, 
Undying, ev’n beneath the wave,— 
Burn on through Time, and ne’er ex- 
pire. 


SONG. 
As o’er her loom the Lesbian Maid 
Tn love-sick languor hung her head, 


| Unknowing where her fingers stray’d, 


She weeping turn’d away, and said, 
‘Oh, my sweet Mother—’tis in vain— 

“1 cannot weave, as once I wove— 
“So wilder’d is my heart and brain 

“With thinking ofthat youth I love "ὃ 


Again the web she tried to trace, 
But tears fell o’er each tangled thread; 


| While, looking in her mother’s face, 


Who watchful o’er her lean’d, she said, 


“ Oh, my sweet Mother—’tis in vain— 


| Sappho beginning, TAveeta μᾶτερ, which Depa 


“‘T cannot weave, as once I woye— 


+See Mr. Goodisson’s very interesting de- 
scription of all these circumstances. 

§ [ have attempted, in these four lines, to 
give some idea of that beautiful fragment of 


sents so truly (as Warton remarks) ‘‘ the lan- 
guor and listlessness of a person deeply in 
love "ἢ 


394 


“ So wilder’d is my heart and brain 
“ With thinking of that youth I love!” 


A silence follow’d this sweet air, 
As each in tender musing stood, 
Thinking, with lips that moved in prayer, 
Of Sappho and that fearful flood : 
While some, who ne’er till now had known 
How much their heartsresembled hers, 
Felt as they made her griefs their own, 
That they,too, were Love’s worshippers. 


At length a murmur, all but mute, 
So faint it was, came from the lute 
Of a young melancholy maid, 
Whose fingers, all uncertain play’d 
From chord to chord, as if in chase 
Of some lost melody, some strain 
Of other times, whose faded trace 
She sought among those chords again. 
Slowly the half-forgotten theme 
(Though born in feelings ne’er forgot) 
Came to her memory—as a beam 
Falls broken o’er some shaded spot ;— 
And while her lute’s sad symphony 
Fill’d up each sighing pause between ; 
And Love himself might weep to see 
What ruin comes where he hath been— 
As wither’d still the grass is found 
Where fays have danced their merry 
round — 
Thus simply to the list’ning throng 
She breathed her melancholy song :— 


SONG. 


WEEPING for thee, my love, through the 
long day, 

Lonely and wearily life wears away. 

Weeping for thee, my love, through the 
long night— 

No rest in darkness, no joy in light! 

Naught left but Memory, whose dreary 
tread [all lies dead— 

Sounds through this ruin’d heart, where 

Wakening the echoes of joy long fled! 


Of many a stanza, this alone 

Had ’seaped oblivion—like the one 

Stray fragment of a wreck, which 
thrown, 

With the lost vessel’s name, ashore, 

Tells who they were that live no more. 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


When thus the heart is in a vein 
Of tender thought, the simplest strain 
Can touch it with peculiar power— 

As when the air is warm, the scent 
Of the most wild and rustic flower 

Can fill the whole rich element— 
And, in such moods, the homeliest tone 
That’s link’d with feelings, once our 

own— 

With friends or joys gone by—will be 
Worth choirs of loftiest harmony ! 


But some there were, among the group 
Of damsels there, too light of heart 
To let their spirits longer droop, 
Evy’n under music’s melting art ; 
And one upspringing, with a bound, 
From a low bank of flowers, look’d round 
With eyes that, though so full of light, 
Had still a trembling tear within; 
And, while her fingers, in swift flight, 
Flew o’er a fairy mandolin, 
Thus sung the song her lover late 
Had sung to her—the eve before 
That joyous night, when, as of yore, 
All Zea met, to celebrate 
The Feast of May, on the sea-snore. 


SONG. 


WHEN the Balaika* 
Is heard o’er the sea, 
Τ᾽] dance the Romaika 
By moonlight with thee. 
If waves then, advancing, 
Should steal on our play, 
Thy white feet, in dancing, 
Shall chase them away.f 
When the Balaika 
Is heard o’er the sea, 
Thow'lt dance the Romaika, 
My own love, with me. 


Then, at the closing 
Of each merry lay, 
How sweet ’tis, reposing, 
Beneath the night ray! 
Or if, declining, 
The moon leave the skies, 
We'll talk by the shining 
Of each other’s eyes. 


Oh then, how featly 
The dance we’ll renew, 


* This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of | dancing the Romaika upon the sand; in some 


a syllable; Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, 
makes it “ Balalaika.”’ 
iI saw above thirty parties engaged in 


of these groups, the girl who led them chased 
the retreating wave.”—Douglas on the Modern 
Greeks, 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


335 


Treading so fleetly 
' Its light mazes through :* 
Till stars, looking o’er us 
From heaven’s high bow’rs, 
Would change their bright chorus 
For one dance of ours! 
When the Balaika 
Is heard o’er the sea, 
Thow’lt dance the Romaika, 
My own love, with me. 


How changingly forever veers [6818 ! 
The heart of youth, ’twixt smiles and 
Ey’n asin April, the light vane 
Now points to sunshine, now to rain. 
Instant this lively lay dispell’d 
The shadow from each blooming brow, 
And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held 
Full empire o’er each fancy now. 


But say—what shall the measure be ? 

«Shall we the old Romaika tread,” 
(Some eager ask’d) ‘‘ as anciently 

“Twas by the maids of Delos led, 

‘¢ When, slow at first, then circling fast, 
“ As the gay spirits rose—at last, 
«« With hand in hand, like Jinks enlock’d, 

a acough the light air they seem’d to 

it 
“Tn labyrinthine maze, that mock’d 

‘The dazzled eye that follow’d it ?” 

Some eall’d aloud ‘the Fountain 
Dance !”’— 

While one young, dark-eyed Amazon, 
Whose step was air-like, and whose 

glance 

Flash’d, like a sabre in the sun, 
Sportively said, “Shame on these soft 
«And languid strains we hear so oft. 
‘Daughters of Freedom ! have not we 

ἐς Learn’d from our lovers and our sires 
‘“The Dance of Greece, while Greece 

was free— [lyres, 

“That Dance, where neither flutes nor 
“But sword and shield clash on the ear 
“A music tyrants quake to hear ?t 
«‘ Heroines of Zea, arm with me, 

“¢ And dance the dance of Victory !” 

* «Tn dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Doug- 
las) they begin in slow and solemn step till 
they have gained the time; but by degrees the 
air becomes more sprightly; the conductress 
of the dance sometimes setting to her partner, 
sometimes darting before the rest, and leading 
them through the most rapid revolutions; some- 
times crossing under the hands, which are held 
up to let her pass, and giving as much liveliness 
and intricacy as she can to the figures, into 
which she conducts her companions, while their | 
bnsiness is to follow her in all her movements, ' 


Thus saying, she, with playful grace, 
Loosed the wide hat, that o’er her face 
(From Anatoliaf came the maid) 
Hung, shadowing each sunny charm ; 
And, with a fair young armorer’s aid, 
Fixing it on her rounded arm, 
A mimic shield with pride display’d ; 
Then, springing tow’rds a grove that 
sprea 
Its canopy of foliage near, 
Pluck’d off a lance-like twig, and said, 
‘To arms, to arms !” while o’er her head 
She waved the light branch, as a spear. 


Promptly the laughing maidens all 

Obey’d their Chief’s heroic call ;--- 

Round the shield-arm of each was tied 
Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might 
The grove, their verdant armory, [be ; 

Falchion and lance§ alike supplied; 
And as their glossy locks, let free, 
Fell down their shoulders carelessly, 

You might have dream’d you saw a 

throng 

Of youthful Thyads, by the beam 

Of a May moon, bounding along 
Peneus’ silver-eddied|| stream ἢ 


And now they stepp’d, with measured 
tread, 
Martially, o’er the shining field ; 
Now, to the mimic combat led, 
(A heroine at each squadron’s head, ) 
Struck lance to lance and sword to 
shield : 
While still, through every varying feat, 
Their voices, heard in contrast sweet 
With some, of deep but soften’d sound, 
From lips of aged sires around, — 
Who smiling watch’d their children’s 
lay— 
Thus ace the ancient Pyrrhic lay :— 


SONG. 


‘‘Ratse the buckler—poise the lance— 
‘“‘Now here—now there—retreat—ad- 
vance !” ; 

without breaking the chain, or losing the 
measure.” 

| For a description of the Pyrrhie Dance, 
see De Guys, &c.—It appears from Apuleius 
(lib. x) that this war-dance was, among the 
ancients, sometimes performed by females. 

{See the costume of the Greek women of 
Natolia in Castellan’s Maurs des Othomans. 

§ The sword was the weapon chiefly used in 
this dance. 

|| Homer, 1]. ii. 753. 


990 


ΜΟΟΒΕΒ WORKS. 


Such were the sounds, to which the war- 
rior boy [Greece was free ; 
Danced in those happy days, when 
When Sparta’s youth, ev’n in the hour of 
joy, [victory. 
Thus train’d their steps to war and 
““Raise the buckler—poise the lance— 
“Now here—now there—retreat—ad- 
vance !” 
Such was the Spartan warriors’ dance. 
‘‘ Grasp the falchion—gird the shield— 
‘* Attack—defend—do all, but yield.” 


Thus did thy sons, oh Greece, one glori- 
ous night, sea 


L 
Dance by a moon like this, till o’er the | 


That morning dawn’d by whose immor- 
tal light 
They nobly died for thee and liberty !* 
“ Raise the buckler—poise the lance— 
“ Now here—now there—retreat—ad- 
vance !” 
Such was the Spartan heroes’ dance. 


Scarce had they closed this martial lay 
When, flinging their light spears away, 
The combatants, in broken ranks, 

All breathless from the war-field fly ; 
And down, upon the velvet banks 

And flow’ry slopes, exhausted lie, 
Like rosy huntresses of Thrace, 
Resting at sunset from the chase. 


‘Fond girls !”’ an aged Zean said— 
One who, himself, had fought and bled, 
And now, with feelings, half delight, | 
Half sadness, watch’dtheir mimic fight— 
“Fond maids! who thus with War can 
jest— 
ΚΕ Like Love, in Mars’s helmet dress’d, 
“When, in his childish innocence, 
‘Pleased with the shade that helmet 
flings, 
* We thinks not of the blood, that thence 
“Ts dropping o’er his snowy wings. 
“Ay—true it is, young patriot maids, 
“Tf Honor’s arm still won the fray, 
“Tf luck but shone on righteous blades, 
““War were a game for gods to play ! 
“But, no, alas !—hear one, who well 
‘Hath track’d the fortunes of the 
brave— | 


* Tt is said that Leonidas and his compan- 
ions employed themselves, on the eve of the 
battle, in musie and the gymnastic exercises 
oftheir country. 

, ‘This morning we paid our visit to the 


“‘ Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell 
“What glory waits the patriot’s 
grave ;’— 


SONG. 


As by the shore, at break of day, 

A vanquish’d Chief expiring lay, 

Upon the sands, with broken sword, 
He traced his farewell to the Free ; 

And, there, the last unfinish’d word 
He dying wrote was ‘‘ Liberty "Ὁ 


At night a Sea-bird shriek’d the knell 
Of him who thus for Freedom fell; 
The words he wrote, ere evening came, 
Were cover'd by the sounding sea ;— 
So pass away the cause and name 
Of him who dies for Liberty ! 


That tribute of subdued applause 
A charm’d, but timid, audience pays, 
That murmur, which a minstrel draws 
From hearts, that feel, but fear to 
praise, 
Follow’d this song, and left a pause 
Of silence efter it, that hung 
Like a fix’d spell on every tongue. 


At length, a low and tremulous sound 
Was heard from midst a group, that 
A bashful maiden stood, to hide [round 
Her blushes, while the lute she tried— 
Like roses, gath’ring round to veil 
The song of some young nightingale, 
Whose trembling notes steal out between 
The cluster’d leaves, herself unseen. 
And, while that voice, in tones that more 
Through feeling than through weak- 
ness err’d, 
Came, with a stronger sweetness, 0’er 
Th’ attentive ear, this strain was 
heard :— 


SONG. 


I saw, from yonder silent cave, 
Two fountains running, side by side ! 
The one was Mem’ry’s limpid wave, 
The other cold Oblivion’s tide.t 
“Oh Love!” said I, in thoughtless mood, 
As deep I drank of Lethe’s stream, 
“Be all my sorrows in this flood 
“Porgotten like a vanish’d dream !” 
Cave of Trophonius, and the Fountains of 


Memory and Oblivion, just upon the water of 
Hereyna, which flows through stupendous. 


‘rocks. "— Williains’s Travels in Greece. 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


But who could bear that gloomy blank, 
Where joy was lost as well as pain ? 
Quickly of Mem’ry’s fount I drank, 

And brought the past all back again ; 
And said, “ Oh Love! whate’er my lot, 
‘Still let this soul to thee be true— 

« Rather than have one bliss forgot, 
“Be all my pains remember’d too !” 


The group that stood around, to shade 

The blushes of that bashful ‘maid, 

Had, by degrees, as came the lay 

More strongly forth, retired away, 

Like a fair shell, whose valves divide, 

‘To show the fairer pearl inside: 

For such she was—a creature, bright 
And delicate as those day-flow’rs, 

Which, while they last, make up, in light 
And sweetness, what they want in 

hours. 


So rich upon the ear had grown 
Her voice’s melody —its tone 
Gathering new courage, as it found 
An echo in each bosom round— 
That, ere the nymph, with downeast eye 
Still on the chords, her lute laid by, 
“ Another Song,” all lips exclaim’d, 
And eachsome matchless fay’rite named; 
While blushing, as her fingers ran 
O’er the sweet chords, she thus began :— 


SONG. 


Ou, Memory, how coldly 
Thou paintest joy gone by: 
Like rainbows, thy pictures 
But mournfully shine and die. 
Or, if some tints thou keepest, 
That former days recall, 
As o’er each line thou weepest, 
Thy tears efface them all. 


But, Memory, too truly 
Thou paintest grief that’s past ; 
Joy’s colors are fleeting, 
But those of Sorrow last. 
And, while thou bring’st before us 
Dark pictures of past ill, 
Life’s evening, closing o’er us, 
But makes them darker still. 


So went the moonlight hours along, 
In this sweet glade; and so, with song 


_* This superstitious custom of the Thessa- 
lians exists also, as Pietro della Valle tells us, 
among the Persians. 

f An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which 
were of marble. Its remains (says Clarke) 


337 


And witching sounds—not such as they, 
The cymbalists of Ossa, play’d, 

To chase the moon’s eclipse away, * 
But soft and holy—did each maid 

Lighten her heart’s eclipse awhile, 

And win back Sorrow to a smile. 


Not far from this secluded place, 
On the sea-shore a ruin stood ;— 
A relic of th’ extinguish’d race, 
Who once look’d o’er that foamy flood, 
When fair Ioulis,t by the light 
Of golden sunset, on the sight 
Of mariners who sail’d that sea, 
Rose, like a city of chrysolite, 
Call’d from the wave by witchery 
This ruin—now by barb’rous hands 
Debased into a motley shed, 
Where the once splendid column stands 
Inverted on its leafy head— 
Form’d, as they tell, in times of old, 
The dwelling of that bard, whose lay 
Could melt to tears the stern and cold, 
And sudden, ’mid their mirth, the 
gay— 
Simonides,{ whose fame, through years 
And ages past, still bright appears— 
Like Hesperus, a star of tears! 


’Twas hither now—to catch a view 

Of the white waters, as they play’d 
Silently in the light—a few 

Of the more restless damsels stray’d ; 
And some would linger ’mid the scent 

Of hanging foliage, that perfumed 
The ruin’d walls; while others went, 

Culling whatever flow’ret bloom’d 
Tn the lone leafy space between, 
Where gilded chambers once had been ; 
Or, turning sadly to the sea, 

Sent o’er the wave a sigh unblest 
To some brave champion of the Free— 
Thinking, alas, how cold might be, 

At that still hour, his place of rest ! 


Meanwhile there came a sound of song 
From the dark ruins—a faint strain, 

As if some echo, that among 

Those minstrel halls had slumber’d long, 
Were murm ring into life again. 


But, no—the nymphs knew well the 
tone— 
A maiden of their train, who loved, 


“extend from the shore, quite into a valley 
watered hy the streams of a fountain, whence 
Ioulis received its name.” 

t Zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose 
verses are by Catuilus called “ἢ tears.” 


398 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Like the night-bird, to sing alone, 

Had deep into those ruins roved, 
And there, all other thoughts forgot, 

Was warbling o’er, in lone delight, 
A lay that, on that very spot, 

Her lover sung one moonlight night :— 


SONG. 


AnH! where are they, who heard, in for- 
mer hours, [bow’rs ? 
The voice of Song in these neglected 
They are gone—all gone! 
The youth, who told his pain in such 
sweet tone, {their own— 
That all, who heard him, wish’d his pain 
He is gone—he is gone! 


And she, who, while he sung, sat list’n- 

ing by, [sweet to die— 

And thought, to strains like these’twere 
She is gone—she too is gone ! 


*Tis thus, in future hours, some bard will 
say [this lay— 

Of her, who hears, and him, who sings 
They are gone—they both are gone! 


‘The moon was now, from Heaven’s steep, 
Bending to dip her sily’ry um 
Tfto the bright and silent deep— 
And the young nymphs, on their re- 
tum 
From those romantic ruins, found 
Their other playmates, ranged around 
The sacred Spring, prepared to tune 
Their parting hymn, * ere sunk the moon, 
To that fair Fountain, by whose stream 
Their hearts had form’d so many a dream. 


Who has not read the tales, that tell 

Of old Hleusis’ sacred Well, 

Or heard what legend-songs recount 

Of Syra, and its holy Fount,t 

Gushing, at once, from the hard rock 
Into the laps of living flowers— 

Where village maidens loved to flock, 
On summer-nights, and, like the hours, 

Link’d in harmonious dance and song, 


* These “Sones of the Well,” as they were 
called among the ancients, still exist in Greece. 
De Guys tells us that he has seen ‘‘the young 
women in Prince’s Island, assembled in the 
evening at a publie well, suddenly strike up a 
dance, while others sung in concert to them.” 

t “ The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and 
modern, may be considered as the worshippers 
of water. The old fonntain, at which the 
uympls of the island assembled in the earliest 


Charm’d the unconscious night aleng; 
While holy pilgrims, on their way 
To Delos’ isle, stood looking on, 
Enchanted with a scene so gay, 
Nor sought their boats, till morning 
shone ? 


Such was the scene this lovely glade 

And its fair inmates now display’d, 

As round the Fount, in linked ring, 
They went, in cadence low and light, 

And thus to that enchanted Spring ~ 
Warbled their Farewell for the night:— 


SONG. 


HERE, while the moonlight dim 

Falls on that mossy brim, 

Sing we our Fountain Hymn, 
Maidens of Zea ! 

Nothing but Music’s strain, 

When Lovers part in pain, 

Soothes, till they meet again, 
Oh, Maids of Zea! 


Bright Fount, so clear and cold, 

Round which the nymphs of old 

Stood, with their locks of gold, 
Fountain of Zea ! 

Not even Castaly, 

Famed though its streamlet be, 

Murmurs or shines like thee, 
Oh, Fount of Zea! 


Thou, while our hymn we sing, 
Thy silver voice shall bring, 
Answering, answering, 
Sweet Fount of Zea! 
For, of all rills that run, 
Sparkling by moon or sun, 
Thou art the fairest one, 
Bright Fount of Zea ! 


Now, by those stars that glance 

Over heaven’s still expanse, 

Weave we our mirthful dance, 
Daughters of Zea ! 

Such as, in former days, 

Danced they, by Dian’s rays, 


ages, exists in its original state; the same ren- 
dezyous as it was formerly, whether of love and 
rallantry, or of gossiping and tale-telling, It 
13 near to the town, and the most limpid water 
gushes continually from the solid rock. It is 
regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of 
religious veneration ; and they preserve a tra- 
dition, that the pilgrims of old time, in their 
way to Delos, resorted hither for purification.” 
—Clarke, 


rr 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


339 


Where the Eurotas strays,* 
Oh, Maids of Zea! 


But when to merry feet 

Hearts with no echo beat, 

Say, can the dance be sweet? 
Maidens of Zea! 

No, naught but Music’s strain, 

When lovers part in pain, 

Soothes, till they meet again, 
Oh, Maids of Zea! 


SECOND EVENING. 


SONG. 


WHueEN evening shades are falling 
O’er Ocean's sunny sleep, 

To peoe hearts recalling 
Their home beyond the deep ; 

When, rest o’er all descending, 
The shores with gladness simile, 

And lutes, their echoes blending, 
Are heard from isle to isle, 

Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,t 

We pray, we pray to thee! 


The noonday tempest over, 

Now Ocean toils no more, 
And wings of haleyons hover, 

Where all was strife before. 
Oh thus may life, in closing 

Its short tempestuous day, 
Beneath heaven’s smile reposing, 

Shine all its storms away; 
Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, 
We pray, we pray to thee! 


On Helle’s sea the light grew dim, 

As the last sounds of that sweet hymn 
Floated along its azure tide— 

Floated in light, as if the lay 

Had mix’d with sunset’s fading ray, 
And light and song together died. 

So soft through evyening’s air had 

breathed 

That choir of youthful voices, wreathed 

In many-linked harmony, 

That boats, then hurrying o’er the sea, 

Paused, when they reach’d this fairy 


shore, 
And linger’d till the strain was o’er. 


* “ Qualis in Eurote ripis, aut per juga Cyn- 
Exercet Diana choros.’— Virgil. [thi. 


Of those young maids who’ve met to 
fleet [hours, 

In song and dance this evening’s 
Far happier now the bosoms beat, 

Than when they last adorn’d these 

bowers ; 
For tidings of glad sound had come, 

At break of day, from the fair isles— 
Tidings like breath of life to some — 
That Zea’s sons would soon wing home, 

Crown’d with the light of Vic’try’s 

smiles, 
To meet that brightest of all meeds 
That wait on high, heroic deeds, 
When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears, 

Could trace the warrior’s parting 

track, 
Shall, like a misty morn that clears, 
When the long-absent sun appears, 
Shine out, all bliss, to hait him back. 


How fickle still the youthful breast !— 
More fond of change than a young 
moon, 
No joy so new was e’er possess’d 
But Youth wouldleave for newer soon. 
These Zean nymphs, though bright the 
spot, [play, 
Where first they held their evening 
As ever fell to fairy’s lot 
To wanton o’er by midnight’s ray, 
Had now exchang’d that shelter’d scene 
For a wide glade beside the sea— 
A lawn, whose soft expanse of green 
Turn’d to the west sun smilingly, 
As though, in conscious beauty bright, 
It joy’d to give him light for light. 


And ne’er did evening more serene 
Look down from heay’n on lovelier scene. 
Calm lay the flood around, while fleet, 
O’er the blue shining element, 
Light barks, as if with fairy feet [went ; 
That stirr’d not the hush’d waters, 
Some that, ere rosy eve fell o’er 
The blushing wave, with mainsail free, 
Had put forth from the Attic shore, 
Orthe near Isle of Ebony ;— 
Some, Hydriot barks, that deep in caves 
Beneath Colonna’s pillar’d cliffs, 
Had all day lurk’d, and o’er the waves 
Now shot their long and dart-like 
skiffs. 
Wo to the craft, however fleet, [meet, 
These sea-hawks in their course shall 
Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, 
1 One of the titles of the Virgin :—‘‘ Maric ἐπ 
luminatrix. sive Stella Maris.’’—Jsidor 


940 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Or rich from Naxos’ emery mines ; 
For not more sure, when owlets flee 
O’er the dark crags of Pendelee, 
Doth the night-falcon mark his prey, 
Or pounce on it more fleet than they. 


And what a moon now lights the glade 
Where these young island nymphs are 
met! 
Full-orb’d, yet pure, as if no shade 
Had touch’d its virgin lustre yet; 
And freshly bright, as if just made 
By Love’s own hands, of new-born light 
Stol’n from his mother’s star to-night. 


On a bold rock, that o’er the flood 
Jutted from that soft glade, there stood 
A Chapel, fronting tow’rds the sea, — 
Built in some by-gone century,— 
Where, nightly, as the seaman’s mark, 
When waves rose high or clouds were 
dark, 
A lamp, bequeath’d by some kind Saint, 
Shed o’er the wave its glimmer faint, 
Waking in way-worn men a sigh 
And pray’r to heay’n as they went by. 
*Twas there, around that rock-built shrine 
A group of maidens and their sires 
Had stood to watch the day’s decline, 
And, as the light fell o’er their lyres, 
Sung to the Queen-Star of the Sea 
That soft and holy melody. 


But lighter thoughts and lighter song 
Now woo the coming hours along: 
For, mark where smooth the herbage lies, 

Yon gay pavilion, curtain’d deep 
With silken folds, through which, bright 

eyes, 

From time to time, are seen to peep; 
While twinkling lights that, to and fro, 
Beneath those veils, like meteors, go, 

Tell of some spells at work, and keep 
Young fancies chain’d in mute suspense, 
Watching what next may shine from 

thence. 
Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen 

That mystic curtain backward drew, 
And all, that late but shone between, 

In half-caught gleams, now burst to 
A picture ’twas of the early days [view. 
Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays 
Of rich, immortal Mind were hers 
That made mankind her worshippers ; 
While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone 
With glory lent by Heaven alone ; 

*  Violet-crowned Athens."’—Pindar. 
| The whole of this scene was suggested )y 


Nor temples crown’d her nameless hills, 

Nor Muse immortalized her rills; 

Nor aught but the mute poesy 

Of sun, and stars, and shining sea 

Illumed that land of bards to be. 

While, prescient of the gifted race 
That yet would realm so blest adorn, 

Nature took pains to deck the place 
Where glorious Art was to be born. 


Such was the scene that mimic stage 

Of Athens and her hills portray’d; 
Athens, in her first, youthful age, 

Ere yet the simple violet braid, ἢ 
Which then adorn’d her, had shone down 
The glory of earth’s loftiest crown. 
While yet undream’d, her seeds of Art 

Lay sleeping in the marble mine— 
Sleeping till Genius bade them start 

To all but life, in shapes divine; 
Till deified the quarry shone 
And all Olympus stood in stone ! 


There, in the foreground of that scene, 
On a soft bank of living green, 
Sat a young nymph, with her lap full 
Of newly gather’d flowers, o’er which 
She graceful lean’d, intent to cull 
All that was there of hue most rich, 
To form a wreath, such as the eye 
Of her young lover, who stood by, 
With palette mingled fresh, might choose 
To fix by Painting’s rainbow hues. 


The wreath was form’d; the maiden 
raised 
Her speaking eyes to his, while he— 
Oh not upon the flowers now gazed, 
But on that bright look’s witchery. 
While, quick as if but then the thought, 
Like light, had reach’d his soul, he 
caught 
His pencil up, and, warm and true 
As life itself, that love-look drew : 
And, as his raptur’d task went on, 
And forth each kindling feature shone, 
Sweet voices, through the moonlight air, 
From lips as moonlight fresh and pure, 
Thus hail’d the bright dream passing 
there, . 
And sung the Birth of Portraiture.t 


SONG. 
As once a Grecian maiden wove 
Her garland /mid the summer bow’rs, 


| 
| Pliny’s account of the artist Pausias and his 
' mistress Glyeera, Jib. xxxy. c. 40. 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


There stood a youth, with eyes of love, 
To watch her while she wreath’d the 
flow’rs. 
The youth was skill’d in Painting’s art, 
But ne’er had studied woman’s brow, 
Nor knew what magic hues the heart 
Can shed o’er nature’s charms, till 
now. 
CHORUS. 


Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that’s fair and bright below. 


His hand had pictured many a rose, 
And sketch’d the rays that light the 
brook ; 
But what were these, or what were those, 
To woman’s blush, to woman’s look? 
“Oh, if such magic pow’r there be, 
“This, this,” he cried, ‘‘is all my 
prayer, 
“To paint that living light I see, 
“And fix the soul that sparkles there.” 


His prayer, as soon as breathed, was 

heard ; [warm, 

His palette, touch’d by Love, grew 
And Painting saw her hues transferr’d 

From lifeless flow’rs to woman’s form. 


Still as from tint to tint he stole, 
The fair design shone out the more, 
And there was now a life, a soul, 
Where only colors glow’d before. 


Then first carnations learn’d to speak, 
And lilies into life were brought ; 
While, mantling on the maiden’s cheek, 
Young roses kindled into thought. 
Then hyacinths their darkest dyes 
Upon the locks of Beauty threw ; 
And violets, transform’d to eyes, 
Inshrined a soul within their blue. 


CHORUS, 


Blest be Love, to whom we owe 
All that’s fair and bright below. 
Song was cold and Painting dim 
Till Song and Painting learn’d from him. 


Soon as the scene had closed, a cheer 
Of gentle voices, old and young, 
Rose from the groups that stood to hear | 
This tale of yore so aptly sung; 


* The traveller Shaw mentions a beautiful 
rill in Barbary, which is received into a large 
basin called Shrub wee krub, ‘Drink and | 
away, ’—there being great danger of meeting | 
With thieves and assassins in such places. | 

} The Arabian shepherd has a peculiar | 
ceremony in weaning the young eae : when 
the proper time arrives, he turns the camel | 


341 


| And while some nymphs, in haste to tell 


The workers of that fairy spell — [been, 
How crown’d with praise their task had 
Stole in behind the curtain’d scene, 
The rest, in happy converse stray’d — 
Talking that ancient love-tale o’er— 
Some, to the groves that skirt the glade, 
Some, to the chapel by the shore, 
To look what lights were on the sea, 
And think of th’ absent silently. 


But soon that summons, known so well 
Through bow’r and hall in Eastern 
lands, [bell, 
Whose sound, more sure than gong or 
Lovers and slaves alike commands, — 
The clapping of young female hands, 
Calls back the groups from rock and field 
To see some new-form’d scene reveal’d ;— 
And fleet and eager, down the slopes 
Of the green glade, like antelopes, 
When, in their thirst, they hear the sound 
Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. 


Far different now the scene—a waste 
Of Libyan sands, by moonlight’s ray, 
An ancient well, whereon were traced 
The warning words, for such as stray 
Unarmed there, ‘‘ Drink and away "ἢ 
While, near it, from the night-ray 
sereen’d, 
And like his bells, in hush’d repose, 
A camel slept—young as if wean’d 
When last the star, Canopus, rose.t 


Such was the 
scene ;— 
While nearer lay, fast slumb’ring too, 
In a rude tent, with brow serene, 
A youth whose cheeks of way-worn hue 
And pilgrim-bonnet, told the tale 
That he had been to Mecca’s Vale : 
Haply in pleasant dreams, ev’n now 
Thinking the long-wish’d hour is come 
When, o’er the well-known porch at 
home, 
His hand shall hang the aloe bough— 
Trophy of his accomplish’d vow. 
But brief his dream—for now the eall 
Of the camp-chiefs from rear to yan, 


back-ground’s _ silent 


‘Bind on your burdens,”§ wakes up all 


towards the rising star, Canopus, and says, 
“Do you see Canopus? from this moment you 
taste not another drop of milk.” —WRichardson. 

t+ “ Whoever returns from a pilgrimage to 
Mecea hangs this plant (the mitre-shaped Aloc) 
over his street-door, asa token of his haying 
performed this holy journey.” —H@sselquist. 

§ This form of notice to the caravans to pre- 


342 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The widely slumb’ring caravan ; 
And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear 
Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, 
The song of one who, ling’ring near, 
Had watch’d his slumber, cheerly 
breaks. 


SONG. 


Up and march ! the timbrel’s sound 
Wakes the slumb ring camp around ; 
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone, 
Armed sleeper, up, and on ἢ 

Long and weary 1s our way 

O’er the burning sands to-day ; 

But to pilgrim’s homeward feet 
Ev’n the desert’s path is sweet. 


When we lie at dead of night, 
Looking up to heayven’s light, 
Hearing but the watchman’s tone 
Faintly chanting, “‘ God is one,’’* 
Oh what thoughts then o’er us come 
Of our distant village home, 

Where the chant, when ev’ning sets, 
Sounds from all the minarets. 


Cheer thee !—soon shall signal lights, 
Kindling o’er the Red Sea heights, 
Kindling quick from man to man, 
Hail our coming caravan :t 

Think what bliss that hour will be! 
Looks of home again to see, 

And our names again to hear 
Murmur’d out by voices dear. 


So pass’d the desert dream away, 

Fleeting as his who heard this lay. 

Nor long the pause between, nor moved 
The spell-bound audience from that 

While still, as usual, Fancy roved [spot; 
On to the joy that yet was not ;— 

Fancy, who hath no present home, 

But builds her bower in scenes to come, 

Walking forever in a light 

That flows from regions out of sight. 


But see, by gradual dawn descried, 
A mountain realm—rugged as e’er 
Upraised to heay’n its summits bare, 
Or told to earth, with frown of pride, 
pare for marching was applied by Hafiz to the 
necessity of relinquishing the pleasures of this 
world, and preparing for death :—‘ For me 


what room is there for pleasure in the bower of | 


Seauty, when every moment the bell makes 
proclamation, ‘ Bind on your burdens ?’” 


* The watchmen, in the camp of the cara- 
vans, go their rounds, erying one after another, 
**Godis one,” &e., &e. 


That Freedom’s falcon nest was there, 
Too high for hand of lord or king 
To hood her brow, or chain her wing. 


|\?Tis Maina’s land—her ancient hills, 


The abode of nymphst—her countless 
rills 
And torrents, in their downward dash, 
Shining, like silver, through the shade 
Of the sea-pine and flow’ring ash— 
All with a truth so fresh portray’d 
As wants but touch of life to be 
A world of warm reality. 


And now, light bounding forth, a band 
Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance— 

Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, 
Link’d in the Ariadne dance ;$ 

And while, apart from that gay throng, 

A minstrel youth, in varied song, 

Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills 

Of these wild children of the hills, 

The rest by turns, or fierce or gay, 

As war or sport inspires the lay, [strings, 

Follow each change that wakes the 

And act what thus the lyrist sings :— 


SONG. 


No life is like the mountaineer’s, 
His home is near the sky, 
Where, throned above this world, he 
Its strife at distance die. [hears 
Or, should the sound of hostile drum 
Proclaim below, ‘‘ We come—we come,” 
Each crag that tow’rs in air 
Gives answer, ‘‘ Come who dare "ἢ 
While, like bees, from dell and dingle, 
Swift the swarming warriors mingle, 
And their ery “‘ Hurra !” will be, 
‘¢ Hurra, to victory !” 


Then, when battle’s hour is over, 

See the happy mountain lover, 

With the nymph, who'll soon be bride, 

Seated blushing by his side,— 

Every shadow of his lot 

In her sunny smile forgot. 

Oh, no life is like the mountaineer’s, 
His home is near the sky, 

Where, throned above this world, he 
Its strife at distance die. [hears 


t “It was customary,” says Irwin, ‘‘ to light 
up fires on the mountains, within view of Cos- 
seir, to give notice of the approach of the cara- 
vans that came from the Nile.” 


+ 


t virginibus bacchata Laconis 


Taygeta. VIRG. 


§ See, for an account of this dance, De Guy's 
Travels. 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


|). -Ἑ-------.- 


Nor only thus through summer suns 
His blithe existence cheerly rans— 
ν᾽ ἢ winter, bleak and dim, 
Brings joyous hours to him ; 
When, his rifle behind him flinging, 
He watches the roe-buck springing, 
And away, o’er the hills away 
Re-echoes his glad ‘ hurra.” 


Then how blest, when night is closing, 
By the kindled hearth reposing, 

To his rebeck’s drowsy song, 

He beguiles the hour along; 

Or, provoked by merry glances, 

To a brisker movement dances, 

Till, weary at last, in slumber’s chain, 
He dreams o’er chase and dance again, 

Dreams, dreams them o’er again. 


As slow that minstrel, at the close, 
Sunk, while he sung, to feign’d repose, 
Aptly did they, whose mimic art 
Follow’d the changes of his lay, 
Portray the lull, the nod, the start, 
Through which, as faintly died away 
His lute and voice, the minstrel pass’d, 
Till voice and lute lay hush’d at TREE 


But now far other song came o’er 

Their startled ears—song that at first, 
As solemnly the night-wind bore 

Across the wave its mournful burst, 
Seem’d to the fancy, like a dirge 

Of some lone spirit of the sea, 
Singing o’er Helle’s ancient surge 

The requiem of her Brave and I’ree. 


Sudden, amid their pastime, pause 
The wond’ring nymphs; and, as the 
sound 
Of that strange music nearer draws, 
With mute inquiring eye look round, 
Asking each other what can be 
The source of this sad minstrelsy ? 
Nor longer can they doubt, the song 
Comes from some island-bark, which 
now 
Courses the bright waves swift along, 
And soon, perhaps, beneath the brow 
Of the Saint’s Rock will shoot its prow. 


Instantly all, with hearts that sigh’d 
*Twixt fear’s and fancy’s influence, 
Flew to the rock, and saw from thence 

A red-sail’d pinnace tow’rds them glide, 

Whose shadow, as it swept the spray, 

Scatter’d the moonlight’s smiles away. 

Soon as the mariners saw that throng 


343 


From the cliff gazing, young and old, 
Sudden they slack’d their sail and song, 
And, while their pinnace idly roll’d 

On the light surge, these tidings told: — 


’T was from an isle of mournful name, 
From Missolonghi, last they came— 
Sad Missolonghi, sorrowing yet 
O’er him, the noblest Star of Fame 
That e’er in life’s young glory set !— 
And now were on their mournful way, 
'Wafting the news through Helle’s 
isles ;— [ray, 
News that would cloud ev’n Freedom’s 
And sadden Vict’ry ’mid her smiles. 
Their tale thus told, and heard, with pain, 
Out spread the galliot’s wings again ; 
And, as she spread her swift career, 
Again that Hymn rose on the ear— 
“Thou artnot dead—thou art not dead !” 
As oft ’twas sung, in ages flown, 
Of him, the Athenian, who, to shed 
A tyrant’s blood, pour’d out his own. 


SONG. 


“THou art not dead—thou art not 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. [dead !”’* 

Thy soul, to realms above us fled, 

Though, like a star, it dwells o’erhead, 
Still lights this world below. 

Thou art not dead—thou art not dead! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


Through isles of light, where heroes 
And flow’rs ethereal blow, [tread, 

Thy god-like Spirit now is led, 

Thy lip, with life ambrosial fed, 
Forgets all taste of wo. 

Thou art not dead—thou art not dead! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


The myrtle, round that falchion spread 
Which struck the immortal blow, 

Throughout all time, with leaves un- 

shed— 

The patriot’s hope, the tyrant’s dread— 
Round Freedom’s shrine shall grow. 

Thou art not dead—thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


Where hearts like thine have broke or 
bled, 

Though quench’d the vital glow, 
Their mem’ry lights a flame, instead, 
Which, e’en from out the narrow bed 

Of death its beams shall throw. 


* Φιλταθ᾽ “Αρμοδι᾽ ovrw τεθνηκας. 


844 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Thou art not dead—thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


Thy name, by myriads sung and said, 
Irom age to age shall go, 

Long as the oak and ivy wed, 

As bees shall haunt Hymettus’ head, 
Or Helle’s waters flow. 

Thou art not dead—thou art not dead ! 
No, dearest Harmodius, no. 


’Mong those who linger’d _ list’ning 
there,— 
List’ning, with ear and eye, as long 
As breath of night could tow’rds them 
bear — 
A murmur of that mournful song,— 
A few there were, in whom the lay 
Had ecall’d up feelings far too sad 
To pass with the brief strain away, 
Or turn at once to theme more glad ; 
And who, in mood untuned to meet 
The light laugh of the happier train, 
Wander’d to seek some moonlight seat 
Where they might rest, in converse 
sweet, [again. 
Till vanish’d smiles should come 


And seldom e’er hath noon of night 

To sadness lent more soothing light. 

On one side, in the dark blue sky. 

Lonely and radiant, was the eye 

Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 
’Mong tiny stars that round her 

gleam’d, [ther 

The young moon, like the Roman mo- 

Among her living “jewels,” beam’d. 


Touch’d by the lovely scenes around, 
A pensive maid—one who, though 
young, 
Had known what ’twas to see unwound 
The ties by which her heart had 
clung— 
Waken’d her soft tamboura’s sound, 
And to its faint accords thus sung :— 


SONG. 
CALM as, beneath its mother’s eyes, 
In sleep the smiling infant lies, 
So, watch’d by all the stars of night, 
Yon landscape sleeps in light. 
And while the night-breeze dies away, 
Like relics of some faded strain, 
Loved voices, lost for many a day, 
Seem whisp’ring round again. [shed 
Oh youth! oh Love! ye dreams, that 
Such glory once—where are ye fled ? 


Pure ray of light that, down the sky, 
Art pointing, like an angel’s wand, 
As if to guide to realms that lie 
In that bright sea beyond: 
Who knows but, in some brighter deep 
Than ey’n that tranquil, moonlit main, 
Some land may lie, where those who 
Shall wake to smile again ! [weep 


With cheeks that had regain’d their 
power [eye, 
And play of smiles,—and each bright 
Like violets after morning’s shower, 
The brighter for the tears gone by, 
Back to the scene such smiles should 
grace [trace, 
These wand’ring nymphs their path re- 
And reach the spot, with rapture new, 
Just as the veils asunder flew, 
And a fresh vision burst to view. 


There, by her own bright Attic flood, 
The blue-eyed Queen of Wisdom 
stood ; 

Not as she haunts the sage’s dreams, 
With brow unveil’d, divine, severe ; 

But soften’d, as on bards she beams, 
When fresh from Poesy’s high sphere, 

A music, not her own, she brings, 

And, through the veil which Fancy flings 

O’er her stern features, gently sings. 


But who is he —that urchin nigh, 
With quiver on the rose-trees hung, 
Who seems just dropp’d from yonder 
SKY, 
And stands to watch that maid, with eye 
So full of thought, for one so young ? — 
That child—but, silence! lend thine ear, 
And thus in song the tale thow’lt hear :— 


SONG. 
As Love, one summer eve, was straying, 
Who should he see, at that soft hour, 
But young Minerva, gravely playing 
Her flute within an olive bow’r. 
I need not say, ’tis Love’s opinion 
That, grave or merry, good or ill, 
The sex all bow to his dominion, 
As woman will be woman still. 


Though seldom yet the boy hath giv’n 
To learned dames his smiles or sighs, 

So handsome Pallas look’d, that ev’n, 
Love quite forgot the maid was wise. 

Besides, a youth of his discerning 
Knew well that, by a shady rill, 


aie 


᾿ς δὲ ee πα ᾿ 


EVENINGS IN GREECE. 


345 


a -τ ς,..- - - ὠὀὠ----ὀ--οο--.-ς-ςςς-ς-.-- τ’ ---Ἐ-- - «Ἃσοι|;;σ.-..-.---- 


At sunset hour, whate’er her learning, 
A woman will be woman still. 


Her flute he praised in terms ecstatic,— 
Wishing it dumb, nor cared how 
soon ;— 
For Wisdom’s notes, howe’er chromatic, 
To Love seem always out of tune. 
But long as he fownd face to flatter, 
The nymph found breath to shake and 
thrill ; 
As, weak or wise—it doesn’t matter— 
Woman, at heart, is woman still. 


Love changed his plan, with warmth 
exclaiming, 
“ How rosy was her lip’s soft dye !” 
And much that flute, the flatt’rer, blam- 
For twisting lips so sweet awry. [ing, 
The nymph look’d down, beheld her 
Reflected in the passing rill, [features 
And started, shock’d—for, ah, ye crea- 
tures! 
Ey’n when divine, yowre women still. 


Quick from the lips it made so odious, 
That graceless flute the Goddess took, 
And, while yet fill’d with breath melo- 
dious, 
Fiung it into the glassy brook ; 
Where, as its vocal life was fleeting 
Adown the current, faint and shrill, 
’Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, 
“Woman, alas, vain woman still!” 


An interval of dark repose— 
Such as the summer lightning knows, 
’Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright 
The quick revyealment comes and goes, 
Op’ning each time the veils of night, 
To show, within, a world of light— 
Such pause, so brief, now pass’d between 
This last gay vision and the scene, 
Which now its depth of light disclosed. 
A bow’r it seem’d, an Indian bow’r, 
Within whose shade a nymph reposed, 
Sleeping away noon’s sunny hour— 
Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves 
Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves, 
And there, as Indian legends say, 
Dreams the long summer hours away. 
And mark, how charm’d this sleeper 
seems 
With some hid faney—she, too, dreams ! 
Oh for a wizard’s art to tell 
The wonders that now bless her sight ! 
'Tis done—a truer, holier spell 
‘Than e’er from wizard’s lip yet fell 
Thus brings her vision all to light: — 


SONG. 


“Wo comes so gracefully 
‘« Gliding along, 

“ While the blue rivulet 
“Sleeps to her song ; 

“Song, richly vying 

“With the faint sighing 

“Which swans, in dying, 
‘«Sweetly prolong ?” 


So sung the shepherd-boy 
By the stream’s side, 
Watching that fairy boat 
Down the flood glide, 
Like a bird winging, 
Through the waves bringing 
That Syren, singin 
To the-hush’d tide. 


‘“‘Stay,” said the shepherd-boy, 
“ Pairy-boat, stay, 

‘« Linger, sweet minstrelsy, 
‘* Linger a day.” 

But vain his pleading, 
Past him, unheeding, 

Song and boat, speeding, 
Glided away. 


So to our youthful eyes 
Joy and hope shone ; 

So, while we gazed on them, 
Fast they flew on ;— 

Like flow’rs, declining 

Ἐν ἢ in the twining, 

One moment shining, 
And, the next, gone! 


Soon as the imagined dream went by, 
Uprose the nymph, with anxious eye 
Turn’d to the clouds, as though some 
boon 
She waited from that sun-bright dome, 
And marvell’d that it came not soon 
As her young thoughts would have it 
come. 


But joy is in her glance !—the wing 


Of a white bird is seen above ; 
And oh, if round his neck he bring 

The long-wish’d tidings from her loye, 
Not half so precious in her eyes 

Ey’n that high-omen’d bird* would be, 
Who dooms the brow o’er which he flies 

To wear a crown of Royalty. 
She had, herself, last evening, sent 

A winged messenger, whose flight 
Through the clear, roseate element, 

* The Huma 


346 


She watch’d till, less’ning out of sight, 
Far to the golden West it went, 
Wafting to him, her distant love, 

A missive in that language wrought 
Which flow’rs can speak, when aptly 

wove, 

Each hue a word, each leaf a thought. 


And now—oh speed of pinion, known 
To Love’s light messengers alone ! 

Ere yet another ey’ning takes 

Its farewell of the golden lakes, 

She sees another envoy fly, [sky. 
With the wish’d answer, through the 


SONG. 


WELCOME, sweet bird, through the sun- 
ny air winging, 
Swift hast thou come o’er the far- 
shining sea, [bringing 
Like Seba’s dove, on thy snowy neck 
Love’s written vows from my lover to 
me. {number !— 
Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I 
Saying oft, ‘Idle bird, how could he 
rest Ὁ [slumber, 
But thou art come at last, take now thy 
And lull thee in dreams of all thou 
loy’st best. 


Yet dost thou droop—even now while I 
utter [away ; 
Love’s happy welcome, thy pulse dies 
Cheer thee, my bird—were it life’s ebb- 
ing flutter, [stay. 
This fondling bosom should woo it to 
But no—thowrt dying—thy last task is 
over— 
TFarewell, sweet martyr to Love and 
to me! [from my lover, 
The smiles thou hast waken’d by news 
Will now all be turn’d into weeping 
for thee. 


While thus the scene of song (their last 
For the sweet summer season) pass’d, 
A few presiding nymphs, whose care 
Watch’d over all, invisibly, 
As do those guardian sprites of air, 
Whose watch we feel, but cannot see, 
Had from the circle—scarcely miss’d, 
Ere they were sparkling there again— 
Glided, like fairies, to assist [plain, 
Their handmaids on the moonlight 
Where, hid by intercepting shade 
From the stray glance of curious eyes, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


A feast of fruits and wines was laid— 
Soon to shine out, a glad surprise ! 


And now the moon, her ark of light 
Steering through Heav’n, as though 
she bore 
In safety, through that deep of night, 
Spirits of earth, the good, the bright, 
To some remote immortal shore, 
Had half-way sped her glorious way, 
When, round reclined on hillocks 
green, 
In groups, beneath that tranquil ray, 
The Zeans at their feast were seen. 
Gay was the picture—ev ry maid 
Whom late the lighted scene display’d, 
Still in her faney garb array’d ;— 
The Arabian pilgrim, smiling here 
Beside the nymph of India’s sky ; 
While there the Mainiote mountaineer 
Whisper’d in young Minerva’s ear, 
And urchin Love stood laughing by. 


Meantime the elders round the board, 
By mirth and wit themselves made 
young, 
High cups of juice Zacynthian pour d, 
And, while the flask went round, thus 
sung :— 


SONG. 


Up with the sparkling brimmer, 
Up to the crystal rim ; 

Let not a moonbeam glimmer 
’Twixt the flood and brim. 

When hath the world set eyes on 
Aught to match this light, 

Which, o’er our cup’s horizon, 
Dawns in bumpers bright ? 


Truth in a deep well lieth— 
So the wise aver: 

But Truth the fact denieth— 
Water suits not her. 

No, her abode’s in brimmers, 
Like this mighty ecup— 

Waiting till we, good swimmers, 
Dive to bring her up. 


Thus circled round the song of glee, 
And all was tuneful mirth the while, * 
Save on the cheeks of some, whose 

smile, 

As fix’d they gaze upon the sea, 

Turns into paleness suddenly ! 


EVENINGS 


What see they there ? a bright blue light 
That, like a meteor, gliding o’er 
The distant wave, grows on the sight, 
As though ’twere wing’d to Zea’s 
shore. 


To some, mong those who came to gaze, 
It seem’d the night-light, far away, 
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze 
Of pine torch, luring on his prey ; 
While others, as, ’twixt awe and mirth, 
They breathed the bless’d Panaya’s* 


name, 
Vow’d that such light was not of earth, 
But of that drear, ill-omen’d flame, 
Which mariners see on sail or mast, 
When Death is coming in the blast. 
While mary’ling thus they stood, a maid, 
Who sat apart, with downcast eye, 
Nor yet had, like the rest, survey’d 
That coming light which now was nigh, 
Soon as it met her sight, with ery 
Of pain-like joy, ‘‘’Tis he! ’tis he!” 
Loud she exclaim’d, and, hurrying by 
The assembled throng, rush’d tow’rds 
the sea. 


At burst so wild, alarm’d, amazed, 

All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed 
Into each other’s eyes, to seek [meek? 
What meant such mood, in maid so 


Till now, the tale was known to few, 
But now from lip to lip it flew :— 

A youth, the flower of all the band, 
Who late had left this sunny shore, 
When last he kiss’d that maiden’s hand, 

Ling’ring, to kiss it o’er and o’er, 
By his sad brow too plainly told 
Th’ ill-omen’d thought which cross’d 
him then, [hold, 
That once those hands should loose their 
They ne’er would meet on earth again ! 
Tn vain his mistress, sad as he, 
But with a heart from Self as free 
As gen’rous woman’s only is, 

Veil’d her own fears to banish his :— 
With frank rebuke, but still more vain, 
Did a rough warrior, who stood by, 

Call to his mind this martial strain, 
His favorite once, ere Beauty’s eye 
Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh :— 


SONG. 


Marcu! nor heed those arms that hold 
thee, 


*The name which the Greeks give to the 
Virgin Mary. 


IN GREECE. 347 


Though so fondly close they come ; 
Closer still will they enfold thee, 

When thou bring’st fresh laurels home. 
Dost thou dote on woman’s brow ? 

Dost thou live but in her breath ? 
March !—one hour of victory now 

Wins thee woman’s smile till death. 


Oh, what bliss, when war is over, 
Beauty’s long-miss’d smile to meet, 
And, when wreaths our temples cover, 
Lay them shining at her feet ! 
Who would not, that hour to reach, 
Breathe out life’s expiring sigh,— 
Proud as waves that on the beach 
Lay their war-crests down, and die. 


There! I see thy soul is burning— 
She herself, who clasps thee so, 
Paints, ev’n now, thy glad returning, 
And, while clasping, bids thee go. 
One deep sigh, to passion given, 
One last glowing tear, and then— 
March !—nor rest thy sword, till Heaven 
Brings thee to those arms again. 


Even then, ere loath their hands could 
part, 
A promise the youth gave, which bore 
Some balm unto the maiden’s heart, 
That, soon as the fierce fight was o’er, 
To home he’d speed, if safe and free— 
Nay, ev’nif dying, still would come, 
So the blest word of ‘‘ Victory !” 
Might be the last he’d breathe at home. 
‘By day,” he eried, “ thou’lt know my 
bark ; [dark, 
“ But, should I come through midnight 
““ A blue light on the prow shall tell 
“That Greece hath won, and allis well!” 


Fondly the maiden, every night, 
Had stolen to seek that promised light ; 
Nor long her eyes had now been turn’d 
From watching, when the signal burn’d. 
Signal of joy for her, for all— 
Fleetly the boat now nears the land, 
While voices, from the shore-edge, call 
For tidings of the long-wish’d band. 


Oh the blest hour, when those who’ve been 
Through peril’s paths by land or sea, 

Lock’d in our arms again are seen 
Smiling in glad security ; 

When heart to heart we fondly strain, 
Questioning quickly o’er and o’er— 

Then hold them off, to gaze again, 


348 
And ask, though answer’d -oft before, 
If they, indeed, are ours once more? 


Such is the scene, so full of joy, 
Which welcomes now this warrior-boy, 
As fathers, sisters, friends all run 
Bounding te meet him—all but one, 
Who, slowest on his neck to fall, 

Is yet the happiest of them all. 


And now behold him, circled round 
With beaming faces at that board, 

While cups, with laurel foliage crown’d, 
Are to the coming warriors pour’d,— 

Coming, as he, their herald, told, 

With blades from vict’ry scarce yet cold, 

With hearts untouch’d by Moslem steel, 

And wounds that home’s sweet breath 


will heal. 
“Bre morn,” said he,—and while he 
spoke, [pale, 


Turn’d to the east, where, clear, and 
The star of dawn already broke— 
“We'll greet on yonder wave their 
sail "ἢ 
Then, wherefore part? all, all agree 
To wait them here, beneath this 
bower ; 
And thus, while ev’n amidst their glee, 
Bach eye is turn’d to watch the sea, 
With song they cheer the anxious hour. 


SONG. 


“Ts the Vine! ’tis the Vine!” said the 
cup-loving boy, [earth, 
As he saw it spring bright from the 
And eall’d the young Genii of Wit, Love, 
and Joy, 
To witness and hallow its birth. 
The truit was full-grown, like a ruby it 
flamed, 


MOORH’S 


WORKS. 


Till the sunbeam that kiss’d it look’d 
pale: 
‘Tis the Vine! ’tis the Vine!” ev'ry 
Spirit exclaim’d, 
“ Fail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !” 


First, fleet as a bird, to the summons 
Wit flew, [broke, 
While a light on the vine-leaves there 
In flashes so quick and so brilliant, all 
knew [spoke. 
’Twas the light from his lips as he 
“Bright tree! let thy nectar but cheer 
me,” he cried 
“ And the fount of Wit never can fail:” 
‘Tis the Vine! ’tis the Vine !” hills and 
valleys reply, 
‘‘ Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail !’> 


Next, Love, as he lean’d o’er the plant to 
admire 
Each tendril and cluster it wore, 
From his rosy mouth sent such a breath 
of desire, 
As made the tree tremble all o’er. 
Oh, never did flow’r of the earth, sea, or 
Such a soul-giving odorinhale: [sky, 
“omnis the Vine! ’tis the Vine!” all re- 
echo the cry, 
“ Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail "ἢ 


Last, Joy, without whom even Love and 
Wit die, [his ray ; 
Came to crown the bright hour with 
And searce had that mirth-waking tree 
met his eye, [say ;— 
When a laugh spoke what Joy couldnot 
A laugh of the heart, which was echoed 
around 
Till, like music, it swell’d on the gale; 
‘Tis the Vine! ’tis the Vine!” laugh- 
ing myriads resound, 
‘Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!” 


LEGENDARY BALLADS. 


349 


LEGENDARY BALLADS. 


TO THE MISS FEILDINGS, 


THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, 


BY THEIR FAITHFUL FRIEND AND SERVANT, 


THE VOICE. 


Ir came o’er her sleep, like a voice of 
those ae [her ways; 

When love, only love, was the light of 

And, soft as in moments of bliss long 
ago, [b below. 

It whisper’d her name from the garden 


“ Alas,” sigh’d the maiden, “ how fancy 
can cheat! [whisper thus sweet ; 
“The world once had lips that could 
“But cold now they slumber in yon fatal 
deep, [too could sleep !” 
“ Where, A that beside them this heart 


She sunk on her pillow—but no, ’twas in 
vain [again ! 
To chase the illusion, that Voice came 
She flew to the casement—but, hush’d 
as the grave, [and wave. 
Tn moonlight | lay slumbering woodland 


“Oh sleep, come and shield me,” in an- 
guish she said, [οἵ the Dead!” 

εἰς Fionn: that call of ‘the buried, that ery 
And sleep came around her—but, start- 
ing, she woke, [spoke ! ! 

For still from the garden that spirit Voice 


“1 come,” she exclaim’d, ‘‘ be thy home 
where it may, 

“On earth or in heaven, that call I obey;” 

Then forth through the moonlight, with 
heart beating fast 

And loud as a death-watch, the pale 
maiden pass’d. 


Still round her the scene all in Joneliness 
shone [her on ; 
And still, in ‘ae distance, that Voice led 


THOMAS MOORE. 


But whither she wander'd, by wave or 
by shore, {no more. 
None ever could tell, for she came back 


No, ne’er came she back—but the watch- 
man who stood {ows the fiood, 
That night in the tow’r which o ershad- 
Saw dimly, ’tis said, o’er the moon-light- 
ed spray, [away. 
A youth on a steed bear the maiden 


CUPID AND PSYCHE. 


THEY told her that he, to Whose vows 
she had listen’d 
Through night’s fleeting hours, was a. 
Spirit unbless’d ;— [glisten’d, 
Unholy the eyes, that beside her had 
And evil the lips she in darkness had 
press’d. 


‘¢When next in thy chamber the bride- 
groom reclineth, 

‘‘ Bring near him thy lamp, when in 
slumber he lies; 

“And there, as the light o’er his dark 

features shineth, [all thy sighs!” 

“Thowlt see what a demon hath won 


Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, 
yet fearing, {with her light ; 

When calm lay the sleeper she stole 

And saw—such a vision!—no image ap- 
pearing [so bright. 

To bards in their day-dreams, was ever 


A youth, but just passing from child- 

hood’s sweet morning, [cent ray; 

While round him still linger’d its inno- 

Though gleams, from beneath his shut 
eyelids gave warning 


300 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Of summer-noon lightnings that un- 
der them lay. 


His brow had a grace more than mortal 
around it, [mine, 
While, glossy as gold from a fairy-land 
His sunny hair hung, and the flowers 
that crown’d it [garden divine. 
Seem’d fresh from the breeze of some 


Entranced stood the bride, on that mir- 
acle gazing, [now ; 

What late was but love is idolatry 
But, ah--in her tremor the fatal lamp 
raising-— [his brow. 

A sparkle flew from it and dropp’d on 


All’s lost—with a start from his rosy 
sleep waking, [of fire ; 

The Spirit flash’d o’er her his glances 
Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy 
arms breaking, [than ire : 

Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow 


“¢ Farewell—what a dream thy suspicion 
hath broken! [eross’d ; 
“Thus ever A{fection’s fond vision is 

“‘ Dissolved are her spells when a doubt 
is but spoken, lost 1” 

“ And love, once distrusted, forever is 


HERO AND LEANDER. 


“THE night-wind is moaning with 
mournful sigh, [sky, 
“There gleameth no moon in the misty 
‘No star over Helle’s sea; 
“Yet, yet, there is shining one holylight, 
«‘ Onelove-kindied star through the deep 
of night, 
“To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee !” 


Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy 
stream, 

Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam 
No eye but a lover’s could see ; 
And still, as the surge swept over his 

head, [dead, 
<< To-night,” he said tenderly, “living or 
‘Sweet Hero, 11 rest with thee !” 


But fiercer around him the wild waves 

speed ; [need, 

Oh, Love! in that hour of thy votary’s 

Where, where could thy Spirit be? 

He struggles—he sinks—while the hur- 
ricane’s breath 

* The ancients had a mode of divination 


somewhat similar to this; and we find the 
Emperor Adrian, when he went to consult the 


Bears rudely away his last farewell in 


ea 
“Sweet Hero, I die for thee !” 


THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. 


“TELL me, kind Seer, I pray thee, 
“‘So may the stars obey thee, 

“So may each airy 

“ Moon-elf and fairy 
‘‘Nightly their homage pay thee ! 
‘Say, by what spell, above, below, 
“Tn stars that wink or flow’rs that blow, 

“T may discover, 

“Ere night is over, 
“Whether my love loves me or no, 
“« Whether my love loves me.” 


‘Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee 
“‘ Hath charms no gold could buy thee ; 
“Tts stem enchanted, 
“By moon-elves planted, 
“Will all thou seek’st supply thee. 
‘“‘Climbto yon boughs that highest grow, 
‘< Bring thence their fairest leaf below : 
“¢ And thow lt discover, 
‘« Ere night is over, 
‘Whether thy love loves thee or no, 
‘‘ Whether thy love loves thee.” 


“8566, up the dark tree going, 

“ With blossoms round me blowing, 
“From thence, oh }ather, 
“This leaf I gather, 

ἐς Pairest that there is growing 

ἐς Say, by what sign I now shall know 

“ΤΡ in this leaf lie bliss or wo- 

“ And thus discover, 

“Bre night is over, 
‘Whether my love loves me or no, 
“‘ Whether my love loves me.” 


‘Bly to yon fount that’s welling, 

“Where moonbeam ne’er had dwelling, 
“Dip in its water 
«That leaf, oh Daughter, 

‘And mark the tale ’tis telling ;* 

“Watch thou if pale or bright it grow, 

“ist thou, the while, that fountain’s 
“« And thou’lt discover [flow, 
‘Whether thy lover, 

“ Loved as he is, loves thee or no, 

‘« Loved as he is, loves thee.’’ 


Forth flew the nymph, delighted, 
To seek that fount benighted ; 
But, scarce a minute 


Fountain of Castalia, plucking a bay-leaf and 
dipping it into the sacred water. 


LEGENDARY BALLADS. 


The leaf lay in it, 
When, lo, its bloom was blighted ! 
And as she ask’d, with voice of wo— 
List’ning, the while, that fountain’s 

flow— 

“Shall I recover 

“ My truant lover?” 
The fountain seem’d to answer, ‘‘ No;” 
The fountain answer’d, ‘‘ No.” 


CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. 


A HUNTER once in that grove reclined, 
To shun the noon’s bright eye, 
And oft he woo’d the wandering wind, 
To cool his brow with its sigh. 
While mute lay ev’n the wild bee’s hum, 
Nor breath could stir the aspen’s hair, 
His song was still, “Sweet air, oh 
come !” [Air !” 
While Echo answer’d, ‘‘Come, sweet 


But, hark, what sounds from the thicket 
rise ! 
What meaneth that rustling spray ? 
«Tis the white-horn’d doe,” the Hunter 
cries, 
“T have sought since break of day.” 
Quick o’er the sunny glade he springs, 
The arrow flies from his sounding bow, 
“Hilliho—hilliho !” he gayly sings, 
While Echo sighs forth, ‘‘ Hilliho !” 


Alas, ’twas not the white-horn’d doe 
He saw in the rustling grove, 
But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, 
Of his own young wedded love. 
And, ah, too sure that arrow sped, 
For pale at his feet he sees her lie ;— 
“1 die, I αἴθ," was all she said, 
While Echo murmur ’d, ‘‘I die, I die!” 


YOUTH AND AGE.* 


‘TELL me, what’s Love?” said Youth, 
one day, 

To drooping Age, who cross’d his way.— 

“Tt is a sunny hour of play, 

“For which repentance dear doth pay ; 
“‘Repentance! Repentance ! 

“ And this is Love, as wise men say.” 


‘‘Tell me, what’s Love?” said Youth 
once more, 
Fearful, yet fond, of Age’s lore.— 


-* The air to which I have adapted these 


‘words was composed by Mrs. Arkwright to 


some old verses, ‘“‘ Tell me what's love, kind 


35L 


‘Soft as a passing summer’s wind : 
‘“Wouldst know the blight it leaves be- 
hind ? 
“ Repentance ! Repentance ! 
“And this is Loye—when love is o’er.”” 


“‘Tell me, what’s Love?” said Youth 
again, 

Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.— 

‘Sweet as a May tree’s scented air— 

‘Mark ye what bitter fruit ’twill bear, 
“ Repentance ! Repentance ! 

“This, this is Loyve—sweet Youth, 
beware.” 


Just then, young Love himself came by, 
| And cast on Youth a smiling eye ; 
Who could resist that glance’s ray? 
In yain did Age his warning say, 
‘Repentance ! Repentance !” 
Youth laughing went with Love away- 


THE DYING WARRIOR. 


A WOUNDED Chieftain, lying 
By the Danube’s leafy side, 
Thus faintly said, in dying, 
“Oh! bear, thou foaming tide, 
“This gift to my lady-bride "ἢ 


’T was then, in life’s last quiver, 
He flung the scarf he wore 
Into the foaming river, 
Which, ah too quickly, bore 
That pledge of one no more! 


With fond impatience burning, 
The Chieftain’s lady stood, 

To watch her love returning 
Tn triumph down the flood, 
From that day’s field of blood. 


But, field, alas, ill-fated ! 
The lady saw instead 

Of the bark whose speed she waited, 
Her hero’s scarf, all red 
With the drops his heart had shed. 


One shriek—and all was over— 
Her life-pulse ceased to beat ; 
The gloomy waves now cover 
That bridal-flower so sweet, 
And the scarf is her winding sheet ! 


THE MAGIC MIRROR, 
“« ComgE, if thy magic Glass haye pow’r 
“To call up forms we sigh to see ; 


shepherd, pray ἢ and it has been any object to 
retain as much of the structure and phraseology 
! of the original words as possible. 


352 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


“« Show me my Loye, in that rosy bow’r, 
“‘ Where last she pledged her truth to 
me.” 


The Wizard show’d him his Lady bright, 
Where lone and pale in her bow’r she 
ay ; [ Knight, 
‘“<True-hearted maid,” said the happy 
‘‘She’s thinking of one, who is far 
away.” 


But, lo! a page, with looks of joy, 
Brings tidings to the Lady’s ear ; 
‘OTis,” said the Knight, “the same 
bright boy, 
“¢ Who used to guide me to my dear.”’ 


The Lady now, from her fav’rite tree, 
Hath, smiling, pluck’d a rosy flow’r; 
“Such,” he exclaim’d, ‘‘ was the gift 
that she [bow’r!” 
‘“Each morning sent me from that 


She gives her page the blooming rose, 
With looks that say, ‘‘ Like lightning, 
fly !” [soothes her woes, 
“Thus,” thought the Knight, “she 
“By fancying, still, her true-love 
nigh,” 


But the*page returns, and—oh, what a 
sight, 
For trusting lover’s eyes to see !— 
Leads to that bow’r another Knight, 
As young, and, alas, as loved ashe! 


“Such,” quoth the Youth, “is Woman’s 
~ love!” [bound, 
Then, darting forth, with furious 

Dash’d at the Mirror his iron glove, 
And strew’d it all in fragments round. 


MORAL, 


Such ills would never have come to pass, 
Had he ne’er sought that: fatal view ; 

The Wizard would still have kept his 
Glass, [true. 

And the Knight still thought bis Lady 


THE PILGRIM. 


STriuu thus, when twilight gleam’d, 
Far off his Castle seem’d, 

Traced on the sky ; 
And still, as faney bore him 
‘To those dim tow’rs before him, 
He gazed with wistful eye, 

And thought his home was Πρ. 


“ Hall of my Sires !” he said, 

‘How long, with weary tread, 
“Must I toil on ? 

“‘ Hach eve, as thus I wander, 

“Thy tow’rs seem rising yonder, 

‘‘ But, scarce hath daylight shone, 
“When, like a dream, thou’rt gone !” 


So went the Pilgrim still, 
Down dale and over hill, 
Day after day ; 
That glimpse of home, so cheering, 
At twilight still appearing, 
But still, with morning’s ray, 
Melting, like mist, away! 


Where rests the Pilgrim now? 
Here, by this cypress bough, 
Closed his career ; 
That dream, of Fancy’s weaving, 
No more his steps deceiving, 
Alike past hope and fear, 
The Pilgrim’s home is here. 


THE HIGH-BORN LADYE. 


In vain all the Knights of the Under- 
wald woo’d her, 
Though brightest of maidens, the 
proudest was she ; 
Brave chieftains they sought, and young 
minstrels they sued her, 
But worthy were none of the high- 
born Ladye. 


“¢ Whomsoever I wed,” said this maid, 
so excelling, [conquerors be ; 
“That Knight must the conqu’ror of 
“(Ἢρ must place me in halls fit for mon- 
archs to dwell in ;— 
‘‘None else shall be Lord of the high- 
born Ladye !” 


Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn 
looking round her [degree ; 

On Knights and on Nobles of highest 
Who humbly and hopelessly left as they 
found her, [born Ladye. 

And worshipp’d at distance the high- 


At length came a Knight from a far 
land to woo her, [foam of the sea; 
With plumes on his helm like the 
His vizor was down—but, with voice 
that thrill’d through her, Ἔ 
He whisper’d his vows to the high- 
born Ladye. 
“Proud maiden! I come with high 
spousals to grace thee. 


LEGENDARY BALLADS. 


353 


“In me the great conqu’ror of con- 

querors see ; [111 place thee, 

*‘Pnthroned ina hall fit for monarchs 

“ And mine thow’rt forever, thou high- 
born Ladye !” 


The maiden she smiled, and in jewels 
array’d her, [she ; 
Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt 
And proud was the step, as her bride- 
groom convey’d her 
In pomp to his home, of that high- 
born Ladye. 


‘But whither,” she, starting, exclaims, 
“have you led me? 
“ Here’s naught but a tomb and a dark 
cypress tree ; [wouldst wed me?” 
“Ts this the bright palace in which thou 
With scorn in her glance, said the 
high-born Ladye. 


‘Tis the home,” he replied, ‘‘ of earth’s 
loftiest creatures ”— [see ; 

Then lifted his helm for the fair one to 
But she sunk on the ground—’twas a 
skeleton’s features, [born Ladye! 

And Death was the Lord of the high- 


THE INDIAN BOAT. 


’Twas midnight dark, 
The seaman’s bark 

Swift o’er the waters bore him, 
When, through the night, 
He spied a light 

Shoot o’er the wave before him. 


<¢ A sail! asail!” he cries; 
“She comes from the Indian shore, 
“€ And to-night shall be our prize, 
‘With her freight of golden ore : 
“Sail on! sail on!” 
When morning shone 
He saw the gold still clearer; 
But, though so fast 
The waves he pass’d, 
That boat seem’d never the nearer, 


Bright daylight came, 
And still the same 
Rich bark before him floated ; 
While on the prize 
His wishful eyes 
Like any young lover’s doted : 
“More sail! more sail!” he cries, 
While the waves o’ertop the mast; 
And his bounding galley flies, 
Like an arrow before the blast. 


Thus on and on, 
Till day was gone, 
And the moon through heay’n 
He swept the main, 
But all in vain, 
That boat seem’d never the nigher. 


[her, 
did hie 


And many a day 
To night gave way, 

And many a morn succeeded : 
While still his flight, 
Through day and night, 

That restless mariner speeded. 

Who knows—who knows what seas 

He is now careering o’er? 

Behind, the eternal breeze, 

And that mocking bark, before ! 
For, oh, till sky 
And earth shall die, 

And their death leave none to rue it, 
That boat must flee 
O’er the boundless sea, 

And that ship in vain pursue it. 


THE STRANGER. 


ComE list, while I tell of the heart- 
wounded Stranger 
Who sleeps her last slumber in this 
haunted ground ; 
Where often, at midnight, the lonely 
wood-ranger 
Hears soft fairy music re-echo around. 


None e’er knew the name of that heart- 
stricken lady, 
Her language, though sweet, none 
could e’er understand ; 
But her features so sunn’d, and her eye- 
lash so shady, {ern land. 
Bespoke her a child of some far Hast- 


’Twas one summer night, when the vil- 
lage lay sleeping, [ears ; 

A soft strain of melody came o’er our 
So sweet, but so mournful, half song and 
half weeping, [her tears. 

Like music that Sorrow had steep’d in 


We thought ’twas an anthem some angel 
had sung us;— __ [from on high, 

But, soon as the day-beams had gush’d 
With wonder we saw this bright stranger 
among us, {the sky. 

All lovely and lone, as if stray’d from 


Nor long did her life for this sphere 
seem intended, — [spirit-like hue, 
For pale was her cheek, witb that 


354 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Which comes when the day of this 
world is nigh ended, _[through. 
And light from another already shines 


Then her eyes, when she sung—oh, but 
once to have seen them— 
Left thoughts in the soul that can 
never depart; 
While her looks and her voice made a 
language between them, 
That spoke more than holiest words to 
the heart. 


But she pass’d like a day-dream, no skill 
could restore her— 


Whate’er was her sorrow, its ruin 
came fast; 

She died with the same spell of mystery 

o’er her, [the last. 

That song of past days on her lips to 


Nor ev’n in the grave is her sad heart 
reposing— 
Still hovers the spirit of grief round 
her tomb ; 
For oft, when the shadows of midnight 
are closing, 
The same strain of music is heard 
through the gloom, 


A MELOLOGUE UPON NATIONAL MUSIC. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THESE verses were written for a Bene- 
fit at the Dublin Theatre, and were 
spoken by Miss Smith, with a degree of 
success which they owed solely to her 
admirable manner of reciting them. I 
wrote them in haste; and it very rarely 
happens that poetry, which has cost but 


little labor to the writer, is productive | R 


of any great pleasure to the reader. Un- 
der this impression, I certainly should 
not have published them if they had not 
found their way into some of the news- 
papers, with such an addition of errors 
to their own original stock, that I 
thought it but fair to limit their respon- 
sibility to those faults alone which really 
belong to them. 

With respect to the title which I have 
invented for this Poem, I feel even more 
than the scruples of the Emperor Tibe- 
rius, when he humbly asked pardon of 
the Roman Senate for using “the out- 
landish term, monopoly.” But the truth 
is, having written the Poem with the 
sole view of serving a Benefit, I thought 
that an unintelligible word of this kind 
would not be without its attraction for 
the multitude, with whom, ‘‘ If’tis not 


sense, at least ’tis Greek.” To some of 
my readers, however, it may not be su- 
perfluous to say, that by ‘‘ Melologue,” 
1 mean that mixture of recitation and 
music, which is frequently adopted in 
the performance of Collins’s Ode on the 
Passions, and of which the most strik- 
ing example I can remember is the pro- 
phetie speech of Joad in the Athalie of 
acine. T. M. 


MELOLOGUE. 


A SHORT STRAIN OF Music FROM THE ORCHES- 
TRA. 


THERE breathes a language, known and 
felt [zone ; 
Far as the pure air spreads its living 
Wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt, 
That language of the soul is felt and 
known. 
From those meridian plains, 
Where oft, of old, on some high 
tow’r, [ strains, 
The soft Peruvian pour’d his midnight 
And eall’d his distant love with such 
sweet pow’, 
That, when she heard the lonely lay, 


ie 


MELOLOGUE. 


Not worlds could keep her from his arms 
away—* 
To the bleak climes of polar night, 
Where blithe, beneath a sunless sky, 
The Lapland lover bids his reindeer fly, 
And sings along the length’ning waste 
of snow, 
Gayly as if the blessed light [brow ; 
Of vernal Phebus burn’d upon his 
Oh Music! thy celestial claim 
Is still resistless, still the same ; 
And, faithful as the mighty sea 
To the pale star that o’er its realm pre- 
The spell-bound tides [sides, 
Of human passion rise and fall for thee! 
GREEK Arr. 
List ! ’tis a Grecian maid that sings, 
While, from Ilissus’ sily’ry springs, 
She draws the cool lymph in her grace- 
ful urn ; solving, 
And by her side, in Musie’s charm dis- 
Some patriot youth, the glorious past 
revolving, [return ; 
Dreams of bright days that never can 
When Athens nursed her olive bough, 


With hands by tyrant pow’r un- | 


chain’d ; 
And braided for the muse’s brow 
A wreath by tyrant touch un- 
stain’d. 

When heroes trod each classie field 

Where coward feet now faintly fal- 
ter ; 

When ey’ry arm was F'reedom’s shield, 

Andey'ry heart was Freedom’s altar ! 
FLounisut oF TRUMPETS. 

Hark, ’tis the sound that charms 

The war-steed’s wak’ning ears !— 

Oh! many a mother folds her arms 
Round her boy-soldier when that call 

she hears ; [fears, 
And, though her fond heart sink with 

Is proud to feel his young pulse bound 

With valor’s fever at the sound. 

See, from his native hills afar 

The rude Helvetian flies to war; 

Careless for what, for whom he fights, 

For slave or despot, wrongs or rights ; 

A conqueror oft—a hero neyer— 

Yet lavish of his life-blood still, 

As if ’twere like his mountain rill, 

And gush’d forever ! 

* “ A certain Spaniard, one night late, met 
an Indian woman in the streets o Cozeo, and 
would have taken her to his home, but she eried 
out, ‘For God's sake, Sir, let me go; for that 
pipe, which you hear in yonder tower, calls me 


Yes, Music, here, even here, 
Amid this thoughtless, vague career, 
Thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous 
pow’r.— [the rocks 
There’s a wild air which oft, among 
Of his own loved land, at evening hour, 
Is heard, when shepherds homeward 
pipe their flocks, {his mind 
Whose every note hath power to thrill 
With tend’rest thoughts; to bring 
around his knees 
The rosy children whom he left behind, 
And fill each little angel eye 
With speaking tears, that ask him 
why [like these. 
He wander’d from his hut for scenes 
Vain, vain is then the trumpet’s brazen 
roar; {he hears ; 
Sweet notes of home, of loye, are all 
And the stern eyes, that look’d for blood 
before, [selves in tears. 
Now melting, mournful, lose them- 


Swiss Air.—‘' RANZ DES VACHEs.”’ 


But, wake the trumpet’s blast again, 
And rouse the ranks of warrior-men ! 
Oh War, when Truth thy arm employs, 
And Freedom’s spirit guides the labor- 
ing storm, Llow’d form, 
’Tis then thy vengeance takes a hal- 
And, like Heaven’s lightning, sacredly 
destroys. [sphere, 
Nor, Music, through thy breathing 
Lives there a sound more grateful to 
the ear 
Of Him who made all harmony, 
Than the bless’d sound of fetters 
breaking, [ing 
And the first hymn that man, awak- 
From Slavery’s slumber, breathes to 
Liberty. 


ΞΡΑΝΙΒΗ CHorus. 


Hark ! from Spain, indignant Spain, 
Bursts the bold, enthusiast strain, 
Like morning’s music on the air ; 
And seems, in every note, to swear 
By Saragossa’s ruin’d streets, 
By brave Gerona’s deathful story, 
That, while one Spaniard’s life-blood 
beats, {glory. 
That blood shall stain the conqu’ror’s 
with great passion, and I cannot refuse the 
summons; for love constrains me to go, that I 
may be his wife, and he my husband.’ ''—@ar- 
cilasso de la Vega, in Sir Paul Rycaut’s transla- 
tioh, 


SpanisH ΑΠῚ πε YA DeEsrerro.” 


But ah! if vain the patriot’s zeal, 


If neither valor’s force nor wisdom’s light 
Can break or melt that blood-cemented 


seal, [rope’s right— 
Which shuts so close the book of Eu- 
What song shall then in sadness tell 


Si OF 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Of brcken pride, of prospects shaded, 


Of buried hopes, remember’d well, 
Of ardor quench’d, and honor faded ἢ 
What muse shall mourn the deathless 
brave, 
In sweetest dirge at Memory’s shrine? 
What harp shall sigh o’er Freedom’s 
Oh Erin, Thine! [grave ? 


GLEES. 


MUSIC BY MOORE. 


THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.- 


WHEN o’er the silent seas alone, 

For days and nights we’ ve cheerless gone, 
Oh they who’ve felt it know how sweet, 
Some sunny morn a sail to meet. 


Sparkling at once is ev’ry eye, ὃ 
“Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy !” our ΠΟΥ [Ὁ] οὐν; 
While answering back the sounds we 
hear [what cheer?” 
“Ship ahoy! ship ahoy! what cheer? 


Then sails are back’d, we nearer come, 
Kind words are said of friends and home; 
And soon, too soon, we part with pain, 
To sail o’er silent seas again. 


HIP, HIP, HURRA! 


Come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the 

brim, [not to him ; 

He who shrinks from a bumper, I pledge 

“ Here’s the girl that each loves, be her 
eye of what hue [true.” 

‘Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but 

Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 

hurra ! 


Come, charge high again, boys, nor let 
the full wine 

Leave a space in the brimmer, where 
daylight may shine ; 


‘‘Here’s the friends of our youth— 
though of some we’re bereft, 
‘May the links that are lost but endear 

what are left !” [hurra! 
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 


Once more fill a bumper—ne’er talk of 
the hour ; pow’r. 

On hearts thus united old Time has no 

“ May our lives, tho’, alas! like the wine 
of to-night, 


“They must soon have an end, to the 


last flow as bright.” {hurra ! 
Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 


Quick, quick, now, I’ll give you, since 
Time’s glass will run 

Ey’n faster than ours doth, three bump- 
ers in one ; 

‘“‘ Here’s the poet who sings—here’s the 
warrior who fights— 

‘‘Here’s the statesman who speaks, in 
the cause of men’s rights !” 

Charge ! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 
hurra ! 


Jome, once more, a bumper !—then 
drink as you please, 

Tho’, who could fill half-way to toast 
such as these ? 

‘‘Here’s our next joyous meeting—and 
oh when we meet, 

““May our wine be as bright and our 
union as sweet !” [hurra ἢ 

Charge (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, 


% > Rn ἜΣ 
a διε γῦ»ἷ.. mer 
a 


ΜΞ 


were il sC* ore ‘oe 
ee ον ας 


SET OF GLEES. 357 


HUSH, HUSH. 


“ Husu, hush !”’—how well 
That sweet word sounds, 
When Love, the little sentinel, 
Walks his night-rounds ; 
Then, if a foot but dare 
One rose-leaf crush, 
Myriads of voices in the air 
Whisper, ‘‘ Hush, hush "ἢ 


“Hark, hark, ’tis he "ἢ" 
The night-elves cry, 

And hush their fairy harmony, 
While he steals by; 

But if his silv’ry feet 
One dew-drop brush, 

Voices are heard in chorus sweet, 
Whisp’ring, ‘‘ Hush, hush !” 


THE PARTING BEFORE THE 
BATTLE. 


HE, 


On to the field, our doom is seal’d, 
To conquer or be slaves: 

This sun shall see our nation free, 
Or set upon our graves. 


SHE. 


Farewell, oh farewell, my love, 
May Heav’n thy guardian be, 

And send bright angels from above 
To bring thee back to me. 


HE. 
On to the field, the battle-field, 
Where Freedom’s standard waves, 


This sun shall see our tyrant yield, 
Or shine upon our graves. 


THE WATCHMAN, 
A TRIO. 
WATCHMAN. 
Past twelve o’clock—past twelve. 


Good night, good night, my dearest— 
How fast the moments fly ! 

Tis time to par thou hearest 
That bateful watchman’s cry. 


WATCHMAN. 
Past one o’clock—past one. 
Ρ 


Yet stay a moment longer— 
Alas! why is it so, 


The wish to stay grows stronger, 
The more ’tis time to go? 


WATCHMAN. 
Past two o’clock—past two. 


Now wrap thy cloak about thee— 
The hours must sure go wrong, 

For when they’re pass’d without thee, 
They’re, oh, ten times as long. 


WATCHMAN, 
Past three o’clock—past three. 


Again that dreadful warning ! 
Had ever time such flight ? 
And see the sky, ’tis morning— 
So now, indeed, good night. 


WATCHMAN. 
Past three o’clock—past three. 
Good night, good night. 


SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE? 


Say, what shall we dance? 

Shall we bound along the moonlight 
plain, 

To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain ? 
Say, what shall we dance? 

Shall we, like those who rove 

Through bright Grenada’s grove, 

To the light Bolero’s measures move ? 

Or choose the Guaracia’s languishing 
lay, 

And thus to its sound die away ? 


Strike the gay chords, 
Let us hear each strain from ey’ry shore 
That music haunts, or young feet wan- 
der o’er. {measured time, 
Hark! ’tis the light march, to whose 
The Polish lady, by her lover led, 
Delights through gay saloons with step 
untired to tread, [walks, 
Or sweeter still, through moonlight 
Whose shadows serve to hide 
The blush that’s raised by him who 
Of love the while by her side; _ [talks 
Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose 
floating sound 
Like dreams we go gliding around, 
Say, which shall we dance? which shall 
we dance ? 


338 


THE EVENING GUN. 


REMEMB’REST thou that setting sun, 
The last I saw with thee, 

When loud we heard the ev’ning gun 
Peal o’er the twilight sea? 


Boom !—the sounds apport to sweep 11 


Far o’er the verge of day, 
Till, into realms beyond the deep, 
They seem’d to die away. 


BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Oft, when the toils of day are done, 
In pensive dreams of thee, 
I sit to hear that ev’ning gun 
Peal o’er the stormy sea. 
Boom !—and while o’er billows curl’d, 
The distant sounds decay, 
weep and wish, from this rough 
world, 
Like them, to die away. 


ETC. 


TO-DAY, DEAREST! IS OURS. 


To-DAY, dearest! is ours ; 
Why should Love carelessly lose it ? 
This lite shines or lowers 
Just as we, weak mortals, use it. 
Tis time enough, when its flow’rs decay, 
To think of the thorns of Sorrow; 
And Joy, if left on the stem to-day, 
May wither before to morrow. 


Then why, dearest! so long 
Let the sweet moments fly over? 
Though now, blooming and young, 
Thou hast me devoutly thy lover: 
Yet Time from both, in his silent lapse, 
Some treasure may steal or borrow ; 
Thy charms may be less in bloom, per- 
Or I less in love to-morrow. _ [haps, 


WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH 
DELAYS. 


WHEN on the lip the sigh delays, 
As if ’twould linger there forever ; 
When eyes would give the world to gaze, 
Yet still look down, and venture never; 
When, though with fairest nymphs we 
rove, {any— 
There’s one we dream of more than 
If all this is not real loye, {ny ! 
’Tis something wondrous like it, Fan- 


To think and ponder, when apart, 
On all we’ve got to say at meeting ; 
And yet when near, with heart to heart, 
Sit mute, and listen to their beating: 
Too see but one bright object move, 
The only moon, where stars are 
many— 
Tf all this is not downright love, 
I prithee say what is, my Fanny! 


When Hope foretells the brightest, best, 
Though Reason onthe darkestreckons; 
When Passion drives us to the west, 
Though Prudence to the eastward 
beckons; 
When all turns round, below, above, 
And our own heads the most of any— 
If this is not stark, staring love, 
Then you and I are sages, Fanny. 


HERE, TAKE MY HEART. 


Herz, take my heart—’twill be safe in 
thy keeping, [o’er sea ; 
While I go wand’ring o’er land and 
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleep- 
ing, [thee ? 

What need I care, so my heart is with 
If, in the race we are destined to run, 
love, [piest be, 

They who have light hearts the hap- 


acy 


Then, happier still must be they who 
have none, love, [with thee. 
And that will be my case when mine is 


It matters not where I may now be a 
rover, 

T care not how many bright eyes I 
Should Venus herself come and ask me 
to love her, [thee, 

Τ᾽ ἃ tell her Il couldn’t—my heart is with 


And there let it lie, growing fonder and 
fonder— [to me, 

For, even should Fortune turn truant 
Why, let her go—I’ve a treasure beyond 
her, [with thee ! 

As long as my heart’s out at int’rest 


OH, CALL IT BY SOME BETTER 
NAME. 


On, callit by some better name, 
For Friendship sounds too cold, 
While Love is now a worldly flame, 
Whose shrine must be of gold ; 
And Passion, like the sun at noon, 

That burns o’er all he sees, 
Awhile as warm, will set as soon— 
Then, call it none of these. 


Imagine something purer far, 
More free from stain of clay 
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, 
Yet human still as they: 
And if thy lip, for love like this, 
No mortal word can frame, 
Go, ask of angels what it is, 
And eall it by that name ! 


POOR WOUNDED HEART. 


Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 
Thy hour of rest is come ; 
Thou soon wilt reach thy home, 
Poor wounded heart, farewell ! 
The pain thow'lt feel in breaking 
Less bitter far will be, 
Than that long, deadly aching, 
This life has been to thee. 


There—broken heart, farewell ! 
The pang is o’er— 
The parting pang is o’er; 
Thou now wilt bleed no more, 
Poor broken heart, farewell ! 
No rest for thee but dying — 
Like waves, whose strife is past, 
On death’s cold shore thus lying, 
Thou sleep’st in peace at last— 
Poor broken heart, farewell ! 


[may see; | 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 359 


THE EAST INDIAN. 


CoE, May, with all thy flowers, 
Thy sweetly-scented thorn, 
Thy cooling ev’ning showers, 
Thy fragrant breath at morn : 
When May-flies haunt the willow, 
When May-buds tempt the bee, 
Then o’er the shining billow 
My love will come to me. 


From Eastern Isles she’s winging 
Through wat’ry wilds her way, 

And on her cheek is bringing 
The bright sun’s orient ray : 

Oh, come and court her hither, 
Ye breezes mild and warm— 

One winter’s gale would wither 
So soft, so pure a form. 


The fields where she was straying 
Are blest with endless light, 
With zephyrs always playing 
Through gardens always bright. 
Then now, sweet May ! be sweeter 
Than e’er thou’st been before ; 
Let sighs from roses meet her 
When she comes near our shore. 


POOR BROKEN FLOWER. 


Poor broken flow’r! what art can now 
recover thee ? [breath— 
Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy 
In vain the sunbeams seek 
To warm that faded check; 
The dews of heay’n, that once like balm 
fell over thee, [death. 
Now are but tears, to weep thy early 


So droops the maid whose lover hath 
forsaken her, — [lost as thou; 
Thrown from his arms, as lone and 
Tn vain the smiles of all 
Like sunbeams round her fall ; 
The only smile that could from death 
awaken her, {now. 
That smile, alas! is gone to others 


THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. 


BEING weary of love, 
I flew to the grove, 

And chose me a tree of the fairest; 
Saying, ‘‘ Pretty Rose-tree, 
“‘Thou my mistress shalt be, 

«ς And I'll worship each bud thou bearest. 

‘For the hearts of this world are hol- 
low 


900 


“ And fickle the smiles we follow ; 
“And ’tis sweet, when all 
‘Their witch’ries pall, 

““ΠῸ have a pure love to fly to: 
ἐς 850, my pretty Rose-tree, 
“Thou my mistress shalt be, 

“¢ And the only one now I shall sigh to.” 


When the beautiful hue 
Of thy cheek through the dew 
Of morning is bashfully peeping, 
“Sweet tears,” I shall say, 
(As I brush them away,) 
“ΑἹ least there’s no art in this weeping.” 
Although thou shouldst die to-mor- 
row, 
’T will not be from pain or sorrow ; 
And the thorns of thy stem 
Are not like them 
With which men wound each other: 
So, my pretty Rose-tree, 
Thou my mistress shalt be, 
And Τ᾽] ne’er again sigh to another. 


SHINE OUT, STARS! 


SHINE out, Stars! let Heay’n assemble 
Round us ev’ry festal ray, 

Lights that move not, lights thattremble, 
All to grace this Eve of May. 

Let the flow’r-beds all lie waking, 
And the odors shut up there, 

From their downy prisons breaking, 
Fly abroad through sea and air. 


And would love, too, bring his sweetness, 
With our other joys to weave, 

Oh what glory, what completeness, 
Then would crown this bright May 

Ive! 

Shine out, Stars! let night assemble 
Round us every festa! ray, 

Lights that move not, lights that tremble, 
To adorn this Eve of May. 


THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF 
GRENADA. 


On, the joys of our ev’ning posada, 
Where, resting at close of day, 
We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 
Sit and sing the sunshine away ; 
So merry, that even the slumbers, 
That round us hung, seem gone; 
Till the lute’s soft drowsy numbers 
Again beguile them on. 
Oh, the joys, ἄο. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Then as each to his loved sultana 
In sleep still breathes the sigh, 

The name of some black-eyed Tirana 
Escapes our lips as we lie. 

Till, with morning’s rosy twinkle, 
Again we’re up and gone — 

While the mule-bell’s drowsy tinkle 
Beguiles the rough way on. 

Oh, the joys of our merry posada, 
Where, resting at close of day, 

We, young Muleteers of Grenada, 
Thus sing the gay moments away. 


TELL HER, OH, TELL HER. 


TELL her, oh, tell her, the lute she left 
lying [ there ; 
Beneath the green arbor, is still lying 
And breezes, like lovers, around it are 
sighing, [pray’r. 

But not a soft whisper replies to their 
Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in 
going, [set, 
Beside the green arbor she playfully 
As lovely as ever 1s blushing and blow- 


ing, {it yet. 
And not a bright leaflet has fall’n from 


So while away from that arbor forsaken, 
Themaidenis wandering, stilllether be 
As true as the lute, that no sighing can 
waken, [ the tree! 

And blooming forever, unchanged as 


NIGHTS OF MUSIC. 


Nieuts of music, nights of loving, 
Lost too soon, remember’d long, 
When we went by moonlight roving, 
Hearts all love, and lips all song. 

When this faithful lute recorded 
All my spirit felt to thee; 

And that smile the song rewarded— 
Worth whole years of fame to me! 


Nights of song, and nights of splendor, 
Fill’d with joys too sweet to last— 
Joys that, like the starkght, tender, 
While they shone, no shadow cast. 
Though all other happy hours 
From my fading mem’ry fly, 
Of that starlight, of those bowers, 
Not a beam, a leaf shall die ! 


OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. 


Our first young love resembles 
That short but brilliant ray, 


a 
i 


SONGS, BALLADS, ETO. 


Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles | 


Through April’s earliest day. 
And not all life before us, 

Howe’er its lights may play, 
Can shed a lustre o’er us 

Like that first April ray. 


Our summer sun may squander 
A blaze serener, grander ; 
Our autumn beam 
May, like a dream 
Of heav’n, die calm away; 
But, no—let life before us 
Bring all the light it may, 
Twill ne’er shed lustre o’er us 
Like that first youthful ray. 


BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 


THE brilliant black eye 
May in triumph let fly [’em; 
All its darts without caring who feels 
But the soft eye of blue, 
Though it scatter wounds too, 
Is much better pleased when it heals 
Dear Fanny! [V’em— 
But the soft eye of blue, z 
Though it scatter wounds too, 
Ismuch better pleased when it heals’em. 


The black eye may say, 
*‘Come and worship my ray— 
“By adoring, perhaps, you may move 
d But the blue eye, half hid, [me!” 
Says, from under its lid, 
*T love, and am yours, if you love me!” 
Yes, Fanny! 
The blue eye, half hid, 
Says, from under its lid, 
“Τ love, and am yours, if you love me !” 


Come, tell me, then, why, 
In that lovely blue eye, 

Not a charm of its tint I discover; 
Oh, why should you wear 
The only blue pair 

That ever said ‘‘ No” to a lover? 
Dear Fanny ! 
Oh, why should you wear 
The only blue pair 

That ever said ‘‘ No” to a lover? 


DEAR FANNY. 


“SHE has beauty, but still you must 
keep your heart cool; 

“She has wit, but you mustn’t be 

caught so :” [fool, 

Thus Reason advises, but Reason’s a 


361 


And ’tis not the first time I have 
Dear Fanny ! [thought so, 
Tis not the first time I havethought so. 


“She is lovely, then love her, nor let 
the bliss fly ; [season ;”’ 

‘OTis the charm of youth’s vanishing 
Thus Love has advised me, and who 
will deny [ Reason, 

That Love reasons much better than 

Dear Fanny ? 
Love reasons much better than Reason. 


FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 


From life without freedom, say, who 
would not fly? [would not die? 
For one day of freedom, oh! who 
Hark !—hark!—’tis the trumpet! the 
call of the brave, [the slave. 
The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of 
Our country lies bleeding—haste, haste 
to her aid; [invade. 
One arm that defends is worth hosts that 


In death’s kindly bosom our last hope 
remains— [πο chains. 
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has 
On, on to the combat, the heroes that 
bleed [deed. 
For virtue and mankind are heroes in- 
And oh, ev’n if Freedom from this world 
be driven, [in heaven. 
Despair not—at least we shall find her 


HERE’S THE BOWER. 


Here’s the bower she loved so much, 
And the tree she planted ; 
Here’s the harp she used to touch— 
Oh, how that touch enchanted : 
Roses now unheeded sigh; 
Where’s the hand to wreathe them? 
Songs around neglected lie; 
Where’s the lip to breathe them? 
Here’s the bower, &e. 


Spring may bloom, but she we loved 
Ne’er shall feel its sweetness ; 
Time, that once so fleetly moved, 
Now hath lost its fleetness. 
Years were days, when here sb 3 strayvd, 
Days were moments near he; ; 
Heav’n ne’er form’d a brighte' maid 
Nor Pity wept a dearer ! 
Here’s the bower, ὥς 


362 


I SAW THE MOON RISE CLEAR. 
A FINLAND LOVE SONG. 


I saw the moon rise clear 
O’er hills and vales of snow, 
Nor told my fleet reindeer 
The track I wish’d to go. 
Yet quick he bounded forth ; 
For well my reindeer knew 
T’ve but one path on earth— 
The path which leads to you. 


The gloom that winter cast 
How soon the heart forgets, 
When Summer brings, at last, 
Her sun that never sets! 
So dawn’d my love for you ; 
So, fix’d through joy and pain, 
Than summer sun more true, 
Twill never set again. 


LOVE AND THE SUN-DIAL. 


γοῦνα Love found a Dial once, in a 
dark shade, [beam play’d; 
Where man ne’er had wander’d nor sun- 


“Why thus in darkness lie,” whisper’d 


young Love, 

“‘Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine 
should move ?” 

“1 ne’er,” said the Dial, ‘‘ have seen the 
warm sun, [are one.” 

“«So noonday and midnight to me, Love, 


Then Love took the Dial away from the 
shade, [warmly play’d. 


And placed her where Heaven’s beam 


‘There she reclined, beneath Love’s gaz- | 


ing eye, [hours flew by. 


While, mark’d all with sunshine, her | 


“Oh, how,” said the Dial, ‘‘can any 
fair maid, [the shade ?” 
“‘That’s born to be shone upon, rest in 


But night now comes on, and the sun- 
beam’s o’er, {more. 
And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no 
Alone and neglected, while bleak rain 
and winds [she finds 
Are storming around her, with sorrow 
That Love had but number’d a few sunny 
hours,— 
Then left the remainder to darkness and 


LOVE AND TIME. 
IS said—hut whether true or not 
Let bards declare who’ve seen’em— 
That Love and Time have only got 


᾽ mM 


[showers ! | 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


One pair of wings between ’em. 
In courtship’s first delicious hour, 
The boy full oft can spare ’em ; 
So, loit’ring in his lady’s bower, 
He lets the grey-beard wear ’em. 
Then is Time’s hour of play ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 


But short the moments, short as bright, 
When he the wings can borrow ; 
If Time to-day has had his flight, 
Love takes his turn to-morrow. 
Ah! Time and Love, your change is 
The saddest and most trying, [then 
When one begins to limp again, 
And t’other takes to flying. 
Then is Love’s hour to stray; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 


But there’s a nymph, whose chains I 
And bless the silken fetter, [feel, 
| Who knows, the dear one, how to deal 
With Love and Time much better. 
So well she checks their wanderings, 
So peacefully she pairs ’em, 
That Love with her ne’er thinks of wings, 
And Time forever wears ’em. 
This is Time’s holiday ; 
Oh, how he flies, flies away ! 


LOVE’S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD. 


| PAtN and sorrow shall vanish before us— 

Youth may wither, but feeling will 

last ; [us, 

All the shadow that e’er shall fall o’er 

Love’s light summer-cloud only shall 
Oh, if to Jove thee more [cast. 
Each hour 1 number o’er, 

| If this a passion be 

| Worthy of thee, 

Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 
| Charms may wither, but feeling shall 


last ; [thee, 

All the shadow that e’er shall fall o’er 

Love’s light summer-cloud sweetly 
shall cast. 


Rest, dear bosom, no sorrow shall pain. 
thee, [steal ; 
Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou 
Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall 
stain thee, 
Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel. 
Oh, if there be a charm 
In love, to banish harm— 
If pleasure’s truest spell 


| Be to love well, 


tes 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. 
Charms may wither, but feeling shall 
last: ({ thee, 
All the shadow that e’er shall fall o’er 
Loye’s light summer-cloud sweetly 
shall cast. 


LOVE, WAND’RING THROUGH 
THE GOLDEN MAZE, 


Love, wand’ring through the golden 
Of my beloved’s hair, [maze 

Traced every lock with fond delays, 
And, doting, linger’d there. 

And soon he found ’twere vain to fly; 
His heart was close confined, 

For, every ringlet was a tie— 
A chain by beauty twined. 


MERRILY EVERY BOSOM 
BOUNDETH. 
THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY. 


MERRILY every bosom boundeth, 
Merrily, oh! 
Where the song of Freedom soundeth, 
Merrily, oh! 
There the warrior’s arms 
Shed more splendor ; 
There the maiden’s charms 
Shine more tender ; 
Ev’ry joy the land surroundeth, 
Merrily, oh! merrily, oh! 


Wearily every bosom pineth, 
Wearily, oh! 
Where the bond of slavery twineth, 
Wearily, oh! 
There the warrior’s dart 
Hath no fleetness; 
There the maiden’s heart 
Hath no sweetness — 
Ey’ry flow’r of life declineth, 
Wearily, oh! wearily, oh! 


Cheerily then from hill and valley, 
Cheerily, oh ! 
Like your native fountains sally, 
Cheerily, oh! 
If a glorious death, 
Won by bravery, 
Sweeter be than breath 
Sigh’d in slavery, 
Round the flag of Freedom rally, 
Cheerily oh! cheerily, oh! 


ὃ 


REMEMBER THE TIME. 
THE CASTILIAN MAID. 


REMEMBER the time, in La Mancha’s 
shades, 
When our moments so blissfully flew ; 
When you ecall’d me the flower of Cas- 
tilian maids, 
And I blush’d to be call’d so by you; 
When 1 taught you to warble the gay 
seguadille, 
And to dance to the light castanet ; 
Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam 
where you will, 
The delight of those moments forget. 


They tell me, you lovers from Erin’s 
green isle, 
Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
And that soon, in the light of some love- 
lier smile, 
Yow'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 
But they know not how brave in the 
battle you are, [rove ; 
Or they never could think you would 
For ’tis always the spirit most gallant in 


war 
That is fondest and truest in love. 


ΔΗ, SOON RETURN. 


Οὐκ white sail caught the ev’ning ray, 
The wave beneath us seem’d to burn, 

When all the weeping maid could say 
Was, ‘ Oh, soon return !” [driven, 

Through many a clime our ship was 
O’er many a billow rudely thrown ; 

Now chill’d beneath a northern heaven, 
Now sunn’d in summer’s zone : 

And still, where’er we bent our way, 
When evening bid the west wave burn, 

I fancied still I heard her say, 
“‘Oh, soon return !” 


If ever yet my bosom found (thee, 
Its thoughts one moment turn’d from 

’Twas when the combat raged around, 
And braye men look’d to me. 

But though the war-field’s wild alarm 
For gentle Love was all unmeet, 

He lent to Glory’s brow the charm, 
Which made even danger sweet. 

And still, when vict’ry’s calm came o’er 
The hearts where rage had ceased to 

burn, 

Those parting words I heard once more, 

“Oh, soon return !—Oh, soon return !” 


364 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


LOVE THEE? 


Love thee ?—so well, so tenderly 
Thou'rt loved, adored by me, 

Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 
Were worthless without thee. 

Though brimm’d with blessings pure 
Life’s cup before me lay, [8Π4 rare, 

Unless thy love were mingled there, 
Τ᾽ ἃ spurn the draught away. 

Love thee ?—so well, so tenderly 
Thow’rt loved, adored by me, 

Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, 
Are worthless without thee. 


Without thy smile, the monarch’s lot 
To me were dark and lone, 
While, with it, ev’n the humblest cot 
Were brighter than his throne. 
Those worlds, for which the conqu’ror 
sighs, 
For me would have no charms; 
My only world thy gentle eyes— 
My throne thy circling arms! 
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly 
Του τύ loved, adored by me, 
Whole realms of light and liberty 
Were worthless without thee. 


ONE DEAR SMILE. 


CouupstT thou look as dear as when 
First I sighed for thee ; 

_ Couldst thou make me feel again 

Every wish I breathed thee then, 
Oh, how blissful life would be! 

Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, 
Joys, that lie in slumber cold— [me 

All would wake, couldst thou but give 
One dear smile like those of old. 


No—there’s nothing left us now 
But to mourn the past ; 

Vain was every ardent vow— 

Never yet did heaven allow 
Love so warm, so wild, to last. 

Not even hope could now deceive me— 
Like itself looks dark and cold: 

Oh, thou never more canst give me 
One dear smile like those of old. 


YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. 


YES, yes, when the bloom of Love’s 

boyhood is o’er, [decay ; 

He'll turn into friendship that feels no 

And, though Time may take from him 
the wings he once wore, 


The charms that remain will be bright 
as before, [flying away. | 
And he’ll lose but his young trick of 


Then let it console thee, if Love should 
not stay, 

That Friendship our last happy mo- 

ments will crown: [ens away, 

Like the shadows of morning, Love less- 

While Friendship, like those at the clos- 

ing of day, [goes down. 

Will linger and lengthen as life’s sun 


THE DAY OF LOVE. 


THE beam of morning trembling 
Stole o’er the mountain brook, 
With timid ray resembling 
Affection’s early look. 
Thus love begins—sweet morn of love ! 


The noontide ray ascended, 
And o’er the valley’s stream 
Diffused a glow as splendid 
As passion’s riper dream. 
Thus love expands—warm noon of loye! 


But evening came, o’ershading 
The glories of the sky, 
Like faith and fondness fading 
From passion’s alter’d eye. 
Thus love declines—cold eve of love! 


LUSITANIAN WAR-SONG. 


THE song of war shall echo through our 
mountains, 
Till not one hateful link remains 
Of slavery’s lingering chains ; 
Till not one tyrant tread our plains, 
Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. 
No! never till that glorious day 
Shall Lusitania’s sons be gay, 
Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay 
Resounding through her sunny moun- 
tains. 


The song of war shall echo through our 
mountains, 
Till Victory’s self shall, smiling, say, 
““Your cloud of foes hath pass’d away, 
* And Freedom comes, with new-born 
ray, [fountains.” 
“To gild your vines and light your 
Oh, never till that glorious day 
Shall Lusitania’s sons be gay, 
Or kear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay, 
Resounding through her sunny moun- 
tains. 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


365 


THE YOUNG ROSE. 


THe young rose I give thee, so dewy 
and bright, [bird of night, 
Was the flow’ret most dear to the sweet 
Who oft, by the noon, o’er her blushes 
hath hung, he sung. 
And thrill’d every leaf with the wild lay 


Oh, take thou this young rose, and let 
her life be {from thee ; 
Prolong’d by the breath she will borrow 
For, while o’er her bosom thy soft notes 
shall thrill, [ing her still. 
She’ll think the sweet night-bird is court- 


WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET. 


WHEN midst the gay I meet 
That gentle smile of thine, 

Though still on me it turns most sweet, 
ΤΙ scarce can call it mine: 

But when to me alone 
Your secret tears you show, 

Oh, then I feel those tears my own, 
And claim them while they flow. 

Then still with bright looks bless 
The gay, the cold, the free ; 

Give smiles to those who love you less, 
But keep your tears for me. 


The snow on Jura’s steep 
Can smile in many a beam, 

Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, 
How bright soe’er it seem. 

But, when some deep-felt ray 
Whose touch is fire, appears, 

Oh, then the smile is warm’d away, 
And, melting, turns to tears. 

Then still with bright looks bless 
The gay, the cold, the free; 

Give smiles to those who love you less, 
But keep your tears for me. 


WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS. 


WHEN twilight dews are falling soft 
Upon the rosy sea, love, 

Τ watch the star, whose beam so oft 
Has lighted me to thee, love. 

And thou, too, on that orb so dear, 
Dost often gaze at even, 

And think, though lost forever here, 
Thow lt yet be mine in heaven. 


There’s not a garden walk I tread, 
There’s not a flow’r I see, love, 

But brings to mind some hope that’s fled, 
Some joy that’s gone with thee, love. 


And still I wish that hour was near, 
When, friends and foes forgiven, 

The pains, the ills we’ve wept through 
May turn to smiles in heaven. [here, 


YOUNG JESSICA. 


Youna Jessica sat all the day, [pining ; 
With heart o’er idle love-thoughts 
Her needle bright beside her lay, 
So active once !—now idly shining. 
Ah, Jessy, ’tisin idle hearts = [nimble; 
That love and mischief are most 
The safest shield against the darts 
Of Cupid, is Minerva’s thimble. 


The child, who with a magnet plays, 
Well knowing all its arts, so wily, 
The tempter near a needle lays, [slyly.” 
And laughing, says, ‘ We'll steal it 
The needle having naught to do, 
Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle ; 
Till closer, closer come the two, 
And—off, at length, elopes the needle. 


Now, had this needle turn’d its eye 

To some gay reticule’s construction, 
It ne’er had stray’d from duty’s tie, 

Nor felt the magnet’s sly seduction. 
Thus, girls, would you keep quiet bearts, 

Your snowy fingers must be nimble; 
The safest shield against the darts 

Of Cupid, is Minerya’s thimble. 


HOW HAPPY, ONCE. 

How happy, once, though wing’d with 
My moments flew along, [sighs, 

While looking on those smiling eyes, 
And list’ning to thy magic song ! 

But vanish’d now, like summer dreams, 
Those moments smile no more ; 

For me that eye no longer beams, 
That song for me is o’er. 

Mine the cold brow, 

That speaks thy alter’d vow, 

While others feel thy sunshine now. 


Oh, could I change my love like thee, 
One hope might yet be mine— 
Some other eyes as bright to see, 
And hear a voice as sweet as thine, 
But never, never can this heart 
Be waked to life again ; 
With thee it lost its vital part, 
And wither’d then! 
Cold its pulse lies, 
And mute are ey’n its sighs, 
All other grief it now defies. 


366 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


I LOVE BUT THEE. 


Ir, after al you still will doubt and fear 
[will stray, 
And M think this heart to other loves 
If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, 
hear me; [away, 
By ev’ry dream I have when thou’rt 
By ev’ry throb I feel when thou art 
near me, 
I love but thee—I love but thee ! 


By those dark eyes, where light is ever 
playing, [his throne, 
Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds 
And by those lips, which give whate’er 
thou’rt saying, 
Or grave or gay, a music of its own, 
A music far beyond all minstrel’s play- 


ing, 
I love but thee—I love but thee ! 


By that fair brow, where Innocence 
reposes, [snow, 
As pure as moonlight sleeping upon 
And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush 
discloses [below, 
A hue too bright to bless this world 
And only fit to dwell on Eden’s roses, 
I love but thee—I love but thee! 


LET JOY ALONE BE REMEM- 
BER’D NOW. 


LET thy joys alone be remember’d now, 
Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or if thought’s dark cloud come o’er thy 
brow, 
Let Love light it up with his smile; 
For thus to meet, and thus to find, 
That Time, whose touch can chill 
Each flower of form, each grace of mind, 
Hath left thee blooming still, — 
Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, 
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile ; 
Or, should thought’s dark cloud come 
o’er thy brow, 
Let Love light it up with his smile. 


When the flowers of life’s sweet garden 
If but one bright leaf remain,  [fade, 

Of the many that once its glory made, 
It is not for us to complain. 

But thus to meet and thus to wake 
In all Love’s early bliss ; 

Oh, Time all other gifts may take, 
So he but leaves us this! 

Then let joy alone be remember’d now, 
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile ; 


Or if eee dark cloud come o’er thy 
row 
Let Love ‘light it up with a smile! 


LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE 
THEE? 


LOVE thee, dearest? love thee ? 
Yes, by yonder star I swear, 
Which through tears above thee 
Shines so sadly fair ; 
Though often dim, 
With 1 tears, like him, 
Like him my truth will shine, 
And—love thee, dearest ? love thee ? 
Yes, till death I’m thine. 


Leave thee, dearest? leave thee? 
No, that star is not more true: 
When my vows deceive thee, 
He will wander too. 
A cloud of night 
May veil his light, 
And death shall darken mine— 
But—leave thee, dearest? leave thee? 
No, till death I’m thine. 


MY HEART AND LUTE. 


I GIvE thee ali—I can no more— 
Though poor the off’ring be ; 
My heart and lute are all the store 

That I can bring to thee. 
A lute whose gentle song reveals 
The soul of love full well; 
And, better far, a heart that feels 
Much more than lute could tell. 


love and song may fail, alas! 
eep life’s clouds away, 
At least ’twill make them lighter pass 
Or gild them if they stay. 
And ev’n if Care, at moments, flings 
A discord o’er life’s happy strain, 
Let Love but gently touch the strings, 
’T will all be sweet again ! 


ere 


PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT'S 
GONE! 


WueEn I am dead 
Then lay my head 

In some lone, distant dell, 
Where voices ne’er 
Shall stir the air, 

Or break its silent spell. 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


367 


If any sound 
Be heard around, 
Let the sweet bird alone, — 
That weeps in song, 
Sing all night long, 
«Peace, peace to him that’s gone!” 


Yet, oh, were mine 
One sigh of thine, 

One pitying word from thee, 
Like gleams of heav’n, 
To sinners giv’, 

Would be that word to me. 
Howe’er unbless’d, 
My shade would rest 

While list’ning to that tone ;— 
Enough ’twould be 
To hear from thee, 

“Peace, peace to him that’s gone 


ROSE OF THE DESERT. 


Ross of the Desert! thou, whose blush- 
ingray, ὦ" 

Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away ; 

No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy 
sigh, — 

In yestal silence left to live and die,— 

Rose of the Desert ! thus should woman 
be, [thee. 

Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like 


Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy 
doom! [bloom ; 
Destined for others, not thyself, to 
Cull’d ere thy beauty lives through half 
its day ; [away ; 
A moment cherish’d, and then cast 
Rose of the Garden! such is woman’s 
lot,— [fades, forgot. 
Worshipp’d while blooming—when she 


"7 


TIS ALL FOR THER. 


Tr life for me hath joy or light, 
Tis all from thee, [night 
My thoughts by day, my dreams by 
Are but of thee, of only thee. 
Whate’er of hope or peace I know, 
My zest in joy, my balm in wo, 
To those dear eyes of thine I owe, 
Tis all from thee. 
My heart, ev’n ere I saw those eyes, 
Seem’d doom’d to thee; 
Kept pure till then from other ties, 


* In this song, which is one of the many set 
to music by myself, the occasional lawlessness 


’T was all for thee, for only thee. 
Like plauts that sleep, till sunny May 
Calls forth their life, my spirit lay, 
Till, touch’d by Love’s awak’ning ray, 

It lived for thee, it lived for thee ! 


When Fame would call me to her heights, 
She speaks by thee ; 

And dim would shine her proudest lights, 
Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. 

Whene’er I seek the Muse’s shrine, 

Where Bards have hung their wreaths 

divine, 

And wish those wreaths of glory mine, 

’Tis all for thee, for only thee. 


THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.* 


THERE’s a song of the olden time, 
Falling sad o’er the ear, 

Like the dream of some village chime, 
Which in youth we loved to hear. 

And ey’n amidst the grand and gay, 
When Music tries her gentlest art, 

I never hear so sweet a lay, 
Or one that hangs so round my heart, 

As that song of the olden time, 
Falling sad o’er the ear, 

Like the dream of some village chime, 
Which in youth we loved to hear. 


And when all of this life is gone, — 
Ev’n the hope, ling’ring now, 

Like the last of the leaves left on 
Autumn’s sere and faded bough,— 
’T will seem as still those friends were 

near, 

Who loved me in youth’s early day 
If in that parting hour I hear 

The same sweet notes, and die away,— 
To that song of the olden time, 

Breathed, like Hope’s farewell strain, 
To say, in some brighter clime, 

Life and youth will shine again. 


WAKE THER, MY DEAR. 


WAKE thee, my dear—thy dreaming 
Till darker hours will keep ; 

While such a moon is beaming, 
’Tis wrong tow’rds Heavy’n to sleep. 


Moments there are we number, 
Moments of pain and care, 
Which to oblivious slumber 
Gladly the wretch would spare. 
But now—who'd think of dreaming 


of the metre arises, I need hardly say, from the 
peculiar structure of the air, 


908 


MOORBE’S WORKS. 


When Love his watch should keep ? 
While such a moon is beaming, 
"Tis wrong tow’rds Heay’n to sleep. 


If e’er the Fates should sever 

My life and hopes from thee, love, 
The sleep that lasts forever 

Would then be sweet to me, love ; 
But now,—away with dreaming ! 

Till darker hours ‘twill keep ; 
While such a moon is beaming, 

’Tis wrong tow’rds Heav’n to sleep. 


THE BOY OF THE ALPS.* 


Licutty, Alpine rover, 

Tread the mountains over ; 

Rude is the path thou’st yet to go; 
Snow cliffs hanging o’er thee, 
Fields of ice before thee, 

While the hid torrent moans below. 

Hark, the deep thunder, 

Through the vales yonder ! 

"Tis the huge ay’lanche downward cast; 
From rock to rock 
Rebounds the shock. 

But courage, boy! the danger’s past. 

“ Onward, youthful rover, 

Tread the glacier over, 

Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. 

On, ere light forsake thee, 

Soon will dusk o’ertake thee: 

O’er yon ice-bridge lies thy way ! 
Now, for the risk prepare thee ; 
Safe it yet may bear thee, 

Though ’twill melt in morning’s ray. 


Hark, that dread howling ! 

Tis the wolf prowling, — 

Scent of thy track the foe hath got; 
And cliff and shore 
Resound his roar. 

But courage, boy—the danger’s past! 
Watching eyes have found thee, 
Loving arms are round thee, 

Safe hast thou reach’d thy father’s cot, 


FOR THEE ALONE. 


For thee alone I braye the boundless 

deep, [tant sea ; 

Those eyes my light through ey’ry dis- 

My waking thoughts, the dream that 
gilds my sleep, 

* This and the Songs that follow, (as far as 


page 866.) Lave been published, with musie, by 
Messrs. Addison and Beale, Regent Street. 


The noontide rev’ry, all are giv’n to 
To thee alone, to thee alone. [thee, 


Though future scenes present to Fancy’s 
eye 


When nearer view’d, the fairy phantoms 
{art there, 


et 


\ tant air, | 
Fair forms of light that crowd the dis- | 


fly, 
The crowds dissolve, and thou alone 


Thou, thou alone. 


To win thy smile, I speed from shore to 
shore, [every blast, 
While Hope’s sweet voice is heard in 
Still whisp’ring on, that when some 
years are o’er, [at last, 

One bright reward shall crown my toil 
Thy smile alone, thy smile alone. 


Oh, place beside the transport of that 

hour Land bright, 

All earth can boast of fair, of rich, 

Wealth’s radiant mines, the lofty thrones 

of power, — {would light ? 

Then ask where first thy lover’s choice 
On thee alone, on thee alone. 


HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING. 


HER last words, at parting, how can I 
forget? [heart they shall stay ; 
Deep treasured through life, in my 
Like music, whose charm in the soul lin- 
gers yet, [long melted away. 
“When its sounds from the car have 
Let fortune assail me, her threat’nings 
are vain ; [talisman be, — 
Those still-breathing words shall my 
“Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and 
pain, 
‘‘There’s one heart, unchanging, that 
beats but for thee.” 


From the desert’s sweet well tho’ the 
pilgrim must hie, 
Never more of that fresh-springing 
fountain to taste, 
He hath still of its bright drops a trea- 
sured supply, 
Whose sweetness lends life to his lips 
through the waste. 
So, dark as my fate is still doom’d to 
remain, [derness be, — 
These words shall my well in the wil- 
‘Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and 
pain, 
“There’s one heart, unchanging, that 
beats but for thee.” 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. ~ 


enn ee aD SISSIES 


LET’S TAKE THIS WORLD AS 
SOME WIDE SCENE. 


Ler’stake this world as some wide scene, 
Through which, in frail, but buoyant 
boat, 
With skies now dark and now serene, 
Together thou and I must float ; 
Beholding oft, on either shore, [stay ; 
Bright spots where we should love to 
But Time plies swift his flying oar, 
And away we speed, away, away. 


Should chilling winds and rainscome on, 
We'll raise our awning ’gainst the 
Sit closer till the storm is gone, [show’T; 
And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. 
And if that sunnier hour should shine, 
We'll know its brightness cannot stay, 
But happy, while ’tis thine and mine, 
Complain not when it fades away. 


So shall we reach at last that Fall [go,— 
Down which life’s currents all must 
The dark, the brilliant, destined all 

To sink into {πὸ void below. 

Nor ey’n that hour shall wantits charms, 
If, side by side, still fond we keep, 
And calmly, in each other’s arms 
Together link’d, go down the steep. 


ΤΟΥ ΚΞ VICTORY. 


Sine to Love—for, oh, ’twas he 
Who won the glorious day ; 
Strew the wreaths of victory 
Along the conquw’ror’s way. 
Yoke the Muses to his car, 
Let them sing each trophy won ; 
While his mother’s joyous star 
Shall light the triumph on. 


Hail to Love, to mighty Love, 
Let spirits sing around ; 
While the hill, the dale, and grove, 
With “ mighty Love” resound ; 
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal 
Amid the sounds thus echo’d o’er, 
*T will but teach the god to feel 
His victories the more. 


See his wings, like amethyst 
Of sunny Ind their hue ; 

Bright as when, by Psyche kiss’d, 
They trembled through and through. 

Flowers spring beneath his feet ; 
Angel forms beside him run ; 


* Founded on the fable reported by Arrian, 


369 


While unnumberd lips repeat 
“ Love’s victory is won!” 
Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &e. 


SONG OF HERCULES TO HIS 
DAUGHTER.* 


“Τ᾽ Ὲ been, oh, sweet daughter, 
“To fountain and sea, 
““ΠῸ seek in their water 
““Some bright gem for thee. 
‘Where diamonds were sleeping, 
“Their sparkle I sought, 
‘Where crystal was weeping, 
“‘Tts tears I have caught 


‘The sea-nymph I’ve courted 
“Tn rich coral halls ; 
“‘ With Naiads have sported 
“ By bright waterfalls. 
“But sportive or tender, 
“ Still sought I, around, 
‘‘That gem, with whose splendor 
“Thou yet shalt be crown’d. 


‘“« And see, while I’m speaking, 
“Yon soft light afar ;— 

“The pearl I’ve been seeking 
“ There floats like a star! 

“Τῇ the deep Indian Ocean 
“‘T see the gem shine, 

“ And quick as light’s motion 
‘Tts wealth shall be thine.” 


Then eastward, like lightning, 
The hero-god flew, 
His sunny looks bright’ning 
The air he went through ; 
And sweet was the duty 
And hallow’d the hour, 
Which saw thus young Beauty 
Embellish’d by Power. 


THE DREAM OF HOME. 


Wnuo has not felt how sadly sweet 


The dream of home, the dream of 
home, 


| Steals o’er the heart, too soon to fleet, 


When far o’er sea or land we roam! 


Sunlight more soft may o’er us fall, 


To greener shores our bark may come ; 


| But far more bright, more dear than all, 


That dream of home, that dream of 
home. 


| Ask of the sailor youth when far [foam, 


His light bark bounds o’er ocean’s 


| Indian Ocean, to find the pearl with which he 


{in Indicis,) of Hereules having searched the | adorned his daughter Pandiea. 


370 


What charms him most when ev’ning’s 
star [home. 
Smiles o’er the wave? to dream of 
Fond thoughts of absent friends and 
loves 
At that sweet hour around him come ; 
His heart’s best joy, where’er he roves, 
That dream of home, that dream of 
home. 


THEY TELL ME THOU’RT THE 
FAVOR’D GUEST.* 


THEY tell me thou’rt the favor’d guest 
Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 
No wit like thine to wake the jest, 
No voice like thine to breathe the 
song; 
And none could guess, so gay thou art, 
That thou and I are far apart. 


Alas! alas! how diffrent flows 
With thee and me the time away! 
Not that I wish thee sad —heav’n 
knows— 
Still if thou canst, be light and gay ; 
I only know, that without thee 
The sun himself is dark to me. 


Do I thus haste to hall and bower 
Among the proud and gay to shine 7 

Or deck my hair with gem and flower, 
To flatter other eyes than thine? 

Ah, no, with me love’s smiles are past, 

Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last. 


THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID. 


THERE came a nymph dancing 
Gracefully, gracefully, 
Her eye a light glancing 
Like the blue sea; 
And while all this gladness 
Around her steps hung, 
Such sweet notes of sadness 
Her gentle lips sung, 
That ne’er while I live from my mem’ry 
shall fade [dian maid. 
The song, or the look, of that young In- 


Her zone of bells ringing 
Cheerily, cheerily, 
Chimed to her singing 
Light echoes of glee; 
But in vain did she borrow 
Of mirth the gay tone, 
* Part of a translation of some Latin verses, 
supposed to have been addressed by Hippo- 
dyta Taurella to her husband, during his ab- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Her voice spoke of sorrow, 
And sorrow alone. 
Nor e’er while I live from my mem’ry 
shall fade [dian maid. 
The song, or the look, of that young In- 


THE HOMEWARD MARCH. 


BE still, my heart: I hear them come: 
Those sounds announce my lover near: 

The march that brings our warriors home 
Proclaims he’ll soon be here. 


Hark, the distant tread, 
O’er the mountain’s head, 
While hills and dales repeat the sound ; 
And the forest deer 
Stand still to hear, 
As those echoing steps ring round. 


Be still, my heart, I hear them come, 
Those sounds that speak my soldier 
near ; [home,— 
Those joyous steps seem wing’d for 
Rest, rest, he’ll soon be here. 


But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, 
And now they wind to distant glades ; 
Not here their home,—alas, they go 
To gladden happier maids! 


Like sounds in a dream, 
The footsteps seem, 

As down the hills they die away ; 
And the march, whose song 
So peal’d along, 

Now fades like a funeral lay. 


’Tis past, ’tis o’er,—hush, heart, thy 
ain ! 
And though not here, alas, they come, 
Rejoice for those, to whom that strain 
Brings sons and lovers home. 


WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY! 


WAKE up, sweet melody ! 
Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow’r. 
One note of music, by moonlight’s soft 
ray— [by day. 
Oh, ’tis worth thousands heard coldly 
Then wake up, sweet melody ! 
Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow’r. 
sence at the gay court of Leo the Tenth. The 


verses may be found in the Appendix to Ros- 
coe'’s Work 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


Ask the fond nightingale, 
When his sweet flow’r 
Loves most to hear his song, 
In her green bow’r? 
Oh, he will tell thee, through summer- 
nights long, [song. 
Fondest she lends her whole soul to his 
Then wake up, sweet melody ! 
Now is the hour 
When young and loving hearts 
Feel most thy pow’r. 


CALM BE THY SLEEP. 


Caum be thy sleep as infants’ slumbers ! 
Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams! 
May ev'ry joy this bright world numbers 
Shed o’er thee their mingled beams! 
Or if, where Pleasure’s wing hath glided, 
There ever must some pang remain, 

Still be thy lot with me divided,— 
Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain! 


Day and night my thoughts shall hover 
Round thy steps where’er they stray ; 

As, ev’n when clouds his idol cover, 
Fondly the Persian tracks its ray. 

If this be wrong, if Heavy’n offended 
By worship to its creature be, 

Then let my vows to both be blended, 
Half breathed to Heay’n and half to 

thee. 


THE EXILE. 


Nicut waneth fast, the morning star 
Saddens with light the glimmering sea, 
Whose waves shall soon to realms afar 
Waft me from hope, from love, and thee, 
Coldly the beam from yonder sky [stray; 
Looks o’er the waves that onward 
But colder still the stranger’s eye - 
To him whose home is far away. 


Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak, 
Let thoughts of me come o’er thy 
breast ; 
But of the lost one think and speak, 
When summer suns sink calm to rest. 
So, as I wander, Fancy’s dream 
Shall bring me o’er the sunset seas, 
Thy look, in ev'ry melting beam, 
Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. 


THE FANCY FAIR. 


Come, maids and youths, for here we sell 
All wondrous things of earth and air ; 
Whatever wild romancers tell, 


371 


Or poets sing, or lovers swear, 
Yow’ll find at this our Fancy Fair. 


Here eyes are made like stars to shine, 
And kept, for years, in such repair, 

That ev’n when turn’d of thirty-nine, 
They'll hardly look the worse for wear, 
If bought at this our Fancy Fair. 


We've lots of tears for bards to show’r, 
And hearts that such ill usage bear, 
That, though they’re broken ey’ry hour, 
They’ll still in rhyme fresh breaking 
If purchased at our Fancy Fair. [bear, 


As fashions change in ey’ry thing, 
We've goods to suit each season’s air, 
Eternal friendships for the spring, 
And endless loves for summer wear,— 
All sold at this our Fancy Fair. 


We’ve reputations white as snow 
That long will last, if used with care, 
Nay, safe through all life’s journey go, 
If pack’d and mark’d as “brittle 
ware,’’— 
Just purchased at the Fancy Fair. 


IF THOU WOULDST HAVE ME 
SING AND PLAY. 


Ir thou wouldst have me sing and play, 
As once I play’d and sung, 

First take this time-worn lute away, 
And bring one freshly strung. 

Call back the time when pleasure’s sigh 
First breathed among the strings ; 

And Time, himself, in flitting by, 
Made music with his wings. 


But how is this? though new the lute, 
And shining fresh the chords, 

Beneath this hand they slumber inute, 
Or speak but dreamy words. 

In vain I seek the soul that dwelt 
Within that once sweet shell, 

Which told so warmly what it felt, 
And felt what naught could tell. 


Oh, ask not then for passion’s lay, 
From lyre so coldly strung ; 

With this I ne’er can sing or play, 
As once I play’d and sung. 

No, bring that long-loved lute again,— 
Though chill’d by years it be, 

If thou wilt call the slumb’ring strain, 
Twill wake again for thee. 


Though time hath froz’n the tunefa? 
stream 
Of thoughts that gusn’é Mons, 


372 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Onc look from thee, like summer’s beam, 
Will thaw them into song. 

Then give, oh give, that wak’ning ray, 
And once more blithe and young, 

Thy bard again willsing and play 
As once he play’d and sung. 


STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT. 


Strut when daylight o’er the wave 

Bright and soft its farewell gave, 

I used to hear, while light was falling, 

O’er the wave a sweet voice calling, 
Mournfully at distance calling. 


Ah! once how blest that maid would 
come, 
To meet her sea-boy hast’ning home ; 
And through the night those sounds re- 
eating, 
Hail his bark with joyous greeting, 
Joyously his light bark greeting. 


But, one sadnight, when winds were high, 

Nor earth nor heaven could hear her ery, 

She saw his boat come tossing over 

Midnight’s wave, —but not her lover! 
No, never more her lover. 


And still that sad dream loath to leave, 
She comes with wand’ring mind at eve, 
And oft we hear, when night is falling, 
Faint her voice through twilight calling, 
Mournfully at twilight calling. 


THE SUMMER WEBS. 

THE summer webs that float and shine, 
The summer dews that fall, 

Though light they be, this heart of mine 
Is lighter still than all. 

It tells me every cloud is past 
Which lately seem’d to low’r, 

That Hope hath wed young Joy at last, 
And now’s their nuptial hour! 


With light thus round, within, above, 
With nought to wake one sigh, 

Except the wish, that all we love 
Were at this moment nigh,— 

It seems as if life’s brilliant sun 
Had stopp’d in full career, 

To make this hour its brightest one, 
And rest in radiance here. 


MIND NOT THOUGH DAYLIGHT. 


MIND not though daylight around us is 
breaking, 

Who’d think now of sleeping when 
morn’s but just waking? — 


Sound the merry viol, and, daylight or 
not, [ got. 
Be all for one hour in the gay dance for- 


See young Aurora, up heaven’s hill ad- 
vancing, [too is dancing: 
Though fresh from her pillow, ev’n she 
While thus all creation, earth, heaven, 
and sea, [not we? 
Are dancing around us, oh, why should 


Who'll say that moments we use thus 
are wasted ? [be tasted ; 
Such sweet drops of time only flow to 
While hearts are high beating, and harps 
full in tune, [soon. _ 
The fault is all morning’s for coming 50. 


THEY MET BUT ONCE. 


THEY met but once, in youth’s sweet 
And never since that day [hour, 

Hath absence, time, or grief had pow’r 
To chase that dream away. 

They’ve seen the suns of other skies, 
On other shores have sought delight ; 

But never more, to bless their eyes, 
Can come a dream so bright! 

They met but once,—a day was all 
Of Love’s young hopes they knew; 

And still their hearts that day recall, 
As fresh as then it flew. 


Sweet dream of youth ! oh, ne’er again 
Let either meet the brow 

They left so smooth and smiling then, 
Or see what it is now. 

For, Youth, the spell was only thine ; 
From thee alone th’ enchantment 

flows, 

That makes the world around thee shine 
With light thyself bestows. 

They met but once,—oh, ne’er again 
Let either meet the brow 

They left so smooth and smiling then, 
Or see what it is now. ᾿ς 


WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING. 


Wir moonlight beaming 
Thus o’er the deep, 

Who'd linger dreaming 
In idle sleep ? 


| Leave joyless souls to live by day,— 


Our life begins with yonder ray ; 


| And while thus brightly 


The moments flee, 
Our barks skim lightly 
The shining sea. 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


373 


To halls of splendor 

Let great ones hie ; 
Through light more tender 

Our pathways lie. [lake, 
While round, from banks of brook or 
Our company blithe echoes make; 
And, as we lend ’em 

Sweet word or strain, 
Still back they send ’em, 

More sweet, again. 


CHILD’S SONG. FROM A MASQUE. 


I HAVE a garden of my own, 
Shining with flow’rs of ev’ry hue; 
I loved it dearly while alone, 

But I shall love it more with you: 
And there the golden bees shall come, 
In summer-time at break of morn, 

And wake us with their busy hum 
Around the Siha’s fragrant thorn. 


I have a fawn from Aden’s land, 
On leafy buds and berries nursed ; 
And you shall feed him from your hand, 
Though he may start with fear at first. 
And I will lead you where he lies 
For shelter in the noontide heat; 
And you may touch his sleeping eyes, 
And feel his little silv’ry feet. 


THE HALCYON HANGS O’ER 
OCEAN. 


THE halcyon hangs o’er ocean, 
The sea-lark skims the brine ; 
This bright world’s all in motion, 
No heart seems sad but mine. 


To walk through sun-bright places, 
With heart all cold the while; 
To look in smiling faces, 
When we no more can smile ; 


To feel, while earth and heaven 
Around thee shine with bliss, 
To thee no light is given, 
Oh, what a doom is this ! 


THE WORLD WAS HUSH’D. 


THE world was hush’d, the moon above 
Sail’d through ether slowly, 

When, near the casement of my love, 
Thus I whisper’d lowly,— 

“Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep? 
“The field I seek to-morrow 

“Ts one where man hath fame to reap, 
“And woman gleans but sorrow.” 


‘Let battle’s field be what it may,” 
Thus spoke a voice replying, 

“Think not thy love, while thou'rt away, 
“Will here sit idly sighing. 

“‘No-—woman’s soul, if not for fame, 
“For love can brave all danger!” 

Then forth from out the casement came 
A plumed and armed stranger. 


A stranger? No; ’twas she, the maid, 
Herself before me beaming, 

With casque array’d, and falchion blade 
Beneath her girdle gleaming ! 

Close side by side, in freedom’s fight, 
That blessed morning found us; 

In Vict’ry’s light we stood ere night, 
And Love, the morrow, crown’d us! 


THE TWO LOVES. 


THERE are two Loves, the poet sings, 
Both born of Beauty at a birth: 

The one, akin to heaven, hath wings, 
The other, earthly, walks on earth. 
With this through bowers below we 

play, [soar ; 
With that through clouds above we 
With both, perchance, may lose our 
Then, tell me which, [way:— 

Tell me which shall we adore? 


The one, when tempted down from air, 
At Pleasure’s fount to lave his lip, 
Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare 
His wing within the wave to dip. 
While, plunging deep and long beneath, 
The other bathes him o’er and o’er 
In that sweet current, ey’n to death:— 
Then, tell me which, 
Tell me which shall we adore? 


The boy of heay’n, even while he lies 
In Beauty’s lap, recalls his home ; 
And, when most happy, inly sighs 
For something happier still to come. 
While he of earth, too fully bless’d 
With this bright world to dream of 
more, 
Sees all his heav’n on Beauty’s breast :-— 
Then, tell me which, 
Tell me which shall we adore? 


The maid who heard the poet sing 
These twin-desires of earth and sky, 

And saw, while one inspired his string, 
The other glisten’d in his eye,— 

To name the earthlier boy ashamed, 
To choose the other fondly loath, 

At length, all blushing, she exclaim’d, — 


374 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


“¢ Ask not which, [both. 
“©Oh, ask not which—we’ll worship 


“‘Th’ extremes of each thus taught to 
shun, [given, 
‘With hearts and souls between them 
‘When weary of this earth with one, 
“We'll with the other wing to heav- 
en. 
Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss; 
And while one Love wrote down the 
The other sealed it with a kiss; [oath, 
And Heav’n look’d on, 
Heav’n look’d on, and hallow’d both. 


THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE 
FAIRY. 


Wovu.pst know what tricks, by the pale 
moonlight, 
Are play’d by me, the merry little Sprite, 
Who wing through air from the camp 
to the court, [sport ; 
From king to clown, and of all make 
Singing, I am the Sprite 
Of the merry midnight, 
Who laugh at weak mortals, and love 
the moonlight ? 


To a miser’s bed, where he snoring slept 
And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept; 
Chink, chink o’er his pillow like money 
I rang, [sprang, 
And he waked to catch—but away I 
Singing, I am the Sprite, ἄο. 


I saw through the leaves, in a damsel’s 

bower, [hour : 

She was waiting her love at that starlight 

“ Hist—hist!” quoth he, with an amor- 

ous sigh, [flew I, 

And she flew to the door, but away 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &e. 


While a bard sat inditing an ode to his 
love, [above, 
Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from 
And he swoon’d—for he thought ’twas 
the ghost, poor man! 
Of his lady’s eyes, while away I ran, 
Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. 


BEAUTY AND SONG. 


Down in yon summer vale, 
Where the rill flows, 


*On the Tower of the Winds, at Athens, 
there is a conch-shell placed in the hands of 
Boreas.—See Stuart's Antiquities. “ The 

« 


Thus said a Nightingale 

To his loved Rose :— 
“Though rich the pleasures 
“ Of song’s sweet measures, 
‘‘Vain were its melody, 
“‘ Rose, without thee.” 


Then from the green recess 
Of her night-bow’r, 
Beaming with bashfulness, 
Spoke the bright flow’r :— 
“: Though morn should lend her 
“Tts sunniest splendor 
“What would the Rose be, 
“Unsung by thee?” 


Thus still let Song attend 
Woman’s bright way ; 
Thus still let woman lend 
Light to the lay. 
Like stars, through heaven’s sea, 
Floating in harmony, 
Beauty shall glide along, 
Circled by Song. 


WHEN THOU ART NIGH. 


WHEN thou art nigh, it seems 
A new creation round ; 
The sun hath fairer beams, 
The lute a softer sound. 
Though thee alone I see, 
And hear alone thy sigh, 
Tis light, ’tis song to me, 
Tis all—when thou art nigh. 


When thou art nigh, no thought 
Of grief comes o’er my heart ; 
I only think—could aught 
But joy be where thou art? 
Life seems a waste of breath, 
When far from thee I sigh; 
And death—ay, even death 
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. 


SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN., 


I comE from a land in the sun-bright 
Where golden gardens grow; [deep, 
Where the winds of the north, becalm’d 
in sleep, 
Their conch-shells never blow.* 
Haste to that holy Isle with me, 
Haste —haste ! 


north wind,” says Herodotus, in speaking of 
the Hyperboreans, ‘‘neyer blows with them.” 


So near the track of the stars are we,* 
That oft, on night’s pale beams, 
The distant sounds of their harmony 
Come to our ears, like dreams. 
Then, haste to that holy Isle with 
me, &e. &e. 
The Moon, too, brings her world so 
nigh, Ὁ 
That when the night-seer looks 
To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, 
τῷ He can number its hills and brooks. 
Then, haste, &c. &e. 


To the Sun-god all our hearts and lyrest 
By day, by night, belong ; 
And the breath we draw from his living 
We give him back in song. [ fires, 
Then, haste, &e. &e. 


From us descends the maid who brings 
To Delos gifts divine ; 
And our wild bees lend their rainbow 
To glitter on Delphi’s shrine.§ [wings 
Then, haste to that holy Isle with 
Haste —haste ! [me, 


THOU BIDD’ST ME SING. 


Tou bidd’st me sing the lay I sung to 
thee [brow ; 
In other days, ere joy had left this | 
But think, though still unchanged the 
notes may be, 
How diffrent feels the heart that 
breathes them now ! 
The rose thou weav’st to-night is still the 
same gay; 
We saw this morning on its stem so 
But, ah! that dew of dawn, that breath 
which came [away. 
Like life, o’er all its leaves, hath pass’d | 


Since first that music touch’d thy heart 

and mine, [have pass’d— 

How many a joy and pain o’er both | 

The joy, a light too precious Jong to 

shine, [ways last. 

The pain, a cloud whose shadows al- 

And though that lay would like the 

voice of home {now a sigh— 

Breathe o’er our ear, ’twould waken | 

Ah! not, as then, for fancied woes to 
come, 

But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. 


BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 


* « Sub ipso sidernm cardine jacent. ’—Pom- 
PON. MELA. 

t‘* They can show the moon very near.”— 
Dropor. SICUL. 


375 


CUPID ARMED. 


PLACE the helm on thy brow, 
In thy hand take the spear; 
Thou art arm’d, Cupid, now, 
And thy battle-hour is near. 
March on! march on! thy shaft and bow 
Were weak against such charms; 
March on! march on! so proud a foe 
Scorns all but martial arms. 


See the darts in her eyes, 
Tipp’d with scorn, how they shine! 
Ey’ry shaft, as it flies, 
Mocking proudly at thine. 
March on! march on! thy feather’d darts 
Soft bosoms soon might move ; 
But ruder arms to ruder hearts 
Must teach what ’tis to love. 
Place the helm on thy brow ; 
In thy hand take the spear,— 
Thou art arm’d, Cupid, now, 
And thy battle-hour is near. 


ROUND THE WORLD GOES. 


Rownp the world goes, by day and night, 
While with it also round go we; 

And in the flight of one day’s light 
An image of all life’s course we see. 

Round, round, while thus we go round, 
The best thing a man can do, 

Is to make it, at least, a merry-go-round, 
By—sending the wine round too. 


Our first gay stage of life is when 


Youth, in its dawn, salutes the eye— 
Season of bliss! Oh, who wouldn’t then 
Wish to cry, “Stop!” to earth and 
sky ? 
But, round, round, both boy and girl 
Are whisk’d through that sky of blue; 
And much would their hearts enjoy the 
whirl, 
If—their heads didn’t whirl round too. 


Next, we enjoy our glorious noon, 

Thinking all life a life of light; 

But shadows come on, ’tis evening soon, 

And, ere we can say, ‘‘ How short !”— 

tis night. 

Round, round, still all goes round, 
Hy’n while Τὰ thus singing to you; 
And the best way to make it a merry- 

go-round, 

Is to—chorus my song round too. 

t Hecataxus tells us, that this Hyperborean 
island was dedicated to Apollo; and most of 
the inhabitants were either priests or songsters. 

§ Pausan. 


376 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


OH, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT 
AND BLEST. 


Ou, do not look so bright and blest, 
For still there comes a fear, 

When brow like thine looks happiest, 
That grief is then most near. 

There lurks a dread in all delight, 
A shadow near each ray, 

That warns us then to fear their flight, 
When most we wish their stay. 

Then look not thou so bright and blest, 
For ah! there comes a fear, 

When brow like thine looks happiest, 
That grief is then most near. 


Why is it thus that fairest things 

The soonest fleet and die ?— 
. That when most light is on their wings, 

They’re then but spread to fly! 

And, sadder still, the pain will stay— 
The bliss no more appears ; 

As rainbows take their light away, 
And leave us but the tears ! 

Then look not thou so bright and blest, 
For ah! there comes a fear, 

When brow like thine looks happiest, 
That grief is then most near. 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


“Look here,” said Rose, with laughing 
eyes, 
“Within this box, by magic hid, 
“A tuneful Sprite imprison’d lies, 
“Who sings to me whene’er he’s bid. 
‘‘Though roving once his voice and 
wing, [long ; 
“He'll now lie still the whole day 
“ Till thus I touch the magic spring — 
“Then hark, how sweet and blithe 
his song !” (A symphony.) 


“4 Ah, Rose,’ I eried, “‘ the poet’s lay 
“Must ne’er ev’n Beauty’s slave be- 
come ; [stray, 
“Through earth and air his song may 
“Tf all the while his heart’s at home. 
“ And though in Freedom’s air he dwell, 
“¢ Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, 
‘Touch but the spring thou know’st so 
well, [flows "Ὁ 
““ And—hark, how sweet the love-song 
(A symphony.) 


Thus pleaded TI for Freedom’s right ; 
3ut when young Beauty takes the field, 

And wise men seek defence in flight, 
fhe doom of poets is to yield. 


No more my heart th’ enchantress braves, 
I’m now in Beauty’s prison hid; 

The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves, 
And I, too, sing whene’er I’m bid. 


WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT 
YOU LISTEN. 


WHEN to sad Music silent you listen, 
And tears on those eyelids tremble 
like dew, [they glisten 
Oh, then there dwells in those eyes as 
A sweet holy charm that mirth never 
knew. 
But when some lively strain resounding 
Lights up the sunshine of joy on that 
brow, [bounding 
Then the young reindeer o’er the hills 
Was ne’er in its mirth so graceful as 


thou. 
When on the skies at midnight thou 
gazest, [wear, 


A lustre so pure thy features then 
That, when to some star that bright eye 
thou raisest, [for there. 

We feel ’tis thy home thouw’rt looking 
But when the word for the gay dance is 
given, [ mirth, 

So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy 
Oh then we exclaim, ‘‘ Ne’er leave earth 
for heaven, [of earth.” 

“ But linger still here, to make heaven 


THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 


Fry swift, my light gazelle, 
To her who now lies waking, 
To hear thy silver bell 
The midnight silence breaking. 
And, when thou com’st, with gladsome 
Beneath her lattice springing, — [feet, 
Ah, well she’ll know how sweet 
The words of love thowrt bringing. 


Yet, no—not words, for they 
But half can tell love’s feeling; 
Sweet flowers alone can say 
What passion fears ΤΕΥΘΒ ΠΡ, 
A once-bright rose’s wither’d leaf, 
A tow’ring lily broken,— 
Oh these may paint a grief 
No words could e’er have spoken. 


Not such, my gay gazelle, 

The wreath thou speedest over 
Yon moonlight dale, to tell 

My lady how I love her. 


Sony 
= 


SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 377 


And, what to her will sweeter be 
Than gems, the richest, rarest, 

From Truth’s immortal tree* 
One fadeless leaf thou bearest. 


THE DAWN IS BREAKING 0’ER 
US. 


Tue dawn is breaking o’er us, 
See, heaven hath caught its hue ! 
We've day’s long light before us, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 
The hunt o’er hill and lea? 
The sail o’er summer sea? 
Oh let not hour so sweet 
Unwing’d by pleasure fleet. 
The dawn is breaking o’er us, 
See, heaven hath caught its hue! 
We've day’s long light before us, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 


But see, while we’re deciding, 
What morning sport to play, 


The dial’s hand is gliding, 
And morn hath pass’d away ! 
Ah, who'd have thought that noon 
Would o’er us steal so soon, — 
That morn’s sweet hour of prime 
Would last so short a time? - 
But come, we’ve day before us, 
Still heaven looks bright and blue ; 
Quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us, 
What sport shall we pursue ? 


Alas! why thus delaying? 
We’re now at evening’s hour ; 
Its farewell beam is playing 
O’er hill and wave and bower. 
That light we thought would last, 
Behold, ev’n now, ’tis past; 
And all our morning dreams 
Have vanish’d with its beams! 
But come ! ’twere vain to borrow 
Sad lessons from this lay, 
For man will be to-morrow— 
Just what he’s been to-day. 


SONGS FROM TILE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 


HERE AT THY TOMB.t 
BY MELEAGER. 


HERE, at thy tomb, these tears I shed, 
Tears, which though vainly now the 
Are all love hath to give the dead, all 
And wept o’er thee with all love’s 

soul ;— 


Wept in remembrance of that light, 
Which naught on earth, without thee, 
gives, [night, 
Hope of my heart! now quench’d in 
But tele dead, than aught that 
ives, 


Where is she? wherethe blooming bough 
That once my life’s sole lustre made ? 
Torn off by death, ’tis with’ring now, 
And all its flow’rs in dust are laid. 
* The tree, called in the East, Amrita, or the 
Immortal, 


| Aaxpva σοι και νερθε δια χθονος, HAcodwpa. 
Ap. BRUNCK. 


Oh earth! that to thy matron breast 
Hast taken all those angel charms, 

Gently, I pray thee, let her rest,— 
Gently, as in a mother’s arms. 


SALE OF CUPID.} 
BY MELEAGER. 


WuHo’LL buy a little boy? Look, yon- 
der is he, [knee ; 
Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother’s 
So bold a young imp ’tisn’t safe to keep, 
So ΤΊ] part with him now, while he’s 
sound asleep. {eurl’d, 
See his arch little nose, how sharp ’tis 
His wings, too, ev’n in sleep unfurl’d; 
And those fingers, which still ever ready 
are found [wound. 
For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, or 


t Πωλεισθω, και ματρος ετ' ev κολποισι καθευδων. 
Ap. BrunNcK. Analect. χον. 


378 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


He'll try with his tears your heart to be- 
guile, [the while ; 
But never you mind—he’s laughing all 
For little he cares, so he has itis own 
whim, [him. 
And weeping or laughing are all one to 
His eye is as keen as the lightning’s flash, 
His tongue like the red bolt quick and 
rash ; {mother 
And so savage is he, that his own dear 
Is scarce more safe in his hands than 
another. 


In short, to sum up this darling’s praise, 
He’s a downright pest in all sorts of 
ways ; {employ, 
And if any one wants such an imp to 
He shall have a dead bargain of this lit- 
tle boy. [ flow— 
But see, the boy wakes-—his bright tears 
His eyes seem to ask could I sell him? 
oh no, [you be, 
Sweet child, no, no—though so naughty 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia 
and me. 


TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE 
ROSE.* 
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 
To weave a garland for the rose, [lier be, 
And think thus crown’d ’twould love- 
Were far less vain than to suppose 
That silks and gems add grace to thee. 
Where ig the pearl whose orient lustre 
Would not, beside thee, look less 
bright ? [ter 
What gold could match the glossy clus- 
Of those young ringlets full of light ? 


Bring from the land, where fresh it 
gleams, 
The bright blue gem of India’s mine, | 
And see how soon, though bright its 
beams, 
’*T will pale before one glance of thine: | 
Those lips, too, when their sounds have 
bless’d us 
With some divine, mellifluous air, 
Who would not say that Beauty’s cestus 
Had let loose all its witch’ries there Ὁ 


Here, to this conqu’ring host of charms 
I now give up my spell-bound heart, 


*Oute ῥοδων στεφανων emdeverat, ovTE σὺ πε- 
πλων. Ap. BRUNCK. Xvi. 
και ἡ μελιφυρτος εκεινὴ 
Ηθεος ἁρμονιη, κεστος εφυ Παφιης. 
1 Δηθυνει Κλεοφαντις. or 
Ap. BRUNCK, xxvii. 


t 


Nor blush to yield ev’n Reason’s arms, 
When thou her bright-eyed conqu’ror 
art. 

Thus to the wind all fears are given; 
Henceforth, those eyes alone I see, 
Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, 
Sits beck’ning me to bliss and thee! 


WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DE- 
LAY ?t 


BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 
Why does she so long delay ? 
Night is waning fast away; 
Thrice have I my lamp renew’d, 
Watching here in solitude. 
Where can she so long delay ? 
Where, so long delay ? 


Vainly now have two lamps shone; 
See, the third is nearly gone:§ 
Ob that Love would, like the ray 
Of that weary lamp, decay ! 
But no, alas, it burns still on, 

Still, still burns on. 


Gods, how oft the traitress dear 
Swore, by Venus, she’d be here! 
But to one so false as she 
What is man or deity ? 
Neither doth this proud one fear, — 
No, neither doth she fear. 
TWIN’ST THOU WITH) ΘΗΝ 
WREATH THY BROW?]| 
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 
Twin’st thou with lofty wreath thy 
brow ? 
Such glory then thy beauty sheds, 
I almost think, while awed I bow, 
’Tis Rhea’s self before me treads. 
Be what thou wilt,—this heart 
Adores whate’er thou art! 


Dost thou thy loosen’d ringlets leave, 
Like sunny waves to wander free? 


/Then, such a chain of charms they 


weaye, 
As draws my inmost soul from me. 
Do what thou wilt,—I must 
Be charm’d by all thou dost! 


Ev’n when, enwrapp’d in silv’ry veils, 7 
Those sunny locks elude the sight,— 


ὁ de tpitos αρχεται ἠδὲ 
Λυχνος ὑποκλαζειν, 


|| Κεκρυφαλοι σφιγγουσι τεὴν τριχα, ‘ 
Ap. BRUNCK. xxxly- 


Ἵ Apyevvats οθονησι katnopa βοστρυχα κευθεις. 


Oh, not evy’n then their glory fails 
To haunt me with its unseen light. 

Change as thy beauty may, 

It charms in every way. 


For, thee the Graces still attend, 
Presiding o’er each new attire, 
And lending ev’ry dart they send 
Some new, peculiar touch of fire. 
Be what thou wilt,—this heart 
Adores whate’er thou art! 


WHEN THE SAD WORD.* 
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. 


Wuen the sad word, ‘‘ Adieu,” from my 
lip is nigh falling, 
And with it, Hope passes away, 
Bre the tongue hath half breathed it, my 
fond heart recalling 
That fatal farewell, bids me stay. 
For oh! ’tis a penance so weary 
One hour from thy presence to be, 
That death to this soul were less dreary, 
Less dark than long absence from 
thee. 


Thy beauty, like Day, o’er the dull world 
breaking, 
Brings life to the heart it shines o’er, 
And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness 
waking, 
Made light what was darkness before. 
But mute is the Day’s sunny glory, 
While thine hath a voice,t on whose 
breath, 
More sweet than the Syren’s sweet story, 
My hopes hang, through life and 
through death ! 


MY MOPSA IS LITTLE.$ 
BY PHILODEMUS. 


My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown, 
But her cheek is as smooth as the 
peach’s soft down, 
And, for blushing, no rose can come 
near her ; [my heart, 
In short, she has woven such nets round 
That I ne’er from my dear Little Mopsa 
can part,— 
Unless I can find one that’s dearer. 


* Swleo σοι μελλων everrery. 
Ap. BruNck, xxxix. 
ΤΉματι yap ceo heyyos ὅμοιιον. αλλα To μεν πον 
φθογγον. 
3 { Su δ᾽ ἐμοι και το λαλημα φερεις 
Κεινο, To Σειρηνων γλυκνερωτερον. 


SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 


379 


Her voice hath a music that dwells on 
the ear, [so clear, 
And her eye from its orb gives a daylight 
That I’m dazzled whenever I meet 
her; 
Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid’s own 
net, 
And her lips, oh their sweetness I ne’er 
shall forget— 
Till I light upon lips that are sweeter. 


But ’tis not her beauty that charms me 
alone, 
ΙΒ her mind, ’tis that language whose 
eloquent tone 
From the depths of the grave could 
revive one: 
In short, here I swear, that if death 
were her doom, 
I would instantly jom my dead love in 
the tomb— 
Unless I could meet with a live one. 


STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE 
FALLING, || 


BY MELEAGER. 


STILL, like dew in silence falling, 
Drops for thee the nightly tear ; 
Still that voice the past recalling, 
Dwells, like echo, on my ear, 
Still, still! 


Day and night the spell hangs o’er me, 
Here forever fix’d thou art ; 
As thy form first shone before me, 
So’tis graven on this heart, 
Deep, deep! 


Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness, 
Dooms me to this lasting pain, 
Thou who cam’st with so much fleet- 
Why so slow to go again ?§ [ness, 
Why? why? 


UP, SAILOR BOY, ’TIS DAY. 


Up, sailor boy, ’tis day ! 
The west wind blowing, 
The spring tide flowing, 
Summon thee hence away. 
§ Μικκὴ και μελανευσα φιλιννιον. 
Ap. BRUNCK. x. 


[Αἰεὶ μοι Suvec μεν ev ουασιν nxos ἔρωτος. 
Ap. BruNcCK. In. 


4“ Ω πτανοι, μὴ και ποτ᾽ εφιπτασθαι μεν, ἔρωτες, 
O.Sar’, αποπτηναῖι δ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὅσον ἰσχυετε. 


380 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Ddst thou not hear yon soaring swallow 
sing? [to say 

Chirp, chirp,—in every note he seem’d 
*Tis Spring, ’tis Spring. 
Up, boy, away,— 
Who'd stay on land to-day ? 

The very flowers 

Would from their bowers 
Delight to wing away! 


Leave languid youths to pine 
On silken pillows, 
But be the billows 
Of the great deep thine. 
Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, ‘‘ Let 
us fly ;” [breeze, 
While soft the sail, replying to the 
Says, with a yielding sigh, 
“Yes, where you please.” 
Up, boy ! the wind, the ray, 
The blue sky o’er thee, 
The deep before thee, 
All ery aloud, ‘‘ Away "ἢ" 


IN MYRTLE WREATHS. 
BY ALCEUS. 


In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll 
cover, [blow 
Like them of old whose one immortal 
Struck off the galling fetters that hung 
over [tyrant low. 
Their own bright land, and laid her 
Yes, loved Harmodius, thow’rt undying ; 
Still midst the brave and free, 
Tn isles, o’er ocean lying, 
Thy home shall ever be. 


In myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its 
lightning, [ous blade 
Like his, the youth, whose ever-glori- 
Leap’d forth like flame, the midnight 
banquet bright’ning, 
And in the dust a despot victim laid. 
Blest youths, how bright in Freedom’s 
Your wedded names shall be; [story 
A tyrant’s death your glory, 
Your meed, a nation free ! 


UNPUBLISHED SONGS, 


ETC. 


ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. 


‘ASK not if still I love, 
Too plain these eyes have told thee ; 
Too well their tears must prove 
How near and dear I hold thee. 
If, where the brightest shine, 
To see no form but thine, 
To feel that earth can show 
No bliss above thee,— 
If this be love, then know 
That thus, that thus, I love thee. 


’Tis not in pleasure’s idle hour 
That thou canst know affection’s pow’r ; 
No, try its strength in grief or pain; 
Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever. 
Thow lt find true love’s a chain 
That binds forever ! 


DEAR? YES. 


DEAR? yes, though mine no more, 
Ev’n this but makes thee dearer ; 
And love, since hope is o’er, 
But draws thee nearer. 


Change as thou wilt to me, 
The same thy charm must be; 
New loves may come to weave 
Their witch’ry o’er thee, 
Yet still, though false, believe 
That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee. 
Think’st thou that aught but death could 
A tie not falsehood’s self can rend? [end 
No, when alone, far off I die, 
No more to see, no more caress thee, 
Ey’n then, my life’s last sigh [bless thee, 
Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to 


UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. 


381 


UNBIND THEE, LOVE. 


Unsinp thee, love, unbind thee, love, 
From those dark ties unbind thee ; 
Though fairest hand the chain hath wove, 
Yoo long its links have twined thee. 


Away from earth !—thy wings were made | 


In yon mid-sky to hover, 
With earth beneath their dove-like shade, 
And heay’n all radiant over. 


Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, 
‘Loo long thy soul is sleeping ; 

And thou may’st from this minute’s joy 
Wake to eternal weeping. 

Oh, think, this world is not for thee ; 
Though hard its links to sever; [be, 

Though sweet and bright and dear they 
Break, or thow’rt lost forever. 


THERED’S SOMETHING STRANGE. 
(A Burro Sona.) 


THERE’S something strange, I know not 
Come o’er me, [what, 

Some phantom I’ve forever got 
Before me. 

[ look on high, and in the sky 
Tis shining ; 

On earth, its hight with all things bright 
Secms twining. 

In vain 1 tiy this goblin’s spells 
To sever; 

Go where I will, it round me dwells 
Forever. 

And then what tricks by day and night 
It plays me; 

In ey’ry shape the wicked sprite 
Waylays me. 

Sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 
*Tis glancing ; 

Sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, 
Comes dancing. 

3y whispers round of every sort 

I’m taunted. 

Never was mortal man, in short, 
So haunted. 


NOT FROM THERE. 


Nor from thee the wound should come, 
No, not from thee. 

I care not what, or whence, my doom, 
So not from thee ! 

Cold triumph ! first to make 
This heart thy own; 

And then the mirror break 


| Where fix’d thou shin’st alone. 


ΟΝ οἵ from thee the wound should come, 
Oh, not from thee. 

I care not what, or whence, my doom, 
So not from thee. 


Yet no—my lips that wish recall; 
From thee, from thee— 

If ruin o'er this head must fall, 
”Pwill welcome be. 

Here to the blade I bare 
This faithful heart ; 

Wound deep—thow'lt find that there, 
In every pulse thou art. 

Yes, from thee I'll bear it all: 
If ruin be 

The doom that o’er this heart must fall, 
’T were sweet from thee. 


GUESS, GUESS. 


I LOVE a maid, a mystic maid, 
Whose form no eyes but mine can see; 
She comes in light, she comes in shade, 


And beautiful in both is she. 
Her shape in dreams I oft behold, 
And oft she whispers in my ear 
Such words as when to others told, 
Awake the sigh, or wring the tear ;— 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 


I find the lustre of her brow, 
Come o’er me in my darkest ways; 
And feel as if her voice, evn now, 
Were echoing far off my lays. 
There is no scene of joy or wo [bright; 
But she doth gild with influence 
And shed o’er all so rich a glow, 
As makes ev’n tears seem full of light: 
Then guess, guess, who she, 
The lady of my love, may be. 


WHEN LOVE, WHO RULED. 


WueEn Love, who ruled as Admiral o’er 
His rosy mother’s isles of light, 
Was cruising off the Paphian shore, 
A sail at sunset hove in sight. 
“ A chase, a chase! my Cupids all,” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Aloft the winged sailors sprun 


, 
And, swarming up the rae biee bees, 
The snow-white sails expanding flung, 
Like broad magnolias to the breeze. 
“Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all!” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


382 MOORE'S 
The chase was o’er—the bark was 
caught 
The winged crew her freight explored ; 
And feria ’twas just as Love had 
thought, 
For all was contraband aboard. 
“A prize, a prize, my Cupids all!” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Safe stow’d in many a package there, 
And labell’d slyly o’er, as ‘‘ Glass,”’ 
Were lots of all th’ illegal ware, 
Love’s Custom-House forbids to pass. 
“O’erhaul, o’erhaul, my Cupids all,” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


False curls they found, of every hue, 
With rosy blushes ready made ; 
And teeth of ivory, good as new, 
For veterans in the smiling trade. 
“¢ To ho, ho ho, my Cupids all,” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Mock sighs, too,—keptin bags for use, 
Like breezes bought of Lapland 

Lay ready here to be let loose, [seers,— 
When wanted, in young spinsters’ears, 

‘‘Taha, ha ha, my Cupids all,” 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 


False papers next on board were found, 
Sham invoices of flames and darts, 
Professedly for Paphos bound, 
But meant for Hymen’s golden marts. 
“ Dor shame, for shame, my Cupids all !” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Nay, still to every fraud awake, 

Those pirates all Love’s signals knew, 
And hoisted oft his flag, to make 

Rich wards and heiresses bring-to.* 
“ A foe, a foe, my Cupids all!” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


‘This must not be,” the boy exclaims, 
“Jn vain I rule the Paphian seas, 
“Tf Love’s and Beauty’s sovereign 
hames 
‘« Are lent to cover frauds like these. 
“« Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all!” 
Said Love, the little Admiral. 


Hach Cupid stood with lighted match— 
A broadside struck the smuggling foe, 

And swept the whole unhallow’d batch 
Of falsehood to the depths below. 

“‘Wuzza, huzza! my Cupids all!” 

Said Love, the little Admiral. 


-““To BrinG-To, to check the course of a 
ship.” —Falconer. 


WORKS. 


STILL THOU FLIEST. 


5 ΤΙ, thou fliest, and still I woo thee, 
Lovely phantom,—all in. vain ; 
Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, 
Fleeting ever, thou mock’st their pain. 
Such doom, of old, that youth betided, 
Who woo’d, he thought, some angel’s 
charms, [ed,— 
But found a cloud that from him glid- 
As thou dost from these outstretch’d 
arms. 


Scarce I’ve said, “‘ How fair thou shin- 
Ere thy light hath vanish’d by ; [est,’” 

And ’tis when thou look’st divinest 
Thou art still more sure to fly. 

Ev’n as the lightning, that, dividing 
The clouds of night, saith, ‘‘ Look on 

me,’ 

Then flits again, its spendor hiding,— 

Ey’n such the glimpse I catch of thee. 


THEN FIRST FROM LOVE. 


| THEN first from Love, in Nature’s 

bow’rs, 

| Did Painting learn her fairy skill, 

| And cull the hues of loveliest flow’rs, 
To picture woman lovelier still. 

For vain was every radiant hue, 
Till Passion lent a soul to art, 

And taught the painter, ere he drew, 
To fix the model in his heart. 


Thus smooth his toil awhile went on, 
Till, lo, one touch his art defies ; 
The brow, the lip, the blushes shone, 
But who could dare to paint those 
eyes? 
’T was all in vain the painter strove ; 
So turning to that boy divine, 
“* Here take,” he said, ‘‘ the pencil, Love, 
“No hand should paint such eyes, but 
thine.” 


HUSH, SWEET LUTE. 


Husn, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me 
Of past joys, now turn’d to pain ; 

Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, 
But: whose burning marks remain. 

In each tone, some echo falleth 
On my ear of joys gone by ; 

Iy’ry note some dream recalleth 
Of bright hopes but born to die. 


Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, 
Once more let thy numbers thrill ; 


UNPUBLISHED 


Though death were in the strain they 
I must woo its anguish still. (sing me, 
Since no time can e’er recover 
Love’ssweet light when once’tis set,— 
Better to weep such pleasures over, 
Than smile o’er any left us yet. 


BRIGHT MOON. 


BriGHT moon, that high in heav’n art 

shining, [night 

All smiles, as if within thy bower to- 
Thy own Endymion lay reclining, 


And thou wouldst wake him with ἃ 


kiss of light !— 
By all the bliss thy beam discovers, 
By all those visions far too bright for 
day, [lovers 
Which dreaming bards and waking 
Behold, this night, beneath thy lin- 
g’ring ray,— 
I pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, 
Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in 
the sea, 
Till Anthe, in this bow’r, hath given 
Beneath thy beam, her long-vow’d 
kiss to me. 
Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, 
Ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful 
crescent hide ; 
Let Love but in this bow’r be lighted, 
Then shroud in darkness all the world 
beside. 


LONG YEARS HAVE PASS’D. 


LonG years have pass’d, old friend, 
since we 
First met in life’s young day ; 
And friends long loved by thee and me, 
Since then have dropp'd away;— 
But enough remain to cheer us on, 
And sweeten, when thus we're met, 
The glass we fill to the many gone, 
And the few who're left us yet. 


Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, 
And some hang white and chill; 
While some, like flow’rs ’mid Autumn’s 
Retain youth’s color still. [snow, 
And so, in ourhearts, though one by one 
Youtb’s sunny hopes have set, 
Thank heav’n, not all their light is 
gone, — 
We’ve some to cheer us yet. 


Then here’s to thee, old friend, and long 
May thou and I thus meet, 


SONGS, ETC. 383 


To brighten still with wine and song, 
This short life, e’er it fleet. 
And still as death comes stealing on, 
Let’s never, old friend, forget, 
Ev’n while we sigh o’er blessings gone, 
How many are left us yet. 


DREAMING FOREVER. 


DREAMING forever, vainly dreaming, 
Life to the last pursues its flight; 

| Day hath its visions fairly beaming, 

But false as those of night. 

The one illusion, the other real, [last ; 
But both the same brief dreams at 

And when we grasp the bliss ideal, 
Soon as it shines, ’tis past. 


Here, then, by this dim lake reposing, 

Calmly 11 watch, while light and 
loom 

Flit o’er its face till night is closing— 
Emblem of life’s short doom! 

But though, by turns, thus dark and 

shining, 

’Tis still unlike man’s changeful day, 

Whose light returns not, once declining, 
Whose cloud, once come, will stay. 


THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE 
SONG I SING. 


A SONG OF THE ALPS. 


THOUGH lightly sounds the song I sing 

to thee, [be, 
Though like the lark’s its soaring music 
Thow’lt find ev’n here some mournful 

note that tells [dwells. 
How near such April joy to weeping 
’Tis ’mong the gayest scenes that oft’n- 

est steal [love to feel; 
Those sadd’ning thoughts we fear, yet 
And music never half so sweet appears, 
As when her mirth forgets itself in tears. 


Then say not thou this Alpine song is 
gay— [mountain-lay, 
It comes from hearts that, like their 
Mix joy with pain, and oft when pleas- 
ure’s breath [beneath. 
Most warms the surface, feel most sad 
The very beam in which the snow- 
wreath wears {tears,— 
Its gayest smile is that which wins its 
And passion’s pow’r can never lend the 
glow [of wo. 
' Which wakens bliss without some touch 


984 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


THE RUSSIAN LOVER. 


FLEETLY o’er the moonlight snows 
Speed we to my lady’s bow’r ; 
Switt our sledge as lightning goes, 
Nor shall stop till morning’s hour. 
Bright, my steed, the northern star 
Lights us from yon jewell’d skies ; 
But, to greet us, brighter far, 
Morn shall bring my lady’s eyes. 


Lovers, lull’d in sunny bow’rs, 
Sleeping out their dream of time, 
Know not half the bliss that’s ours, 


In this snowy, icy clime. 


| Like yon star that livelier gleams 


From the frosty heavens around, 
Love himself the keener beams 
When with snows of coyness crown’d. 


Fleet then on, my merry steed, 

Bound, my sledge, o’erhill and dale;— 
What can match a lover’s speed ? 

See, ’tis daylight, breaking pale! 
Brightly hath the northern star 

Lit us from yon radiant skies ; 
But, behold, how brighter far 

Yonder shine my lady’s eyes! 


LALLA ROOKH. 


TO 


SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 


THIS EASTERN ROMANCE 15 JNSCRIBED, 


BY HIS VERY GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 


May 19, 1817. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


In the eleventh year of the reign of 
Aurungzebe, Abdalla, King ofthe Less- 
er Bucharia, a lineal descendant from 
the Great Zingis, having abdicated the 
throne in favor of his son, set out on a 
pilgrimage to the Shrine ofthe Prophet; 
and, passing into India through the de- 
lightful valley of Cashmere, rested for a 
short time at Delhi on his way. He was 
entertained by Aurungzebe in a style of 


*These particulars of the visit ofthe King 
of Bucharia to Aurungzebe are found in Dow's 
History of Hindostan, vol. ii. p. 392. 

+ Tulip cheek. 

t The mistress of Mejnoun, upon whose story 
so muny Romances in all the languages of the 
East ure founded. ; 


THOMAS MOORE. 


magnificent hospitality, worthy alike of 
the visiter and the host, and was _ after- 
wards escorted with the same splendor 
to Surat, where he embarked for Ara- 
bia.* During the stay of the Royal Pil- 
grim at Delhi, a marriage was agreed 
upon between the Prince, his son, and 
the youngest daughter of the Emperor, 
LALLA RooxkyH ;t—a Princess described 
by the poets of her time as more beauti- 
ful than Leila,t Shirine,§ Dewildé,|| or 
any of those heroines whose names and 
loves embellish the Songs of Persia and 


§ For the loves of this celebrated beauty 
with Khosrouand with Ferhad, see D' Herbelot, 
Gibbon, Oriental Collections, &e. 

|| ‘* The history of the loves of Dewildé and 
Chizer, the son of the Emperor Alla, is writ- 
ten in an elegant poem, by the noble Chusere-” 
—WLerishta. 


Oh, who has not heard οἵ the Vale of Cashmere, 
With its roses the brightest that the earth ever gave. 


(Lalla Rookh 


Ti 


7 


LALLA ROOKH. 


Hindostan. It was intended that the 
nuptials should be celebrated at Cash- 
mere; where the young King, as soon 
as the cares of empire would permit, 
was to meet, for the first time, his love- 
ly bride, and after a few months’ repose | 
in that enchanting valley, conduct her 
over the snowy hills into Bucharia. 

The day of LALLA RooKkn’s departure 
from Delhi was as splendid as sunshine 
and pageantry could make it. The ba- 
zaars and baths were all covered with | 
the richest tapestry ; hundreds of gilded | 
barges upon the Jumna floated with | 
their banners shining in the water; while | 
through the streets groups of beautiful 
children went strewing the most delicious 
flowers around, as in that Persian festival 
ealled the Scattering of the Roses;* till 
every part of the city was as fragrant as if 
a caravan of musk from Khoten had | 
passed through it. The Princess, having” 
taken leave of her kind father, who at | 
parting hung a cornelian of Yemen round | 
her neck, on which was inscribed a verse 
from the Koran, and having sent a con- 
siderable present to the Fakirs, who kept 
up the Perpetual Lamp in her sister’s 


‘tomb, meekly ascended the palankeen 


prepared for her; and, while Aurung- 

zebe stood to take a last look from his 

baleony, the procession moved slowly on | 
the road to Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern world seen a. 
cavalcade so superb. From the gardens | 
in the suburbs to the Imperial palace, it | 
was one unbroken line of splendor. The 


* Gul Reazee. 

t‘*One mark of honor or knighthood be- 
stowed by the Emperor is the permission to 
Wear a small kettle-drum at the bows of their 
saddles, which at first was invented for the | 
training of hawks, and to call them to the 
lure, and is worn in the field by all sportsmen 
to that end.” —Fryer's Travels. 

* Those on whom the King has conferred the | 
privilege must wear an ornament of jewels on 
the right side of the turban, surmounted by a | 
high plume ofthe feathers of a kind of egret. 
This bird is found only in Cashmere, and the 
teathers are carefully collected for the King, 
who bestows them on his nobles.""—Elphin- | 
stone's Account of Canbul. 

t“Khedar Khan, the Khakan, or King of | 
Turquestan, beyond the Gihon (at the end of 
the eleventh century,) whenever he appeared | 
abroad was preceded by seven hundred horse: | 
men with silver battle-axes, and was followed | 
an equal number bearing maces of gold. | 

Θ was ἃ great patron of poetry, and it was he | 
who used to preside at public exercises of | 
genius, with four basins of gold and silver by | 


| the canopy over the 


| there is the following livel 


385 


gallant appearance of the Rajahs and 
Mogul lords, distinguished by those in- 
signia of the Emperor’s favor,t the feath- 
ers of the egret of Cashmere in their tur- 
bans, and the small silver-rimmed kettle- 
drums at the bows of their saddles; —the 
costly armor of their cavaliers, who vied, 
on this occasion, with the guards of the 
great Keder Khan,f in the brightness of 
their silver battle-axes and the massi- 
ness of their maces of gold ; the glitter- 
ing of the gilt pine-apples§ on the tops 
of the palankeens ;—the embroidered 
trappings of the elephants, bearing on 
their backs small turrets, in the shape 
of little antique temples, within whicb 
the Ladies of LALLA ΒΟΟΚῊ lay as it 
were enshrined;—the rose-colored veils 
of the Princess’s own sumptuous litter, || 
at the front of which a fair young female 
slave sat fanning her through the cur- 
tains, with feathers of the Argus pheas- 
ant’s wing;{[—and the lovely troop of 
Tartarian and Cashmerian maids of hon- 
or, whom the young King had sent to 
accompany his bride, and who rode on 
each side of the litter, upon small Ara- 
bian horses ;—all was brilliant, tasteful, 
and magnificent, and pleased even the 
critical and fastidious FA DLA DEEN, Great 


| Nazir or Chamberlain of the Haram, who 


was borne in his palankeen immediately 


after the Princess, and considered him- 


self not the least important personage of 
the pageant. 

FADLADEEN was a judge of every 
thing,—from the pencilling of a Circas- 


him to distribute among the poets who ex- 
celled.”"—Richardson's Dissertation prefixed to 
his Dictionary. 

§ “The kubdeh, a large golden knob, gen- 
erally in the shape of a pineagp ey on the top of 
itter or palanquin.”— 
Scott's Notes on the Bahardanush. 

ΠῚ the Poem of Zohair, in the Moallakat, 
description of 
“‘a company of maidens seated on camels.” 

“They are mounted in carriages covered 
with costly awnings, and with rose-colored 
veils, the linings of which have the hue of crim- 
son Andem-wood. 2 

“When they ascend from the bosom of the 
vale, they sit forward on the saddle-cloth, 
With every mark of a voluptuous gayety. 

‘“Now, when they have reached the brink 
of yon blue-gushing rivulet, they fix the poles 
of their tents like the Arab witb a settled man- 
sion.” 

“ See Bernier’s description of the attendants 
on Rauchanara-Begum, in her progress to 
Cashmere 


336 


sian’s eyelids to the deepest questions of 
science and literature ; from the mixture 
of a conserve of rose-leaves to the com- 
position of an epic poem: and such in- 
fluence had his opinion upon the various 
tastes of the day, that all the cooks and 
poets of Delhi stood in awe of him. His 
poe conduct and opinions were 
ounded upon that line of Sadi,— 
“‘Should the Prince at noonday say, It 
is night, declare that. you behold the 
moon and stars.”—And his zeal for re- 
ligion, of which Aurungzebe was a mu- 
nificent protector,* was about as disin- 
terested as that of the goldsmith who 
fell in love with the diamond eyes of the 
idol of Jaghernaut.t 

During the first days of their journey, 
LALLA RooxH, who had passed all her 
life within the shadow of the Royal Gar- 
dens of Delhi,t found enough in the 
beauty of the scenery through which 
they passed to interest her mind, and de- 
light her imagination; and when at 
evening, or in the heat of the day, they 
turned off from the high road to those 
retired and romantic places which had 
been selected for her encampments,— 
sometimes on the banks of a small rivu- 
let, as clear as the waters of the Lake of 
Pearl; ὃ sometimes under the sacred 


* This hypocritical Emperor would have 
made a worthy associate of certain Holy 
Leagues.—‘' He held the cloak of religion 
(says Dow) between his actions and the vulgar : 
and impiously thanked the Divinity for a sue- 
cess which he owed to his own wickedness. 
When he was murdering and persecuting his 
brothers and their families, he was building a 
magnificent mosque at Delhi, as an offering to 
God for his assistance to him in the civil wars. 
He acted as high priest at the consecration of 
this temple; and made a practice of attend- 
ing divine service there, in the humble dress 
of a Fakeer. But when he lifted one hand to 
the Divinity, he, with the other, signed war- 
rants for the assassination of his relations,”’— 
History of Hindostan, vol. iii. p. 335. See 
also the curious letter of Aurungzebe, given in 
the Oriental Collections, vol. i. p. 320. 

1“The idol at Jaghernat has two fine dia- 
monds for eyes. No goldsmith is suffered to 
enter the Pagoda, one having stole one of these 
eyes, being locked up all night with the Idol.” 
—Tavernier. 

{See a description of these royal Gardens 
in ‘An Account of the present state of Delhi, 
by Lieut. W. Franklin.”—Asiat. Research, vol. 
iv. p 417. 

§ “In the neighborhood is Notte Gill, or the 
Lake of Pearl, which receives this name from 
its pellucid water.’’—Pennant's Hindostan. 

“Nasir Jung encamped in the vicinity of the 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


shade of a Banyan tree, from which the 
view opened upon a glade covered with 
antelopes ; and often in those hidden, 
embowered spots, described by one from 
the Isles of the West,|| as “places of 
melancholy, delight, and safety, where 
all the company around was wild pea- 
cocks and turtle-doves;”—she felt a 
charm in these scenes, so lovely and so 
new to her, which, for a time, made her 
indifferent to every other amusement. 
But LALLA Rook was young, and the 
young love variety; nor could the con- 
versation of her Ladies and the Great 
Chamberlain, FADLADEEN, (the only 
persons, of course, admitted to her pa- 
vilion,) sufficiently enliven those many 
vacant hours, which were devoted neither 
to the pillow nor the palankeen. There 
was a little Persian slave who sung 
sweetly to the Vina, and who, now and 
then, lulled the Princess to sleep with 
the ancient ditties of her country, about 
the loves of Wamak and Ezra,§ the 
fair-haired Zal and his mistress. Rodah- 
ver;** not forgetting the combat of Rus- 
tam with the terrible White Demon.tf 
At other times she was amused by those 
graceful dancing-girls of Delhi, who had 
been permitted by the Bramins of the 
Great Pagoda to attend her, much to the 


Lake of Tonoor, amused himself with sailing 
on that clear and beautiful water, and gave it 
the fanciful name of Motee Talah, ‘the Lake 
of Pearls,’ which it still retains.”"— Wilks’s 
South of India. 

|| Sir Thomas Roe, Ambassador from James 
I. to Jehanguire. 

|‘: The romance Wemakweazra, written in 
Persian verse, which contains the loves of 
Wamak and Ezra, two celebrated lovers who 
lived before the time of Mahomet.”—Note on 
the Oriental Tales. 

** Their amour is recounted in the Shah- 
Naméh of Ferdousi; and there is much beauty 
in the passage which describes the slaves of 
Rodahver sitting on the bank of the river and 
throwing flowers into the stream, in order to 
draw the attention of the young Hero who is 
eneamped on the opposite side.—See Cham- 
pion’s translation. 

tt Rustam is the Hercules of the Persians. 
For the particulars of his victory over the 
Sepeed Deeve, or White Demon, see Oriental 
Collections, vol. ii. p. 45.—Near the city of 
Shirauz is an immense quadrangular monu- 
ment, in commemoration of this combat, called 
the Kelaat-i-Deev Sepeed, or Castle of the 
White Giant, which Father Angelo, in his 
Gazophilacium Persicum, p. 127, declares to 
have been the most memorable monument of 
antiqnity which he had seen in Persia.—See 
Ouseley’s Persian Miscellanies. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


horror of the good Mussulman Fapua- 
DEEN, who could see nothing graceful or 
agreeable in 1dolaters, and to whom the 
very tinkling of their golden anklets* 
was an abomination. 

But these and many other diversions 
were repeated till they lost all their 
charm, and the nights and noondays 
were beginning to move heavily, when, 
at length, it was recollected that, among 
the attendants sent by the bridegroom, 
Was a young poet of Cashmere, much 
celebrated throughout the Valley for his 
manner of reciting the Stories of the 
Hast, on whom his Royal Master had 
conferred the privilege of being admitted 
to the pavilion of the Princess, that he 
might help to beguile the tediousness of 
the journey by some of his most agree- 
able recitals. At the mention of a poet, 
FADLADEEN elevated his critical eye- 
brows, and, having refreshed his facual- 
ties with a dose of that delicious opiumt 
which is distilled from the black poppy 
of the Thebais, gave orders for the min- 
strel to be forthwith introduced into the 
presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her life 
seen a poet from behind the screens of 
gauze in her Father’s hall, and had con- 
ceived from that specimen no very favor- 
able ideas of the Caste, expected but lit- 
tle in this new exhibition to interest her ; 
—she felt inclined, however, to alter her 
opinion on the very first appearance of 
FrerAMorz. He was a youth about 
LALLA ROOKH’s own age, and graceful 
as that idol of women, Grishua:t —such 
as he appears to their young imagina- 
tions, heroic, beautiful, breathing music 
from his very eyes, and exalting the re- 

«“«*The women of the Idol, or daneing-girls 
of the Pagoda, have little golden bells fastened 
to their feet, the soft harmonious tinkling of 
which vibrates in unison with the exquisite 
melody of their voices.’'—Maurice's Indian 
Antiquities. 

“The Arabian courtesans, like the Indian 
women, have little golden bells fastened round 
their legs, neck and elbows, to the sound of 
which they dance before the King. The Ara- 
bian princesses wear golden rings on their fin- 
gers, to which little bells are suspended, as 
well as in the flowing tresses of their hair, that 
their superior rank may be known, and they 


themselves receive in passing the homage due 
to them.”—See Calmet's Dictionary, art Bells. 


1‘ Abou-Tige. ville de la Thebaide, o0 il 
croit beaucoup de μανοῦ noir, dont se fait le 
meilleur opium.” —D' Herbelot. 


/ observation o 


387 


ligion of his worshippers into love. His 
dress was simple, yet not without some 
marks of costliness; and the Ladies of 
the Princess were not long in discover- 
ing that the cloth, which encircled his 
high Tartarian cap, was of the most 
delicate kind that the shawl-goats of 
Tibet supply.§ Here and there, too, 
over his vest, which was confined by a 
flowered girdle of Kashan, hung strings 
of fine pearl, disposed with an air of 


| Studied negligence ;—nor did the exqui- 


site embroidery of his sandals escape the 
these fair critics; who, 
however they might give way to Fap- 
LADEEN upon the unimportant topics of 
religion and government, had the spirit 
of martyrs in everything relatingto such 
momentous matters as jewels and em- 
broidery. 

For the purpose of relieving the pauses 
of recitation by music, the young Cash- 
merian held in his hand a kitar;—such 
as, in old times, the Arab maids of the 
West used to listen to by moonlight in 
the gardens of the Alhambra—and, hav- 
ing premised, with much humility, that 
the story he was about to relate was 
founded on the adventures of that Veiled 
Prophet of Khorassan,|| who, in the year 
of the Hegira 163, created such alarm 
throughout the Eastern Empire, made 
an obeisance to the Princess, and thus 
began: 


THE VEILED PROPHET OF 
KHORASSAN.( 


Tw that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 


'The Indian Apollo.—‘*He and the three 
Ramas are described as youths of perfect 
beauty; and the princesses of Hindustiéin were 
all passionately in love with Chrishna, who 
continues to this hour the darling God of the 
Indian women."—ASir W. Jones, on the Gods 
of Greece, Italy, and India. 

§ See Jurner's Embassy for a description of 
this animal, ‘‘the most beautiful among the 
whole tribe of goats."’ The material for the 
shawls (which is carried to Cashmere) is found 
next the skin. 

|| For the real history of this yup whose 
original name was Hakem ben Haschem, and 
who was called Mocanna fromthe veil of silver 
gauze (or, as others say, golden) which he 
always wore, see D’ Herbelot. 

4“ Khorassan signifies, in the old Persian 
language, Province or Region of the Sun.--Sir 
W. Jones. 


388 


ΜΟΟΕΕΘ WORKS. 


Where all the loveliest children of his 

beam, ᾿ [stream, * 
Flow’rets and fruits, blush over ev’ry 
And, fairest of all streams, the MuURGA 

roves groves ;— 
Among Merov’s { bright palaces and 
There on that throne, to which the blind 

belief [Chief, 
Of millions raised him, sat the Prophet- 
The Great MoKANNA. O’er his features 

hung [flung 
The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had 
In mercy there, to hide from mortal 

sight [light. 
His dazzling brow, till man could bear its 
For, far Jess luminous, his votaries said, 
Were ev’n the gleams, miraculously shed 
O’er Moussa’s | cheek,§ when down 

the Mount he trod, [God ! 
All glowing from the presence of his 


On either side, with ready hearts and 
hands, [stands ; 

His chosen guard of bold Believers 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem 
their swords, [ words ; 

On points of faith, more eloquent than 
And such their zeal, there’s not a youth 
with brand [mand, 
Uplifted there, but at the Chief’s com- 
Would make his own devoted heart its 
sheath, [death ! 

And bless the lips that doom’d so dear a 
In hatred to the Caliph’s hue of night,|| 
Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy 
white ; [for speed, 

Their weapons various—some equipp’d 
With javelins of the light Kathaian 
reed ; J] [quivers 

Or bows of buffalo horn and shining 


*« The fruits of Meru are finer than those 
of any other place; and one cannot see in any 
other city such palaces with groves, and 
streams, and gardens.’’—EHbn Haukal’s Geog- 
raphy. 

One of the royal cities of Khorassan, 

{ Moses 

) ‘Ses disciples assuroient αὐ} se couvroit 
le visage, pour ne pas €blouir ceux qui lap- 
rochoient par l’éclat de son visage comme 

Loyse.""—D' Herbelot. 

|| Black was the color adopted by the Caliphs 
of the House of Abbas, in their garments, tur- 
bans, and standards.—‘‘Il faut remarquer ici 
touchant les habits blanes des disciples de 
Hakem, que la couleur des habits, des coiffures 
ct des €tendarts des Khalifes Abassides tant 
la noire, ce chef de Rebelles ne pouvoit pas 
choisir une que lui fat plus opposée."\—D" rapes 
dbelot. 

{| ‘Our dark javelins, exquisitely wrought 


Fill’d with the stems** that bloom on 

IRAN’S rivers ; tt [tacks, 
While some, for war’s more terrible at- 
Wield the huge mace and pond’rous 

battle-axe ; [beam 
And as they wave ‘aloft in morning’s. 
The milk-white plumage of their helms, 


they seem 
Like a chenar-tree grove${ when winter 
throws [snows. 


O’er all its tufted heads his feath’ring 


Between the porphyry pillars that up- 
hold [gold, 

The rich moresque-work of the roof of 
Aloftthe Haram’s curtain’d galleries rise, 
Where through thesilkennetwork, glanc- 
ing eyes, [that glow 

From time to time, lke sudden gleams 
Through autumn clouds, shine o’er the 
pomp below.— [would dare 

What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, 
To hint that anght but Heav’n hath 
placed you there? [could bind, 

Or that the loves of this light world 
In their gross chain, your Prophets soar- 
ing mind? [from above: 
No—wrongful thought !—commission’d 
To people Eden’s bowers with shapes of 
love, [and eyes 
(Creatures so bright, that the same lips 
They wear on earth will serve in Para- 
dise, ) [maids, 

There to recline among Heay’n’s native 
And crown th’ Elect with bliss that never 
fades— [done ; 

Well hath the Prophet-Chief his bidding 
And ey’ry beauteous race beneath the 
sun, [ing founts,§§ 

From those who kneel at BRAHMA’s burn- 


of Khathaian reeds, slender and delicate.’— 
Poem of Amru. 

κα Pichula, used anciently fur arrows by the: 
Persians. 

tt The Persians called this plant Gaz. The 
celebrated shatt of Isfendiar, one of their 
ancient heroes, was made ofit.—‘t Nothing can 
be more beautiful than the appearance of this 
plant in flower during the rains on the banks 
of rivers, where it is usually interwoven 
with a lovely twining asclepias "—Sir_ W. 
Jones, Botanical Observations on Select Indian 
Plants. 

tt The oriental plane. ‘‘ The chenar is a de- 
lightful tree; its bole is of a fine white and 
smooth bark; and its foliage, which grows in 
a tuft at the summit, is of a bright green.’— 
Morier's Travels. 

δῷ The burning fountains of Brahma near 
Chittogong, esteemed as holy. —Turner. 


ΝΎ)...» 
δε 
a 


LALLA ROOKH. 


To the fresh nymphs bounding o’er YrE- 

MEN’S mounts ; Lray, 
From PersiA’s eyes of full and fawn-like 
To the small, half-shut glances of 

KATHAY ;* {darker smiles, 
And GerorGrA’s bloom, and AZAB’s 
And the gold ringlets of the Western 


Isles; {hath given, | 
All, all are there ;—each Land its flower 


To form that fair young Nursery for 


Heay’n! 
But why this pageant now? this arm’d 
array ? [ to-day 


What triumph crowds the rich Divan 

With turban’d heads, of ev’ry hue and 
race, 

Bowing before that veil’d andawful face, 

Like tulip-beds,t of diffrent shape and 
dyes, [wind’s sighs! 

Bending beneath th’ invisible West- 

What new-made mystery now, for Faith 
to sign, 

And blood to seal, as genuine and divine, 

What dazzling mimicry of God’s own 
power [this hour? 

Hath the bold Prophet plann’d to grace 


Not such the pageant now, though not 

less proud ; [crowd, 

Yon warrior youth, advancing from the 

With silver bow, with belt of broider’d 

crape, [shape,t 

And fur-bound bonnet of Bucharian 
So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 


Like war’s wild planet in a summer sky; | 


That youth to-day,—a proselyte, worth 
hordes 

Of cooler spirits and less practised 

Is come to join, all bravery and belief, 


The creed and standard of the heay’n- | 


sent Chief. 
Though few his years, the West al- 
ready knows [pian snows, 


Young Azim’s fame;—beyond th’ Olym- | 


Ere manhood darken’d o’er his downy 

cheek, 

O’erwhelm’d in fight, and captive to the 

He linger’d there, till peace dissolved 

his chains ;— [the plains 

Oh, who could, e’en in bondage, tread 
* China. 


_ +The name of Tulip is said to be of Turk- 
ish extraction, and given to the flower on ac- 


count of its resembling ἃ turban.’’—Beck- 


mann’s History of Inventions. 

{ * The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round 
eloth bonnet, shaped much after the Polish 
fashion, having a large fur border. They tie 


[swords,— | 


[Greek,§ | 


359 


| Of glorious GREECE, nor feel his spirit 
rise [and eyes, 
Kindling within him? who, with heart 
| Could walk where liberty has been, nor 
see 
The shining foot-prints of her Deity, 
| Nor feel those godlike breathings in the 
air [there ? 
| Which mutely told her spirit had been 
Not he, that youthful warrior,—no, too 
᾿ well [spell ; 
_ For his soul’s quiet work’d th’ awak’ning 
/And now, returning to his own dear 
| land, [ly grand, 
Full of those dreams of good that, vain- 
_ Haunt the young heart, —proud views of 
| human kind, 
| Of men to Gods exalted and refined,— 
False views, like that horizon’s fair de- 
| . ceit, [to meet !— 
Where earth and heav’n but seem, alas, 
| Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was 
| raised [blazed 
To right the nations, and beheld, em- 
On the white flag, MOKANNA’s host un- 
furl’d, 
_Those words of sunshine, “ Freedom to 
| the World,” 
_At once his faith, his sword, his soul 
| obey’d 
Th’ inspiring summons; every chosen 
| blade [text 
That fought beneath that banner’s sacred 
Seem’d doubly edged, for this world and 
| the next; 
| And ne’er did Faith with her smooth 
bandage bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, 
| In virtue’s cause;—never was soul in- 
spired [ed, 
| With livelier trust in what it most desir- 
Than his, th’ enthusiast there, who kneel- 
ing, pale 
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 
Believes the form, to which he bends his 
knee, 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
| This fetter’d world from every bond and 
stain, 
And bring its primal glories back again ! 


their kaftans about the middle with a girdle of 
a kind of silk erape, several times round the 
body.”"—Account of Independent Tartary, in 
Pinkerton’s Collection. 


§ In the war of the Caliph Mahadi against 
the Empress Irene, for an account of which 
vide Gibbon, vol. x. 


390 


Low as young Azim knelt, that mot- 
ley crowd 
Of all earth’s nations sunk the knee and 
bow’d, 
With shouts of “ ALnLA!”’ echoing long 
and loud; [head, 
While high in air, above the Prophet’s 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam 
spread, [that fan 
‘Waved, like the wings of the white birds 
‘The flying throne of star-taught Sout- 
MAN.* [new the frame 
‘Then thus he spoke:—“‘ Stranger, though 
“Thy soul inhabits now, I’ve track’d its 
flame [and change 
“‘Wor many an age,t in ev’ry chance 
“ΟΥ̓ that existence, through whose varied 
range, — [hand to hand 
““ As through a torch-race, where, from 
“¢ The flying youths transmit their shin- 
ing brand, {guish’d soul 
“‘Prom frame to frame the unextin- 
“‘ Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal! 


*‘ Nor think ’tis only the gross Spirits, 
warm’d {um form’d, 
‘“‘With duskier fire and for earth’s medi- 
“That run this course:— Beings, the most 
divine, {shine. 
“Thus deign through dark mortality to 
““Such was the Essence that in ADAM 
dwelt, (One, knelt :t 
“To which all Heay’n, except the Proud 
«‘Such the refined Intelligence that 
glow’d [scending, flow’d 
“Τὴ Moussa’s$ frame,—and, thence de- 
‘«Through many a Prophet’s breast ;||— 
in IssA{] shone, [ning on, 
«“ And in MOHAMMED burn’d; till, hast- 
“(As a bright river that, from fall to 
fall 


* This wonderful Throne was called The Star 
of the Genii. For a full description ot it, see 
the Fragment, translated by Captain Franklin, 
from a Persian MS. entitled "4116 History of 
Jerusalem.’ Oriental Collections, vol. i, p. 
235.—When Soliman travelled, the eastern 
writers say, ‘‘ He had a carpet of green silk on 
which his throne was placed, leing of a pro- 
disious length and breadth, and sufficient for 
all his forces to stand upon, the men placing 
themselves on his right hand, and the spirits 
on his left; and that when all were in order, 
the wind, at his command, took up the carpet, 
and transported it, with all that were upon it, 
wherever he pleased; the army of birds at the 
same time flying over their heads, and forming 
a kind of canopy to shade them from the sun.” 
—Sale's Koran, vol. ii. p. 214, note. 

| The transmigration of souls was one of his 
doctrines.—Vide D’ Herbelot. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Tn many a maze descending, bright 
through all, 

“‘Finds some fair region where, each 
labyrinth pass’d, [last, ) 

“Tn one full lake of light it rests at 

““That Holy Spirit, settling calm and 
free [me !” 

“From lapse or shadow, centres all in 


Again, throughout th’ assembly at 
these words, [swords 
Thousands of voices rung: the warriors’ 
Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden 
wind [hind 
In th’ open banners play’d, and from be- 
Those Persian hangings, that but ill 
could screen [were seen 
The Haram’s loveliness, white hands 
Waving embroider’d scarves, whose mo- 
tion gave [wave 
A perfume forth—like those the Houris 
When beck’ning to their bow’rs th’ im- 
mortal Brave. 


‘But these,” pursued the Chief, ‘‘are 
truths sublime, [time 
““That claim a holier mood and calmer 
«¢™han earth allows us now ;—this sword 
must first [burst, 

“ΠῊ6 darkling prison-house of Mankind 
‘‘ Tre Peace can visit them, or ‘I'ruth let 
in [sin. 
“Her wakening daylight on a world of 
“ But then,—celestial warriors, then, 
when all {banner fall ; 

“ Warth’s shrines and thrones before our 
“When the glad Slave shall at these 
feet lay down [his crown, 

“‘Wis broken chain, the tyrant Lord 
“‘The Priest his book, the Conqueror his 
wreath, [breath 

“ And from the lips of Truth one mighty 
{‘*And when we said unto the angels, 


ὙΤΟΣΒΗΙΟ Adam, they all worshipped him, ex- 
cept Eblis, (Lucifer,) who refused.”—The 


Koran, chap. il. 
§ Moses. 


|| This is according to D'Herbelot's account 
of the doctrines of Mokanna:—‘‘Sa doctrine 
étoit, que Dieu avoit pris une forme et figure 
humaiue, opus qu il eut commandé aux Anges 
d’adorer Adam, le premier des hommes. Qu’: 
apres la mort d'Adam, Dieu ¢toit apparu sous 
a figure de plusieurs Prophétes, et autres 
grands hommes qu'il avoit cholsie ie ce 
quil prit celle d'Abu Moslem, Prince de 

horassan, lequel professoit erreur de la Ten- 
assukhiah ou Métempsychose; et qu’aprés la 
mort de ce Prince, la Divimté étoit passée, et 
descendue en sa personne.” 


Ἵ Jesus. 


LALLA 


«Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its 
breeze [eries ;— 
“That whole dark pile of human mock- 
“Then shall the reign of mind com- 
mence on earth, [birth, 
“ And starting fresh as from a second 
‘Man, mm the sunshine of the world’s 
new spring, [holy thing! 
“Shall walk transparent, like some 
““Then, too, your Prophet from his an- 
gel brow [dors now, 
“Shall cast the Veil that hides its splen- 
“« And gladden’d Earth shall, through 
her wide expanse, [nance ! 
“ Bask in the glories of this counte- 


‘Tor thee, young warrior, welcome ! 
—thou hast yet [forget, 
“Some tasks to learn, some frailties to 
-“ Wre the white war-plume o’er thy brow 
can wave ;— [grave !” 

“But, once my own, mine all till in the 


The pomp is at an end—the crowds 

are gone— [tone 

Hach ear and heart still haunted by the 

Of that deep voice, which thrill’d like 
ALLA’S own! 

The Young all dazzled by the plumes 

and lances, [caught glances; 

The glitt’rimg throne, and Haram’s half- 

The Old deep pond’ring on the promised 

reign [train 

Of peace and truth: and all the female 

Ready to risk their eyes, could they but 

gaze [blaze ! 

A moment on that brow’s miraculous 


But there was one, among the chosen 

maids, (shades, 

Who blush’d behind the gallery’s silken 

One, to whose soul the pageant of to- 

day [dismay, 

Has been like death :—you saw her pale 

Ye wond’ring sisterhood, and heard the 
burst 

Of exclamation from her lips, when first 

She saw that youth, too well, too dearly 

known, [throne. 

Silently kneeling at the Prophet’s 


Ah ZEttca! there was a time, when 
bliss [his ; 


Shone o’er thy heart from ev’ry look of 


* The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, 
or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from 


east to west, splits mto two branches; one of 


ROOKH. 391 


When but to see him, hear him, breathe 

the air [est prayer ; 

In which he dwelt, was thy soul’s fond- 

When round him hung such a perpetual 
spell, 

Whate’er he did, none ever did so well. 

Too happy days! when, if he touch’d a 

owr {hour ; 

Or gem of thine, ’twas sacred from that 

When thou didst study him till every 

tone [own, — 

And gesture and dear look became thy 

Thy voice like his, the changes of his 

face [grace, 

In thine reflected with still lovelier 

Like echo, sending back sweet music, 


fraught 
With twice th’ aérial sweetness 1t had 
brought ! [he 


Yet now he comes, —brighter than even 
Wer beam’d before,—but, ah! not 
bright for thee ; 
No—dread, unlook’d for, like a visitant 
From th’ other world, he comes as if to 
haunt [light, 
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost de- 
Long lost to all but mem’ry’s aching 
sight :— [Youth 
Sad dreams! as when the Spirit of our 
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the 
truth [back, 
And innocence once ours, and leads us 
In mournful mockery, o’er the shining 
track [ray 
Of our young life, and points out every 
Of hope and peace we’ve lost upon the 
way ! 


Once happy pair!'—In proud Box- 
HARASS groves, {ful loves % 
Who had not heard of their first youth- 
Born by that ancient flood,* which from 
its spring [ing, 
In the dark Mountains swiftly wander- 
Enrich’d by evry pilgrim brook that 
shines [mines, 
With relics from Bucnarta’s ruby 
And, lending to the Caspian half its 
strength, [length ;— 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at 
There, on the banks of that bright river 
born, 
The flow’rs that hung above its wave 
at morn, 


which falls into the Caspian sea, and the other 
into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles. 


392 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


Bless’d not the waters, as they mur- 
mur’d by, [sigh 

With holier scent and lustre, than the 

And virgin-glance of first affection cast 

Upon their youth’s smooth current, as 
it pass’d! 

But war disturb’d this vision,—far away 

From her fond eyes summon’d to join 
th’ array [THRACE, 

Of Prrst4’s warriors on the hills of 

The youth exchanged his sylvan dwell- 
ing-place 

For the rude tent and war-field’s dread- 
ful clash ; 

His ZELIcA’s sweet glances for the flash 

Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love’s gentle 
chains [plains. 

For bleeding bondage on ByzANTIUM’S 


Month after month, in widowhood of 
soul [roll 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers 
Their suns away—but, ah, how cold and 
dim {with him ! 
Ἐν summer suns, when not beheld 
From time to time ill-omen’d rumors 
came, [man’s name, 
Like spirit-tongues, mutt’ring the sick 
Just ere he dies:—at length those 
sounds of dread 
Fell with’ring on her soul, “ Azim is 
Oh Grief, beyond all other griefs, when 
fate (desolate 
First leaves the young heart lone and 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For which it loved to live or fear’d to 
die ;— [hath spoken 
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne’er 
Since the sad day its master-chord was 
broken ! 


Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was 

such, [touch ; 

Ey’n reason sunk,—blighted beneath its 

And though, ere long, her sanguine 
spirit rose 

Abovethe first dead pressure of its woes, 

Though health and bloom return’d, the 

delicate chain [again. 

Of thought, once tangled, never clear’d 

Warm, lively, soft as in youth’s happi- 

est day, [astray ; — 

The mind was still all there, but turn’d 

A wand’ring bark, upon whose pathway 


shone [one ! 
All stars of heaven, except the guiding 
Again she smiled, nay, much and 


brightly smiled, 


[dead ! ” | 


But ’twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; 
And when she sung to her lute’s touch- 

ing strain, [pain, 
*T was like the notes, half ecstasy, half 
The bulbul* utters, ere her soul depart, 
When, vanquish’d by some minstrel’s 

pow’rful art, [broke her heart ! 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness 


Such was the mood in which that 
mission found [around 
Young ZeLica,—that mission, which 
The Eastern world, in every region 
bless’d [liest, 
With woman’s smile, sought out its loye- 
To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes 
Which the Veil’d Prophet destined for 
the skies :— [ceives 
; And such quick welcome as a spark re- 
Dropp’d on a bed of Autumn’s wither’d 
leaves, 
Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 
In. the wild maiden’s sorrow-blighted 
mind. [caught ;— 
All fire at once the madd’ning zeal she 
Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous 
thought ! [dome, 
Predestined bride, in heaven’s eternal 
Of some brave youth—ha! durst they 
say ‘fof some?” 
No—of the one, one only object traced 
In her heart’s core too deep to be ef- 
| faced ; [twined 
|The one whose mem’ry, fresh as life, is 
With every broken link of her lost mind; 
| Whose image lives, though Reason’s self 
be wreck’d, 
Safe ’mid the ruins of her intellect! 


Alas, poor ZELICA! it needed all 
The fantasy, which held thy mind in 
thrall, [maids 
To see in that gay Haram’s glowing 
A shaded colony for Eden’s shades; 
Or dream that he,—ot whose unholy 
flame [came 
Thou wert too soon the victim, —shining 
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
With souls like thine, which he hath 
ruin’d here! 
No—had not reason’s light totally set, 
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet 
In the loved image, graven on thy heart, 
Which would have saved thee from the 
tempter’s art, 
And kept alive, in all its bloom of 
breath, 
* The nightingale. 


LALLA 


That purity, whose fading is love's 
death !— place. 
But lost, inflamed,—a restless zeal took 
Of the mild virgin’s still and feminine 
ACE ; [first 
First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly 
In zeal and charms,—too well th’ Im- 
postor nursed [flame, 
Her soul’s delirium, in whose active 
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant 
frame, 
He saw more potent sorceries to bind 
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, 
More subtle chains than hell itself e’er 
twined. {skill 
No art was spared, no witch’ry ;—all the 
His demons taught him was employ’d to 
fill r (turns— 
Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by 
That gloom, through which Phrensy but 
fiercer burns ; [sadness 
That ecstasy, which from the depth of 
Glares like the maniac’s moon, whose 
light is madness! 


’T was from a brilliant banquet, where 
the sound 
Of poesy atid music breathed around, 
Together picturing to her mind and ear 
The glories of that heav’n, her destined 
_ sphere, [that lay 
Where all was pure, where every stain 
Upon the spirit’s light should pass away, 
And, realizing more than youthful love 
Wer wish’d or dream/’d, she should for- 
ever rove [ AzIm’s side, 
Through fields of fragrance by her 
His own bless’d, purified, eternal bride !— 
"Twas from a scene, a witching trance 
like this, 
He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, 
To the dim charnel-house ;—through all 
its steams 
Of damp and death, led only by those 
gleams [sign 


_ Which foul Corruption lights, as with de- 


To show the gay and proud she too can 
shine— [Dead, 
And, passing on through upright ranks of 
Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by 
dread, {round them cast, 
Seem’d, through the bluish death-light 
To move their lips in mutt’rings as she 
pass’d— [had quaf?'d 
There, in that awful place, when each 
And pledged in silence such a fearful 
draught, 


ROOKH. 393 

Such—oh! the look and taste of that red 
bowl 

Will haunt her till she dies—he bound 
her soul [framed, 


By a dark oath, in hell’s own language 

Never, while earth his mystic presence 
claim’d, [them both, 

While the blue arch of day hung o’er 

Never, by that all-imprecating oath, 

In joy or sorrow from his sideto sever. — 

She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, 
““ Never, never!” 


From that dread hour, entirely, wildly 
giv’D [to heay’n ; 
To him, and—she believed, lost maid !— 
Her brain, her heart, her passions all in- 
flamed, [ram named 
How proud she stood, when in full Ha- 
The Priestess of the Faith !—how flash’d 
her eyes 
With light, alas, that was not of the skies, 
When round, in trances, only less than 
hers, [worshippers. 
She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate 
Well might Moxanna think that form 
alone [own :— 
Had spells enough to make the world his 
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit’s 
play 
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray, 
When from its stem the small bird wings 
away: [smiled, 
Lips in whose rosy labyrinths, when she 
The soul was lost; and blushes, swift 
and wild 
As are the momentary meteors sent 
Across th’ uncalm, but beauteous firma- 
ment. [heart so wise 
And then her look—oh! where’s the 
Could unbewilder’d meet those match- 
less eyes? [withal, 
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite 
Like those of angels, just before their 
fall ; 
Now shadow’d with the shames of earth 
—now cross’d [had lost ; 
By glimpses of the Heay’n her heart 
In ev’ry glance there broke, without 
control, soul, 
The flashes of a bnght, but troubled 
Where sensibility still wildly play’d, 
Like lightning, round the ruins 1t had 
made ! 
And such was now young ZELICA — 
so changed [lighted ranged 
From her who, some years smce, de: 


394 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The almond groves that shade BoK- 
HARA’S tide, [side ! 
All life and bliss, with Azim by her 
So alter’d was she now, this festal day, 
When, ’mid the proud Divan’s dazzling 
array, [loved, 
The vision of that Youth, whom she had 
Had wept as dead, before her breathed 
and moved ;— [ Eden’s track 
When—bright, she thought, as if from 
But half-way trodden, he had wander’d 
back [light— 
Again to earth, glist?ning with Eden’s 
Her beauteous Aztm shone before her 
sight. 


O Reason! who shall say what spells 
renew, [clew ! 
When least we look for it, thy broken 
Through what small vistas o’er the 
darken’d brain 
Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again , 
And how, like forts, to which beleaguer- 
ers win [friend within, 
Unhoped-for entrance through some 
One clear idea, waken’d in the breast 
By mem’ry’s magic, lets in all the rest. 
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with 
thee ! [tially ; 
But though light came, it came but par- 
Hnough to show the maze, 1n which thy 
sense [thence ; 
Wander’d about,—but not to guide it 
τορος ον to glimmer o’er the yawning 
wave, [save. 
But not to pomt the harbor which might 
Hfours of delight and peace, long left 
behind, [her mind ; 
With that dear form came rushing o'er 
But, oh! to think how deep her soul 
had gone [moments shone ; 
In shame and falsehood since those 
And, then, her oath—there madness lay 
again, [cham 
And, shudd’ring, back she sunk into her 
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
From light, whose every glimpse was 
agony ! {years 
Yet, one relief this glance of former 
Brought, mingled w ith its pain, —tears, 
floods of tears, [ills 
Long frozen at her heart, but now lke 
Let loose in spring-time from the snowy 
hills, [ frost, 
And gushing warm, after a sleep of 
Through valleys where their flow had 
long been lost. 


Sad and subdued, for the first time 

her frame [mons came, 

Trembled with horror, when the sum- 

(A summons proud and rare, which all 
but she, [stasy, ) 

And she, till now, had heard with ec- 

To meet MoKANNA at his place of prayer, 

A garden oratory, cool and fair, 

By the stream’s side, where still at 
close of day [pray ; 

The Prophet of the Veil teied to 

Sometimes alone—but, oft’ner far, with 
one, 

One chosen nymph to share his orison. 


Of late none found such favor in his 
sight [since that night 

As the young Priestess; and though, 
When et death%averns echo'd every 
ne Lown, 
Of the die oath that made her all his 
Th’ Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize, 
Had, more than once, thrown off his 
soul’s disguise, [ things, 
And utter ’d such unheay’nly, monstrous 
As ev’n across the desp’rate wanderings 
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was 
out, [and doubt ;— 
Threw startling shadows of dismay 
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, 
The thought, still haunting her, of that 
bright brow, [conceal’d, 
Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye 
Would soon, proud triumph! be to her 
reveal’d, [dear, 

To her alone ;—and then the hope, most 
Most wild of all, that her transgression 
here [grosser fire, 

Was but a passage through earth’s 
From which the spirit would at last 
aspire, [rise 

Ev’n purer than before,—as perfumes 
Through flame and smoke, most wel- 
come to the skies— [brace 

And that when Azim’s fond, divine em- 
Should cirele her in heay’n, no dark’n- 
ing trace [remain, 
Would on that bosom he once loved 
But all be bright, be pure, be his again !— 
These were the wild’ring dreams, whose 
cursed deceit [tempter’s feet, 
Had chained her soul beneath the 
And made her think ev’n damning false- 
hood sweet. {her view, 
λα now that Shape, which had appall’d 
That Semblance—oh how terrible, if 

true ! 


LALLA ROOKH. 


Which came across her phrensy’s full 


career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, 
severe, [dark, 


As when, in northern seas, at midng ht 
An isle of ice encounters some swift 

bark, [their sleep, 
And, startling all its wretches from 
By one cold impulse hurls them to the 

deep ;-— [could bear, 
So came that shock not phrensy’s self 
And waking up each long-lull’d image 

there, [it in despair! 
But check’d her headlong soul, to sink 


Wan and dejected, through the ey’n- 
ing dusk, ’ [kiosk, 

She now went slowly to that small 
Where, pondering alone his impious 
schemes, [dreams 
MOKANNA waited her—too wrapt in 
Of the fair-rip’ning future’s rich success, 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, 
That sat upon his victim’s downeast 
brow, [now 

Or mark how slow her step, how alter’d 

From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose 
light bound {ground,— 

Came like a spirit’s o’er th’ unechoing 
From that wild ZELica, whose every 
glance [ἃ trance ! 

Was thrilling fire, whose ev’ry thought 


Upon his couch the Veil’d Mokanna 


lay, 
While lamps around—not such as lend 
their ray, 
Glimm’ring and cold, to those who 
nightly pray [areades,— 
In holy Koom,* or Mercca’s dim 
But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely 
maids [ glow 
Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious 


* The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan 
are full of mosques, mausoleums, and sepul- 
chres of the descendants of Ali, the Saints of 
Persia.—Chardin. 

t An island in the Persian Gulf, celebrated 
for its white wine. 

1 The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, 
says Sale, from the murmuring of its waters. 

The god Hannaman.—‘‘ Apes are in many 
parts of India highly venerated, out of respect 
to the God Hannaman, a deity partaking of the 
form of that race.”-—Pennant’s Hindoostan. 

See a curious account, in Stephen's Persia, of 
a solemn embassy from some part of the Indies 
to Goa, when the Portuguese were there, offer- 
ing vast treasures for the recovery of a mon- 
key’s tooth, which they held in great veneration, 
and which had been taken away upon tle con- 
quest of the kingdom of Jafanapatan. . 


395 


Upon ne mystic Veil’s white glitt’ring 
ow. 
Beside him, ’stead of beads and books 
of pray’r, 
Which the world fondly thought he 
mused on there, [golden wine, 
Stood Vases, filled with K1rsHMEE’st 
And the red weepings of the SHIRAz 
vine : {a draught 
Of which his curtain’d lips full many 
Took zealously, as if each drop they 
quaff’d, {[pow’r 
Like ZEMzEM’s Spring of Holiness,{ had 
To freshen the soul’s virtues into flow’r! 
And still he drank and ponder’d—nor 
could see [revery ; 
Th’ approaching maid, so deep his 
At length, with fiendish laugh, like 
that which broke 
From Exsuis at the Fall of Man, he 
spoke :— 
“‘Yes, ye vile race, for hell’s amuse- 
ment given, [kin withtheay’n; 
“‘Too mean for earth, yet claiming 
“‘God’s images, forsooth!—such gods 
as he [deity ;§— 
“Whom Inpra serves, the monkey 
“Ye creatures of a breath, proud things 
of clay, [say, 
“To whom if LUCIFER, as grandams 
‘‘Refused, though at the forfeit of hea- 
ven’s light, {right !||— 
“To bend in worship, LUCIFER was 
“Soon shall I plant this foot upon the 
neck or check, 
“Of your foul race, and without fear 
“ Luxuriating in hate, avenge myshame, 
“My deep-felt, long-nursed loathing of 
man’s name! Land fierce 
‘‘Soon at the head of myriads, blind 
‘‘ As hooded falcons, through the uni- 
verse 


|| This resolution of Eblis not to acknowledge 
the new creature, man, was, according to 
Mahometan tradition, thus adopted:—‘* The 
earth (which God had selected for the materi- 
als of his work) was carried into Arabia to a 
place between Mecca and Tayef, where, being 
first kneaded by the angels, it was afterwards 
fashioned by God himself into ahuman form, 
and left to dry for the space of forty days, or, 
as others say, as many years; the angels, in the 

. = ῳ ὃς «Ὁ Η ~ .- 

mean time, often visiting it, and Eblis (then 
one of the angels nearest to God's presence, 
afterwards the devil) among the rest; but he, 
not content with looking at it, kicked it with 
his foot till it rung, and knowing God designed 
that creature to be his superior, took a secret 
resolution never to acknowledge him as such.” 
—Sale on the Koran. 


396 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“ ΤΊ] sweep my dark’ning, desolating 
way, 
“Weak man my instrument, cursed 

man my prey! 


““Ye wise, ye learn’d, who grope 
your dull way on [ gone, 

“ By the dim twinkling gleams of ages 
“Like superstitious thieves, who think 
the light [best at night *— 
‘From dead men’s marrow guides them 
“Ye shall have honors—wealth—yes, 
Sages, yes— [nothingness ; 

‘‘T know, grave fools, your wisdom’s 


“‘Undazzled it can track yon starry | 


sphere, [here. 
“But a gilt stick, a bauble binds it 
‘¢How I shall laugh, when trumpeted 
along, [song, 
‘Tn lying speech, and still more lying 
“ By these learn’d slaves, the meanest 
of the throng; [shrunk so small, 
“Their wits bought up, their wisdom 
“A sceptre’s puny point can wield it 


all! 
“Ye too, believers of incredible 
creeds, _— [sters which it breeds ; 


“ Whose faith enshrines the mon- 
“Who, bolder evn than NEMROD, 
think to rise, [the skies ; 
“ By nonsense heap’d on nonsense, to 
“Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound 
ones too, [but true. 


‘Seen, heard, attested, ev’ry thing— | 


‘“Your preaching zealots, too inspired 
to seek [they speak ; 
“One grace of meaning for the things 
““Your martyrs, ready to shed out their 
blood, [stood ; 


“Tor truths too heay’nly to be under- | 
| Th’ Impostor turn’d to greet her—‘‘thou, 
_“ Hath inspiration in its rosy beam 


“And your State Priests, sole venders 
of the lore, [shore, 
“That works salvation ;—as, on AVA’S 
“Where none but priests are privileged 
to trade [are made ;t 
“In that best marble of which Gods 
“They shall have mysteries—ay, pre- 
cious stuff, [enough ; 


“Por knayes to thrive by—mysteries | 


‘Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud 
can Weave, 


» A kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, 
called the Head of Glory, tle candle for which 
was made of the fat of a dead malefactor. 
This. however, was rather a western than an 
castern superstition. 

| Lhe material of which images of Gaudma 


‘“ Which simple votaries shall on trust — 


receive, 

“While craftier feign belief, till they be- 
lieve. 

‘A Heav’n too ye must have, ye lords 
of dust, — {must ; 

“Α splendid Paradise,—pure souls, ye 


|“ That Prophet ill sustains his holy call, 


‘‘“Who finds not heay’ns to suit the 


tastes of all ; [sages, 
“ Houris for boys, omniscience for 
‘And wings and glories for all ranks 
and ages. [spires, 


“Vain things!—as lust or vanity in- 
“The heav’n of each is but what each 
desires, [be, 
“ς And, soul or sense, whate’er the object 
‘‘Man would be man to all eternity ! 
““So let him — Esuis!— grant this 
crowning curse, [were worse.” 
‘But keep him what he is, no Hell 


“Oh my lost soul!” exclaim’d the 
shudd’ring maid, [said :— 
Whose ears had drunk like poison all he 
MoKAnna _ started — not abash’d, 
afraid,— [dwells 
He knew no more of fear than one who 
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles! 
But, in those dismal words that reach’d 
his ear, [so drear, 
“‘Oh my lost soul !” there was a sound 
So like that voice, among the sinful 
dead, [is read, 
In which the legend o’er Hell’s Gate 
That, new as ’twas from her, whom 
naught could dim 
Or sink till now, it startled even him. 


“Wa, my fair Priestess !’—thus, with 
ready wile, [whose smile 


“ Beyond th’ Enthusiast’s hope or Pro- 
phet’s dream ; [ion’s zeal 
“ Light of the Faith ! who twin’st relig- 
“So close with love’s, men know not 
which they feel, [of heart, 
“ Nor which to sigh for, in their trance 
“he heay’n thou preachest or the 
heay’n thou art! [out thee 
“What should I be without thee ? with- 


(the Birman Deity) are made, is held sacred. 
“Birmans may not purchase the marble in 
mass, but are suffered, and indeed encouraged, 
to buy figures of the Deity ready made,”— 
Syme’'s Ava, vol. 11. p. 376. 


ΠΡΌ Ἢ 


LALLA 


ROOKH. 397 


“How dull were power, how joyless 
victory ! [of thine 


τῇ Though borne by angels, if that smile | 


“Bless 
divine. [eyes, that shone 
“But—why so mournful, child? those 
“All life last night—what!—is_ their 
glory gone? [made them pale, 
“Come, come —this morn’s fatigue hath 
“They want rekindling — suns them- 
selves would fai! [thee, 
“Did not their comets bring, as I to 
“From light’s own fount supplies of 
brilliancy. [earth is here, 
“Thou seest this cup —no juice of 
“But the pure waters of that upper 
sphere, [flow, 
“ Whose rills o’er ruby beds and topaz 
“Catching the gem’s bright color, as 
they go. [urns— 
“ Nightly my Genii come and fill these 
“Nay, drink—in ev’ry drop life’s es- 
sence burns ; [eyes all light— 
‘OTwill make that soul all fire, those 
“Come, 
smiles to-night : 
“‘There is a youth—why start ?—thou 
saw’st him then ; [men 


“‘Look’d heno nobly? such the godlike | 
“Thow lt have to woo thee in the bow’rs | 


above ;— [stern for love, 
«Though he, I fear hath thoughts too 
“Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss 
“The world calls yirtue—we must con- 
quer this ; _ [for thee 
“‘ Nay, shrink not, pretty sage, ’tis not 
““To sean the mazes of Heav’n’s mys- 
tery 


wield. 
«‘This very night I mean to try the art 
“Of powerful beauty on that warrior’s 
heart. [and wit, 
“All that my Haram boasts of bloom 
“ Of skill and charms, most rare and ex- 
quisite, [zALA’s blue eyes, 


“Shall tempt the boy;—young Mrr- | 
*« Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets | 
[day sun, | 


lies ; 
““ AROUYA’S cheeks, warm as a spring- 
** And lips that, like the seal of Sono- 
MON, [lute, 
“Have magic in their pressure ; ZEBA’S 


* «Tt is commonly said in Persia, that if a 
man breathe in the hot south wind, whieh in 


ἃ not my banner, ’twere but half, 


come, I want thy loveliest | « 


[it can yield | 
‘The steel must pass through fire, ere | 
“Vit instruments for mighty hands to | 


** And Linua’s dancing feet, that gleam 
and shoot [deep -- 
“Rapid and white as sea-birds o’er the 
** All shall combine their witching pow- 
ers to steep [trance, 
‘*My convert’s spirit in that soft’ning 
“From which to heay’n is but the next 
advance ; [breast, 
“That glowing, yielding fusion of the 
‘On which Religion stamps her image 
best. [each ny mph of these 
* But hear me, Priestess! 
‘** Hath some peculiar, practised pow'r 
to please, [ror tried, 
“Some glance or step which, at the mir- 
“ First charms herself, then all the world 
beside ; [vict’ry sure, 
“There still’ wants one, to make the 
“One who in every look joins every lure; 
“Through whom all beauty’s beams 
concentred pass, [burning glass ; 
“Dazzling and warm, as through loye’s 
‘* Whose gentle lips persuade without a 
word, [are adored, 
Whose words, ev’n when unmeaning, 
‘Like inarticulate breathings from a 
shrine, 
“Which our faith takes for granted 
are divine ! 
“Such is the nymph we want, all 
warmth and light, [to-night ; 
“To crown the rich temptations of 
“Such the refined enchantress that 
must be [art she !” 
“This hero’s yvanquisher,—and thou 


With her hands clasp’d, her lips apart 
and pale, [Veil 
The maid had stood, gazing upon the 
Irom which these words, like south 
winds through a fence [tilence ;* 
Of Kerzrah flow’rs, came fill’d with pes- 
So boldly utter’d too! as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, 
were fled, [plunged in, 
And the wretch felt assured that, once 
Her woman’s soul would know no pause 
in sin! 


! 


At first, though mute she listen’d, 

like a dream [whose beam 
Seem’d all he said: nor could her mind, 
As yet was weak, penetrate half his 
] scheme. [art she !” 
| But when, at length, he utter’d, “Thou 


| June or July passes over that flower, (the 
Kerzereh,) it will kill him." —Thevenot. 


998 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


All flash’d at once, and shrieking pite- 
ously, God! to whom 
“Oh, not for worlds !’’ she cried—‘‘Great 
“‘T once knelt innocent, is this my 
doom ? [heay’nly bliss, 


“Are all my dreams, my hopes of | 


“My purity, my pride, then come to 
this, — 
‘To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
“The pander of his guilt—oh infamy ! 
“¢ And sunk, myself, as low as hell can 
steep : [deep ! 
“Tn its hot flood, drag others down as 
“‘Others—ha! yes—that youth who 
came to-day— [say, 
“ΝΟΥ him I loved—not him—oh! do but 
“But swear to me this moment ’tis not 
he, [ship even thee !” 
“« And I will serve, dark fiend, will wor- 


“Beware, young raving thing ;—in 
time beware, [bear, 
“Nor utter what I cannot, must not 
“Εν ἢ from thy lips. Go—try thy lute, 
thy voice, [rejoice 
“The boy must feel their magic ;—I 
“To see those fires, no matter whence 
they rise, Leyes; 
“Once more illuming my fair Priestess’ 
“And should the youth, whom soon 
those eyes shall warm, 
“« Indeed resemble thy dead lover’s form, 
“50. much the happier wilt thou find 
thy doom, [bloom, 
“As one warm lover, full of life and 
“ Tixcels ten thousand cold ones in the 
tomb. [eyes were made 
“Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet !—those 
“Tor love, not anger—I must be 
obey’d.”’ 


“Obey’d!—’tis well—yes, I deserve 
it all— 
‘On me, on me Heay’n’s vengeance 


“Too heavily—but Azim, brave and | 


true 


“ And beautiful—must he be ruin’d too? | 


“Must he too, glorious as he is, be 
driven [Heaven ? 
“A renegade like me from Love and 
“Like me?—weak wretch, I wrong him 
—not like me ; [purity ! 
‘““No—he’s all truth and strength and 


*The hummine-bird is said torun this risk 
for the purpose of picking the crocodile’s teeth. 
The same circumstance is related of the lap- 


[cannot fall | 


“ ΕἾ] up your madd’ning hell-cup to 
the brim, [for him. 
“ΤᾺ witch’ry, fiends, will have no charm 
‘Let loose your glowing wantons from 
their bow’rs, [powers! 
“He loves, he loves, and can defy their 
““Wretch as I am, in his heart still IE 
reign [stain ! 
“Pure as when first we met, without a 
“ Though ruin’d—lost—my mem’ry, like 
a charm [from harm. 
“« Left by the dead, still keeps his soul 
“‘Oh! never let him know how deep the 
brow [now ;— 


“He kiss’d at parting, is dishonord 


“ Ne’er tell him how debased, how sunk 
is she, [loves dotingly. 
‘““Whom once he loyed—once !—still 
“Thou laugh’st, tormentor—what !— 
thow’lt brand my name ? [shame— 
“Do, do—in vain—he’li not believe my 


| ‘He thinks me true, that naught be- 


neath God’s sky 
“Could tempt or change me, and—so 
once thought I. [death my lot, 
“But this is past—though worse than 
«Than hell—’tis nothing while he knows 
it not. 
‘* Far off to some benighted land ΤΊ] fly, 
‘“Where sunbeam ne’er shall enter till I 
die ; [whence she came, 
‘““Where none will ask the lost one 
“But I may fade and fall without a 
name. [whate’er thou art, 
“And thou—cursed man or fiend, 
““Who found’st this burning plague-spot 
in ny heart, 
“And spread’st it—oh, so quick!— 
through soul and frame, [came 
‘‘ With more than demon’s art, till I be- 
“Α loathsome thing, all pestilence, all 
flame !— 
“Tf, when I’m gone——” 


“ Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
“Nor tempt my rage—by Heaven, not 
half so bold [hum 
“The puny bird, that dares with teasing 
“Within the crocodile’s stretch’d jaws 
to come ;* 
“ And so thow lt fly, forsooth ?— what !— 
give up all 
Wing, as a fact to which he was witness, by 
Paul Lucas, Voyage fait en 1714. 

The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, 
or humming-bird, entering with impunity into 
the mouth of the crocodile, is firmly believed at 
Jaya.—Darrow’s Cochin-China. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


<‘Thy Sordi dominion in the ee 
Hall, given, 


<“ Where now to Love and now to ALLA | 


“Half mistress and half saint, thou 
hang’st as even 

“As doth Mepina’s tomb, ’twixt hell 
and heaven! [run, 

<Thowlt fly?—as easily may reptiles 

“The gaunt snake once hath fix’d his 
eyes upon ; [be 

“ Aseasily, when caught, the prey may 

“Pluck’d fiom his loving folds, as thou 
from me. 

“No, no, ’tis fix’d—let good or ill betide, 

“Thow’rt mine till death, till death Mo- 
KANNA’S bride! 

“Hast thou forgot thy oath?”— 


At this dread word, 
The Maid, whose spirit his rude taunts 
had stirr’d [anger there, 


Through all its depths, and roused an_ 


That burst and lighten’d even through 
her despair— [breath 

Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the 

That spoke that word, and stagger’d pale 
as death. 


“Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek 
in bow’rs [was ours! 


eee meet biece she charnelvantt Upon the hand, whose mischief or 


“‘Instead of scents and balms, for thee 
and me [ity ; 
“‘Rose the rich steams of sweet mortal- 
«« Gay, flick’ring death-lights shone while 
we were wed, [Dead, 
“And for our guests a row of goodly 
‘‘(Immortal spirits in their time, no 
doubt, ) [look’d out! 
“‘From reeking shrouds upon the rite 
«That oath thou heard’st more lips than 
thine repeat— [was it sweet? 
“That cup—thou shudd’rest, Lady, 
“‘That cup we pledged, the charnel’s 
choicest wine, [all mine; 
“ Hath bound thee—ay—body and soul 
“‘Bound thee by chains that, whether 
bless’d or cursed [burst! 
“No matter now, not hell itself shall 


* Cireum easdem ripas (Nili, viz.) ales est 
This. Ea serpentium populatur ova, gratissi- 
mamque ex his escam nidis suis refert.—Solinus. 

i“ The feast of Lanterns is celebrated at 
Yamtcheou with more magnificence than any 
where else; and the report goes, that the illu- 
minations there are so splendid, that an _Em- 
peror onee, not daring openly to leave his Court 
to go thither, committed himself with the 


399 


‘‘Hence, woman, to the Haram, and 
look gay, Lyet stay— 
‘Look wild, look—any thing but sad; 
Ὁ πὸ. moment more—from what this 
night hath pass’d, [αὐ last. 
“Τ see thou know’st me, know’st me well 
“‘Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou 
thought’st all true, [do— 
“And that I love mankind?—I do, I 
“ As victims, love them; as the sea-dog 
dotes [him floats ; 
‘‘Upon the small, sweet fry that round 
“Or, as the Nile-bird loves the slime 
that gives [which she lives !—* 
“That rank and venomous food on 


“ And, now thou see’st my soul’s an- 
gelic hue, [tam’d too ;— 

‘ONis time these features were uncur- 
“This brow, whose light—oh rare celes- 
tial light! [νον ἃ sight ; 
‘‘Hath been reserved to bless thy fa- 
“These dazzling eyes, before whose 
shrouded might [and quake— 
““Thou’st seen immortal Man kneel down 
‘‘Would that they were heaven’s light- 
nings for his sake ! {thou wilt, 


But turn and look—then wonder, if 
“That I should hate, should take re- 


venge, by guilt, [whose mirth 

‘‘Sent me thus maim’d and monstrous 
upon earth; [vile they be 

“ And on that race who, though more 

“Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to 
me! Φ {to damn, 

‘“« Here—judge if hell, with all its power 

“Can add one curse to the foul thing I 
am !”— 


He raised his veil—the Maid turn’d 
slowly round, [upon the ground! 
Look’d at him —shriek’d—and sunk 


On their arrival, next night, at the 
place of encampment, they were sur- 
prised and delighted to find the groves 
all around illuminated; some artists of 
Yamtcheout having been sent on preyi- 


transport them thither in a trice. He made 
them inthe night to ascend magnificent thrones 
that were borne up by swans, which in a mo- 
ment arrived at Yamtcneou. The Emperor 


| saw at his leisure all the solemnity, being car- 


Queen and several Princesses of his family into | 


the hands of a magician, who promised to 


ried upon a cloud that hovered over the city 
and descended by degrees; and came back 
again with the same speed and equpage, no- 
body at court perceiving his absence.”"—The 
Present State of China, p. 156, 


400 


ously for the purpose. On each side of 


the green alley which led to the Royal | 


Payilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo- 
work* were erected, representing arches, 
minarets, and towers, from which hung 
thousands of silken lanterns, painted by 
the most delicate pencils of Canton.— 
Nothing could be more beautiful than 
the leaves of the mango-trees and aca- 
cias, shining in the light of the bamboo- 
scenery, which shed a lustre round as 
soft as that of the nights of Peristan. 
LALLA ΠΟΟΚΗ, however, who was 
too much occupied by the sad story of 
ZELICA and her lover, to give a thought 
to any thing else, except, perhaps, him 
who related it, hurried on through this 
scene of splendor to her pavilion, --- 


artists of Yamtcheou,—and was follow- 
ed with equal rapidity by the Great 


Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that | 


ancient Mandarin, whose parental anx- 
iety in lighting up the shores of the lake, 
where his beloved daughter had wan- 


dered and been lost, was the origin of | 


these fantastic Chinese illuminations.t 
Without a moment’s delay, young 
FERAMORZ was introduced, and FADLA- 
DEEN, Who could never make up his 
mind as to the merits of a poet till he 
knew the religious sect to which he be- 


he was a Shia or a Sooni, when LALLA 
Rooku impatiently clapped her hands 
for silence, and the youth, being seated 
upon the musnud near her, proceeded:— 


PREPARE thy soul, young Azim !— | 


thou hast braved 

The bands of Greecr, still mighty 
though enslaved ; 

Hast faced her phalanx, arm’d with all 
its fame, 

Her Macedonian pikes and globes of 
flame ; 


* See a description of the nuptials of Vizier 
Alee in the Asiatic Annual Reyister of 1804. 

1‘ The vulgar ascribe it toan accident that 
happened in the family of a famous Mandarin, 
whose daughter, walking oneevening upon the 
shore of a lake, fellin and was drowned: this 


afflicted father, with his family, ran thither, | 
and, the better to find her, he caused a great | 
| let 


company of lanterns to be lighted. ΑἸ] the in- 
habitants of the place thronged ufter him with 
torches. The year ensuing they made fires 


| 


‘lantern, and by degrees it commenced into a 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


All this hast fronted, with firm heart 
and brow ; [now, — 

But a more perilous trial waits thee 

Woman’s bright eyes, a dazzling host of 
eyes [or sighs ; 

From every land where woman smiles 

Of every hue, as Love may chance to 
raise 

His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 

And each sweet mode of warfare, from 
the flash 

That lightens boldly through the shad- 
owy lash, 

To ie sly, stealing splendors, almost 
nid, 

Like swords half-sheath’d, beneath the 
downeast lid ;— 


| Such, ΑΖΙΜ, is the lovely, luminous host 
greatly to the mortification of the poor | 


Now led against thee; and, let con- 

qwrors boast [arms 
Their ficlds of fame, he who in virtue 
A young, warm spirit against beauty’s 

charms, [ thrall, 
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her 
Is the best, bravest conqw’ror of them all. 


Now, through the Haram chambers, 

moving lights [rites ;— 

And busy shapes proclaim the toilet’s 

From room to room the ready hand- 
maids hie, 


longed, was about to ask him whether | Some skill’d to wreathe the turban taste- 


fully, 


Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, 
| O’er the warm blushes of the youthful 


maid, 
Who, if between the folds but one eye 
shone, 
Like SEBA’s Queen could vanquish with 
that one:—t [imbue 
While some bring leaves of Henna, to 
The fingers’ ends with a bright roseate 
hue,§ [seem 
Sobright, that in the mirror’s depth they 
Like tips of coral brauches in the stream: 
And others mix the Kohol’s jetty dye, 


upon the shores the same day ; they continued 
ile ceremony every year, every one lighted bis 
custom.” —Present State of China. 

t ‘Thou hast ravished my heart with one of 
thine eyes.”’—Sol. Song. 

§ “ They tinged the ends of her fingers sear- 
with Henna, so that they resembled 


branches of eoral.’’—Story of Prince Futtun in 
Bahardanush. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


To give that long, dark languish to the 
eye, * [are proud to cull 
Which makes the maids, whom kings 
From fair Circassia’s vales, so beautiful. 
All is in motion; rings, and plumes, and 
pearls [girls 

Are shining ev’ry where :—some younger 
Are gone by moonlight to the garden- 
beds, [heads; — 

To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their 
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful, 
’tis to see [tree 

- How each prefers a garland from that 
Which brings to mind her childhood’s 
innocent day [ away. 

And the dear fields and friendships far 
The maid of [yprA, bless’d again to hold 
In her full lap the Champac’s leaves of 
gold,t [flood, 
Thinks of the time when, by the GANGES’ 
Her little playmates scatter’d many a 
bud [gleam 

Upon her long black hair, with glossy 
Just dripping from the consecrated 


stream; 
While the young Arab, haunted by the 
smell spell, — 


Of her own mountain flow’rs, as by a 

The sweet Elecaya,t and that courteous 
tree 

Which bows to all who seek its canopy, ὃ 

Sees, call’d up round her by these magic 
scents, [tents ; 

The well, the camels, and her father’s 

Sighs for the home she left with little 
pain, 

And wishes ev’n its sorrows back again! | 


Meanwhile, through vast illuminated 
halls, [falls 
Silent and bright, where nothing but the 
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool 
sound 


* The women blacken the inside of their 
eyelids with a powder named the black Kohol.” 
—Russel. 

“None of these ladies,” says Shaw, “take 
themselves to be completely dressed. tll they 
have tinged the hair and edges of their eyelids 
with the powder of lead-ore. Now, as this 
operation is performed by dipping first into the 
powder a small wooden bodkin of the thickness 
of a quill, and then drawing it afterwards 
through the eyelids oyer the ball of the eye, 
we shall have a lively image of what the Pro: | 
phet (Jer. iv. 30) may be supposed to mean by | 
rending the eyes with painting. This practice 


is no doubt of great antiquity; for besides the 
Instance already taken notice of, we find that | 
where Jezebel is said (2 Kings, ix. 30) to have | 
painted her face, the original words are, she 


401 


From many a jasper fount, is heard 
around, 
Young Azim roams _ bewilder’d,—nor 
can guess (loneliness. 
What means this maze of light and 
Here, the way leads, o’er tessellated 
floors { dors, 
Or mats of Carro, through long corri- 
Where, ranged in cassolets and silver 
urns, 
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
The bow’rs of ΤΊΒΕΤ, send forth odor- 
ous light, [the road 
Like Peris’ wands, when pointing out 
For some pure Spirit to its blest 
abode :— 
And here, at once, the glittering saloon 
Bursts on his sight, boundless and 
bright as noon ; [rays 
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the 
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain 
plays [tow’rs 
High as th’ enamell’d cupola, which 
Allrich with Arabesques of gold and 
flow’rs, [through 
And the mosaic floor beneath shines 
The sprinkling of that fountain’s silv’ry 
dew, {dye, 
Like the wet, glist‘ning shells, of ev’ry 
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. 


Here too he traces the kind visitings 
Of woman’s love in those fair, living 
things [age thrown 
Of land and wave, whose fate—in bond- 
For their weak loveliness—is like her 
own ! [ grace 
On one side gleaming with a sudden 
Through water, brilhant as the crystal 
vase 
In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine !— 


adjusted her eyes with the powder of lead-ore.” 
—Shaw’'s Travels. 

t**The appearance of the blossoms of the 
gold-colored Champae on the black hair of the 
Indian women has supplied the Sanserit Poets 
with many elegant allusions.”"—See A siatie [e- 
searches, Vol. iv. 

+ A tree famous for its perfume, and com- 
mon on the hills of Yemen.— Niebuhr. 

§Of the genus mimosa, ‘t which droops its 
branches whenever any person approaches it, 
seeming as if it saluted those who retired under 
its shade. ’—Tbid. 

|| *;Cloves are a principal ingredient in the 
composition of the perfumed rods, which men 
of rank keep constantly burning in their pres- 
ence.” — Turner's Tibet 


402 MOORLE’S 


WORKS. 


While, on the other, latticed lightly in 
With odoriferous woods of Comorin,* 
Hach brilliant bird that wings the air is 
seen ;-— [between 
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam 
The crimson blossoms of the coral treet 
In the warm isles of India’s sunny sea: 
Mecca’s blue sacred pigeon,} and the 
thrush {gush, 
Of Hindostan,§ whose holy warblings 
At evening, from the tall pagoda’s top ;— 
Those golden birds that, im the spice- 
time, drop {sweet food || 
About the gardens, drunk with that 
Whose scent hath lured them o’er the 
summer flood ;4 
And those that under Araby’s soft sun 
Build their high nests of budding cinna- 
mon ;** [that fly 
Tn short, all rare and beauteous things. 
Through the pure element, here calmly 
lie [that dwell 
Sleeping in light, like the green birdstt 
In Eden’s radiant fields of asphodel ! 


So on, through scenes past all imagin- 
ing, [ King, t} 
More like the luxuries of that impious 
Whom Death’s dark Angel, with his 
lightning torch, [sure’s porch, 
Struck down and blasted evn in Plea- 
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet 
sent, [enfranchisement— 
Arm’d with Heaven’s sword, for man’s 
Young Azim wander’d, looking sternly 
round, [ing sound 
His simple garb and war-boots’ clank- 
But ill according with the pomp and 
grace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place. 


“ΤΆ this, then,” thought the youth, 
“is this the way [sway 
“To free man’s spirit from the dead’ning 


κοι ρον dot vient le bois d’aloés, que les 
Arabes appellent Oud Comari. et celui du san- 
dal, qui_s’y trouve en grande quantité.”’— 
D Herbelot. 


1“ Thousands of variegated loories visit the | 


eoral-trees. ’—Barrow. 

{‘‘In Mecea there are quantities of blue 
pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, 
much less kill.” —Pitt’s Account of the Mahom- 
etans. 

§‘*The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among 
the first choristers of India. It sits perched 


on the sacred pagodas, and from thence de- 
livers its melodious song.”—Pennant’s Hindo- 
stan. 


| Tavernier adds, that while the Birds of 
Paradise lie in this intoxicated state, the em- 


| 


| buildeth its 


“ΟΥ̓ worldly sloth,—to teach him while 
he lives, [tue gives, 
“ΠῸ know no bliss but that which vir- 
“ And when he dies, to leave his lofty 
name [fame ? 
“Α light, a landmark on the cliffs of 
“‘It was not so, Land of the generous 
thought [taught ; 
‘©And daring deed, thy godlike sages 
“Tt was not thus, in bowers of wanton 
ease, [gies ; 
“Thy Freedom nursed her sacred ener- 
“Oh ! not beneath th’ enfeebling, with- 
*ring glow [grow, 
“Of such dull lux’ry did those myrtles 
‘With which she wreath’d her sword, 
when she would dare 
“Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air 
“ Of toil,— of temperance,—of that high, 
rare, {breathe 
‘Ethereal virtue, which alone can 
‘« Life, health, and lustre into Freedom’s 
wreath. {we press, — 
“Who, that surveys this span of earth 
“This speck of life in time’s great wil- 
derness, [less seas, 
“This narrow isthnmus ’twixt two bound- 
‘“The past, the future, two eternities !— 
‘““Would sully the bright spot, or leave 
it bare, [ple there, 
ΚΕ When he might build him a proud tem- 
“A name that long shall hallow all its 
space, [ place. 
“ And be each purer soul’s high resting- 
“But no—it cannot be, that one, whom 
God [hood’s rod, — 
“Has sent to break the wizard False- 
“ A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission 
draws {profane its cause 
“Tts rights from Heaven, should thus 
“With the world’s vulgar pomps ;—no, 
no,—I see— fury 
“He thinks me weak—this glare of lux- 
mets ecme and eat oft their legs; and that 


hence it is they are said to have no feet. 
4“ Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutineg 


season, come iv flights from the southern isles 


to India; and ‘‘the strength of the nutmeg,” 
says Tavernier, ‘so intoxicates them, that 


| they fall dead drunk to the earth.” 


liveth in Arabia, and 
cinnamon.’ —Brown’s 


* “That bird which 
nest with 
Vulgar Errors. 

“The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged 
in the crops of green birds.”—Gibbon, vol. 1x., 
p. 421. a 

{! Shedad, who made the delicious gardens 
of Ivim, in imitation of Paradise, and was de- 
stroyed by lightning the first time he attempted 
to enter them. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


“Ts but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze 
“Of my young soul—shine on, ‘twill 
stand the blaze !” 


So thought the youth;—but, ev’n 
while he defied [glide 
This witching scene, he felt its witch’ry 
Through ey’ry sense. The perfume 
breathing round, 
Like a pervading spirit ;—the still sound 
Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they 
throng 
Around the fragrant Nitica, and deep 
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to 
sleep ;* [touch 
And music, too—dear music! that can 
Beyond all else the soul that loves it 
much — 
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 
Like the faint, exquisite music of a 
dream ; [bliss, 
All was too much for him, too full of 
The heart could nothing feel, that felt 
not this; 
Soften’d he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave 
on wave [are laid ; 
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms 
He thought of ZEnica, his own dear 
maid, [ sighs, 
And of the time when, full of blissful 
They sat and look’d into each other’s 
eyes, 
Silent and happy—as if God had giv’n 
Naught else worth looking at on this 
side heay’n. : 


“Oh, my loved mistress, thou, whose 
spirit still [1 will— 
“Ts with me, round me, wander where 
“Tt is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
“The paths of glory; to light up thy 
cheek [look, 
“With warm approval—in that gentle 
“To read my praise, as in an angel’s 
book, [from thee 
“And think all toils rewarded, when 
“T gain a smile worth immortality! 
‘How shall I bear the moment, when 
restored [am Lord, 
“To that young heart where I alone 
“ Though of such bliss unworthy ,—since 
the best 
*« Alone deserve to be the happiest : — 

* “My Pandits assure me that the plant be- 
fore us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus 
named because the bees are supposed tos 
on its blossoms.”’—Sir W. Jones. 


403 


“ When from those lips, unbreath’d upon 
for years, 

“1 shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, 

“And find those tears warm as when 
last they started, {parted? 

“Those sacred kisses pure as when we 

“Ὁ my own life !—why should a single 
day, [away ?” 

“ A moment keep me from those arms 


While thus he thinks, still nearer on 

the breeze [nies, 

Come those delicious, dream-like hurmo- 

Hach note of which but adds new,downy 
links 

To the soft chainin which hisspirit sinks. 

He turns him tow’rd the sound, and far 

away {play 

Through a long vista, sparkling with the 

Of countless lamps,—like the rich track 


which Day 
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks 
fro [lous ; — 


m us, 
So long the path, its light so tremu- 
He sees a group of female forms ad- 
vance, [dance 
Some chain’d together in the mazy 
By fetters, forged in the green sunny 
bow’rs, [Flow’rs ; t 
As they were captives to the King of 
And some disporting round, unlink’d 
and free, [very; 
Who seem’d to mock their sister’s sla- 
And round and round them still, in 
wheeling flight [night; 
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at 
While others waked, as gracefully along 
Their feet kept time, the very soul of 
song (thrill, 
From psalt’ry, pipe, and lutes of heay’nly 
Or their own youthful voices, heay’nlier 
still. [his eye, 
And now they come, now pass before 
Forms such as Nature moulds, whenshe 
would vie [things 
With Fancy’s pencil, and give birth to 
Loyely beyond its fairest picturings. 
Awhile they dance before him, then di- 
* vide, 
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide 
Around the rich pavilion of the sun, — 
Till silently dispersing, one by one, 
Through many a path, that from the 
chamber leads 


t “ They deferred it till the King of Flowers 


leep | should ascend his throne of enamelled foliage.” 


—The Bahardanush. 


404 


MOORP’S WORKS. 


‘Yo gardens, terraces, and, moonlight | 
meads, ~ 


‘Their distant laughter comes upon the | 


wind, [behind, — 


And but one trembling nymph remains | 


eck’ning them back in vain, for they 
are gone, 

And she is leit in all that light alone ; 

No veil to curtain o’er her beauteous 
brow, [now ; 

In its young bashfulness more beauteous 

But a light golden chain-work round her 
hair, ° [RAS Wear, 


From which, on either side, gracefully 
hung 
A golden amulet, in th’ Arab tongue, 
Engraven o’er with some immortal line 
From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less di- 
vine; [stood, 
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she 
Helda small lute of gold and sandal- 
wood, [with hurried strain, 
Which, once or twice, she touch’d 


Then took her trembling fingers off | 


stole | : : 
Ls | «Those vestal eyes would disavow its 


again. 
But when at length a timid glance she 
At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul 


She saw through all his features calm’d | 


her fear, [near, 
And, like a half-tamed antelope, more 
Though shrinking still, she came ;—then 
sat her down 
Upon a musnud’st edge, and, bolder 
In the pathetic mode of IsrFAHANS 
Tonceh’d a preluding strain and thus be- 
gan :— 


There’s a bower of roses by BENDE- 
MEER’S|| stream, 
And the nightingale sings round it 
all the day long 
In the time of my childhood ’twas like 
a sweet dream, [song. 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s 


That bower and its music I never for- 
get, {the year, 


But off when alone, in the bloom of | 


“One of the head-dresses of the Persian 
women is composed of a light golden chain- 
work, set with small pearls, with athin gold 


[zrown, 


plate pendent, about the bigness of a crown- 
piece, on which is impressed an Arabian , 
prayer, and which hangs upon the cheek below 
the ear.”.—Hanway s Vrayels. 

ie ‘Certainly the women of Yezd are the 
handsome st women in Persia. The prove rb is, 


that to live happy a man must have a wife of | 


ay, 
|‘ And leads 


I think—is the nightingale singing there 
yet? [BENDEMEER ? 
Are the roses still bright by the calm 


No, the roses soon wither’d that hung 
o’er the wave, 
But some blossoms were gather’d, 
while freshly they shone; 
And a dew was distill’d from their flow- 
ers, that gave 
All the fragrance of summer, when 
summer was gone. 


i | Thus memory draws from delight, ere it 
Such as the maids of YrEzpt and Sur- | 


dies, [ayers 

An essence that breathes of it many 
Thus bright to my soul, as ’twas then 
to my eyes, [calm BENDEMEER ! 

Is that bower on the banks of the 


“Poor maiden!” thought the youth, 

‘af thou wert sent, [ishment, 

“ With thy soft lute and beauty’s bland- 
‘To wake unholy wishes in this heart, 

‘Or tempt its troth, thou little know’st 

the art. [counsel wrong, 

“For though thy- lip should sweetly 


song. [thy lay 
‘*But thou hast breathed such purity, 
‘* Returns so fondly to youth’s virtuous 
[derd thence— 
hy soul—if e’er it wan- 
“850 gently back to its first innocence, 
‘‘That I would sooner stop the un- 
chain’d dove, [of love, 
‘“When swift returning to its home 
‘And round its snowy wing new fetters 
twine, [οὐ thine !” 
‘“Than turn from virtue one pure wish 


Searce had this feeling pass’d, when 
sparkling through 

‘Lhe gently open’d curtains of light blue 

That veil’d the breezy casement, count- 

less eyes, [ev’ning skies, 

Peeping like stars through the blue 


_Look’d laughing in, as if to mock the 


[there :— 
melancholy 


air 


That sat so still and 


| Yezd, eat the bread of Yezdeeas, and drixk the 


wine of Shiraz.” —Tavernier. 

* Musnuds are cushioned seats, 
served for persons of distinction. 

§ The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call 
their musical modes or Perdas by the names of 
different countries or cities, as the mode of 
Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &e. 

|| A. river which flows near the ruins of 
Chilminar 


usually re- 


a 


LALLA 


And now the curtains fly apart, and in 
From the cool air, ’mid show’'rs of jes- 
samine [in play, 
Which those without fling after them 
Two lightsome maidens spring, —light- 
some as they [around 
Who live in th’ air on odors,—and 
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of 
the ground, 
Chase one another, in a varying dance 
Of mirth and languor, coyness and ad- 
vance, [suit :— 


Too eloquently like love’s warm pur- 


While she, who sung so gently to the 
lute 
Her dream of home, steals timidly away, 
Shrinking as violets do in summer’s 
ray,— [that sigh, 
But takes with her from Azrm’s heart 
We sometimes give to forms that pass 
us by [main, 
In the world’s crowd, too lovely to re- 
Creatures of light we never see again ! 


Around the white necks of the 
nymphs who danced [glanced 
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that 
More brilliant than the sea-glass glit- 
tring o’er [shore ;* 
The hills of crystal on the Caspian 
While from their long, dark tresses, in 
a fall 
Of curls descending, bells as musical 
As those that, on the golden-shafted 
trees 
Of EpEN, shake in the eternal breeze, t 
Rung round their steps, at ev’ry bound 
more sweet, [feet. 
As ’twere th’ ecstatic language of their 
At length the chase was o’er, and they 
stood wreath’d [there breathed 
Within each other’s arms; while soft 
Through the cool casement, mingled 
with the sighs [to rise 
Of moonlight flow’rs, music that seem’d 
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose ; 
And, as it swell’d again at each faint 
close, {maze of chords | 
The ear could track through all that | 
And young sweet voices, these impas- | 
sion’d words: | 
*“To the north of us (on the coast of the | 
Caspian, near Badku) was a mountain, which | 
sparkled like diamonds, arising from the sea- 
glass and erystals with which it abounds.”’— 
al of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, | 
τὸ, 
+ “To which will be added the sound of the | 
bells, hanging on the trees, which will be put 


ROOKH. 405 


A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
Is burning now through earth and air ; 
Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is 
nigh, {there ! 
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is 


His breath is the soul of flow’rs like 
these, [resemble} 
And his floating eyes—oh! they 
Blue water-lilies,§ when the breeze 
Is making the stream around them 
tremble. 


| Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling 
| pow’r! 
| Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 
And there never was moonlight so 
sweet as this. 
By the fair and brave 
Who blushing unite, 
Like the sun and waye, 
When they meet at night; 


By the tear that shows 
When passion is nigh, 

As the rain-drop flows 
From the heat of the sky; 


By the first love-beat 
Of the youthful heart, 

By the bliss to meet, 
And the pain to part; 


By all that thou hast 
To mortals given, 
Which—oh, could it last, 
This earth were heayen! 


We call thee hither, entrancin® Power! 
Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 
And there never was moonlight so 
sweet as this. 


Impatient of a scene, whose lux’ries 
stole, 

Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, 

And where, midst all that the young 

heart loyes most, [be lost, 

Flow’rs, music, smiles, to yield was to 

The youth had started up, and turn’d 

away {urious lay, 

From the light nymphs, and their ]ux- 


in motion by the wind proceeding from the 
throne of God, as often as the blessed wish for 
music.” —Sale. 

+ “Whose wanton eyes resemble blue water- 
lilies, agitated by the breeze.” —Jayadeva. 

§ The blue lotus, which grows in Cashweré 
and in Persia, ' 


406 


To muse upon the pictures that hung 
round, *— [sound, 
Bright images, that spoke without a 
And views, like vistas into fairy ground. 
But here again new spells came o’er his 
sense ;— 
All that the pencil’s mute omnipotence 
Could call up into life, of soft and fair, 
Of fond and passionate, was glowing 
there; [that fine art 
Nor yet too warm, but touch’d with 
Which paints of pleasure but the purer 
part ; {veil’d is best,— 
Which knows ev’n Beauty when half- 
Like her own radiant planet of the west, 
Whose orb when half retired looks love- 
liest. ¢ 
There hung the history of the Genii- 
King, 
Traced through each gay, voluptuous 
wandering [bright eyes 
With her from SABA’s bowers, in whose 
He read that to be blest is to be 


wise ;—t 
Here fond ZULEIKA$ woos with open 
arms 


The Hebrew boy, who flies from her 
young charms, 

Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half un- 
done, [be won ; 

Wishes that Heay’n and she could both 

And here MOHAMMED, born for love and 


guile, 

Forgets the Koran in his Mary’s 
smile :— 

Then beckons some kind angel from 
abbve [love. || 


With a new text to consecrate their 


*TIt has been generally supposed that the 
Mahometans prohibit all pictures of animals; 
but Toderint shows that, though the practice 
is forbidden hy the Koran, they are not more 
averse to painted figures and images than 
other people. From Mr. Murphy’s work, too, 
we find that the Arabs of Spain had no objec- 
tion to the introduction of figures into painting. 

+ This is not qnite ἘΕΙ ΟΘΟΡ ΝΥ true. 
‘Dr. Hadley (says Keil) has shown that Venus 
is brightest when she is about forty degrees 
removed from the sun; and that then but 
only a fourth part of her lueid disk is to be 
seen from the earth.”’ 

} For the loves of King Solomon, (who was 
supposed to presde over the whole race of 
Genii,) with Balkis, the Queen of Sheba or 
Saba, see D’Herbelot, and the Notes on the 
Koran, chap 2. 

“In the palace which Solomon ordered to be 
built against the arrival of the Queen of Saba, 
the floor or pavement was of transparent zlass, 
laid over running water, in which fish were 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


With rapid step, yet pleased and 
ling’ring eye, [by, 
Did the youth pass these pictured stories 
And hasten’d to a casement, where the 
light [bright 
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly 
The fields without were seen, sleeping 
as still 
As if no life remain’d in breeze—or rill. 
Here paused he, while the music, now 
less near, [ear, 
Breathed with a holier language on his 
As though the distance, and that hea- 
v’nly ray [ing, took away 
Through which the sounds came float- 
All that had been too earthly in the lay. 
Oh! could he listen to such sounds 
unmoved, [loved ? 
And by that light—nor dream of her he 
Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet 
thou may’st ; [taste. 
’Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever 
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, 
Ere all the light, that made it dear, de- 
part. [them last, 
Think of her smiles as when thou saw’st 
Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth 
o’ercast ; 
Recall her tears, to thee at parting giv’n, 
Pure as they weep, ifangels weep, in 
Heay'n. [thee now, 
Think, in her own still bower she waits 
With the same glow of heart and bloom 
of brow, [only, 
Yet shrined in solitude—thine all, thine 
Like the one star above thee, bright and 
lonely. 


swimming.” This led the Queen into a very 
natural mistake, which the Koran has not 
thought beneath its dignity to commemorate. 
“It was said unto her, ‘Enter the palace.’ 
And when she saw it she imagined it to be a 
rreat water; and she discovered her legs, by 
ifting up her robe to pass through it. Where- 
upon Solomon said to her, ‘ Verily, this is the 
place evenly floored with glass.’’’—Chap. 27. 

§ The wife of Potiphar, thus named by the 


| Orientals. 


“The passion which this frail beauty of an- 
tiquity conceived for her young Hebrew slave, 
has given rise to a much-esteemed poem in the 
Persian language, entitled Yusef vax Zelikha, 
by Noureddin Jami; the manuscript copy of 
which, in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, is 
supposed to be the finest in the whole world.” 
—Notewpon Nott's Translation of Hafez. 

|| The particulars of Mahomet’s amour with 
Mary, the Coptie gil, in justification of which 
he added a new chapter to the Koran, may be 
found in Gagnier’s Notes upon Abulfeda, vp. 161. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


407 


Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long en- 


joy’d, 
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy’d ! 


The song is hush’d, the laughing 
nymphs are flown, 
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone ;— 
Alone ?—no, not alone—that heavy sigh, 
That sob of grief, which broke from some 
one nigh— [found 
Whose could it be?—alas! is misery 
Here, even here, on this enchanted 
ground ? [veil’d, 
He turns, and sees a female form, close 
Leaning, as if both heart and strength 
had fail’d, 
Against a pillar near ;—not glitt’ring o’er 
With gems and wreaths, such as the 
others wore, 
But in that deep-blue, melancholy dress, * 
BokuAra’s maidens wear in mindful- 
ness [away;— 
Of friends or kindred, dead or far 
And such as ZELIcA had on that day 
He left her—when, with heart too full 
to speak, {his cheek. 
He took away her last warm tears upon 


A strange emotion stirs within h'm,— 
more fore ; 
Than mere compassion ever waked be- 
IJnconsciously he opes his arms, while 
she [energy, 
Springs forward, as with life’s last 
But, swooning in that one convulsive 
bound, [ground ;— 
Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the 
Her vei: falls off—her faint hands clasp 
his knees — 
Tis she he-self!—’tis ZELICA he sees ! 
But, ah, so pale, so changed—none but 
a lover [discover 
Could in that wreck of beauty’s shrine 
The once-adoreé divinity—ey’n he 
Stood for some moments mute, 
doubtingly 
Put back the ringlets from her brow, 
and gazed [blazed, 
Upon those lids, where once such lustre 
Ere be could think she was indeed his 
own, {known 
Own darling maid, whom he so long had 
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both; 
Who, ev’n when grief was heaviest— 
when loath [hour 
He left her for the wars—in that worst 
* “Deep blue is their mourning color.”— 
Hanway. 


and 


Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night- 

flow’r, f [ries out, 

When darkness brings its weeping glo- 

And spreads its sighs like frankincense 
about. 


“Look up, my ZELICA—one moment 
show [know 
‘“Those gentle eyes to me, that I may 
“Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
“But there, at least, shines as it ever 
shone. [glance, 
“ Come, look upon thy Azim—one dear 
‘‘ Like those of old, were heay’n ! what- 
ever chance [blessed one ! 
‘«Hath brought thee here, oh, ’twas a 
««There—my loved lips—they move— 
that kiss hath run [every vein; 
“Tike the first shoot of life through 
“ And now I clasp her, mine, all mine 
again. 
“Oh the delight—now, in this very hour, 
“ When had the whole rich world been 
in my pow’r, [ thee, 
‘‘T should have singled out thee, only 
‘“‘ From the whole world’s collected trea- 
su [fondly o’er 
“To have thee here—to hang thus 
“My own, best, purest ZELICA once 


more! ” 
It was indeed the touch of those fond 
lips [eclipse, 


Upon her eyes that chased their short 
And, gradual as the snow, at Heayen’s 
breath, [beneath, 
Melts off and shows the azure flow’rs 
Her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes 
were seen [been, 
Gazing on his—not, as they late had 
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully 
serene ; 
As if to lie, ev’n for that tranced minute, 
So near his heart, had consolation in it; 
And thus to wake in his beloyed caress 
Took from her soul one-half its wretch- 
edness. [and pure, 
But, when she heard him call her good 
Oh, ’twas too much—too dreadful to en- 
dure ! [embrace, 
Shudd’ring she broke away from his 
And, hiding with both hands her guilty 
face, [have riv’n 
Said, in a tone whose anguish would 
A heart of very marble, ‘‘Pure!—oh 
Heav’n !?— 
1 The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to 
spread its rich odor after sunset. 


408 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


That tone—those looks so changed— 
the withering blight, [light ; 

That sin and sorrow leave where’er they 
The dead despondency of those sunk 
eyes, [surprise, 


Where once, had he thus met her by 


He would have seen himself, too happy | 


boy, 
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy ; 
And then the place,—that bright, un- 
holy place, [ning grace 
Where vice lay hid beneath each win- 
And charm of lux’ry, as the viper 
weaves [leaves,—* 


Its wily coving of sweet balsam | 


All struck upon his heart, sudden and 

cold [told— 
As death itself; it needs not to be 
No, no—he sees it all, plain as the brand 
Of burning shame can mark—whate’er 

the hand, [brightness sever, 
That could from Heay’n and him such 


*Tis done—to Heay’n and him she’s lost | 


forever ! 
It was a dreadful moment not the tears, 
The ling’ring, lasting misery of years 
Could match that minute’s anguish—all 
the worst 
Of sorrow’s elements in that dark burst 
Broke o’er his soul, and, with one crash 
of fate, 
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate, 


““Oh! curse me not,” she cried, as 
wild he toss’d [‘‘ though I am lost, 
. His desp’rate hand tow’rds Heay’n— 
“Think not that guilt, that falsehood 
made me fall ! 
“No, no—twas grief, ’twas madness did 
““Nay, doubt me not—though all thy 
love hath ceased— [least, 
“1 know it hath—yet, yet believe, at 
“That ev’ry spark of reason’s light must 
be [stray from thee. 
“Quench’d in this brain, ere I could 
“They told me thou wert dead—why, 
AZIM, why [die 
“Did we not, both of us, that instant 
“When we were parted? ob! couldst 
thou but know 
“With what a deep devotedness of wo 
“T wept thy absence—o’er and o’er 
again 
“Thinking of thee, still thee, till 
thought grew pain, 
*“Concerning the vipers, which Pliny says 
were frequent among the balsam-trees, I made 


[it all! | 


|‘ And mem’ry, like a drop that, night 
and day, 
‘Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my 
heart away. : 
“‘ Didst thou but know how pale I sat at 
home, [to come, 
“« My eyes still turn’d the way thou wert 
“And, all the long, long night of hope 
and fear, [ear— 
“Thy voice and step still sounding in my 
“Oh God! thou wouldst not wonder 
that, at last, [o’ereast, 
“When every hope was all at once 
“When I heard frightful voices round 
me say [gave way, 
“Azim is dead!—this wretched bram 
“And I became a wreck, at random 
driven, [Heaw’n— 
“Without one glimpse of reason or of 
“All wild—and even this quenchless 
love within sin !— 
“Turn’d to foul fires to light me into 
“Thou pitiest me—I knew thou wouldst 
—that sky [as I. 
“Ἤδη naught beneath it half so lor 
“Πρ fiend, who lured me hither— hist ! 
come near, [hear-— 
“Οὐ thou too, thou art lost, if he should 
‘¢Told me such things—oh! with such 
dey’lish art, [heart— 
| “As would have ruin’d ev’n a holier 
“Of thee, and of that ever-radiant 
sphere, [served him here, 
‘“‘Where bless’d at length, if I but 
“1 should forever live in thy dear sight, 
“« And drink from those pure eyes eter- 
nal light. [1 must be, 
“Think, think how lost, how madden’d 
‘“To hope that guilt could lead to God 
or thee ! {that I durst 
'“Thou weep’st for me—do weep—oh, 
“ Kiss off that tear ! but, no—these lips 
are cursed, [vine caress, 
“They must not touch thee ;—one di- 
“One blessed moment of forgetfulness 
‘“‘T’ve had within those arms, and that 
shall lie, [I die ; 
‘«Shrined in my soul’s deep mem’ry till 
“The last of joy’s last relics here below, 
“The one sweet drop, in all this waste 
of wo, [spring 
‘‘ My heart has treasured from affection’s 
“To soothe and cool its deadly wither- 
ing! [ever 20; 
‘‘But thou—yes, thou must go—for- 
very particular inquiry ; several were brought 
me alive both to Yambo and Jidda.”—Bruce. 


LALLA 


« This Hee is not for thee—for thee ! 
brain 
«Did I oe tell thee half, thy tortured 
«Would burn like mine, and mine go 
wild again! [hearts, once good, 
**Hnough, that Guilt reigns here—that 
“Now tainted, chill’d, and broken, are 
his food.— 
“nough, that we are parted—that 
there rolls [souls, 
“Α flood of headlong fate between our 
““Whose darkness severs me as wide 
from thee 
“As hell from heav’n, to all eternity !” 


““ZELICA, ZELICA!” the youth ex- 
claim’d, 
In all the tortures of a mind inflamed 
Almost to madness—‘‘ by that sacred 
Heav’n, [thow lt be forgiv’n, 
“Where yet, if pray’rs can move, 
“ΑΒ thou art here—here, in this writh- 
ing heart, [art ! 
** All sinful, wild, and ruin’d as thou 
«« By the remembrance of our once pure 
love, [burns above 
*< Which, like a churchyard light, still 
*«“The grave of our lost souls—which 
guilt in thee 
“Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me! 
“JT do conjure, implore thee to fly 
hence— [cence, 
“Tf thou hast yet one spark of inno- 
«Ply with me from this place !” 


““With thee? oh bliss! 

cOTis worth whole years of torment to 
hear this. [let her rove 
“What? take the lost one with thee 7?— 


“By thy dear side, as in those days of 


love, 

““When we were both so happy, both 
so pure— 

“Too heav’nly dream! 
earth a cure [after day 

“For the sunk heart, ’tis this —day 

“To be the bless’d companion of thy 
way ; 

““ΠῸ hear thy angel eloguence—to see 

««'Those virtuous eyes forever turn’d on 
me ; 

“ And, in their light rechasten’d silently, 

“Like the stain’d web that w hitens in 
the sun, [upon ! 

“Grow pure by being purely shone 

“Απᾷ΄ thou wilt pray for me—I know 
thou wilt— [of guilt 

** Atthe dim vesper hour, when thoughts 


if there’s on 


ROOKH. 409 


‘Come heaviest o’er the heart, thou’lt 
lift thine eyes, [skies, 
‘* Full of sweet tears, unto the dark’ning 
“And plead for me with Heav’n, till I 
can dare [there ; 
«To fix my own weak, sinful glances 
“Till the good angels, when they see 
me cling 
“Ὁ Forever near thee, pale and sorrowing, 
‘Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul 
forgiv’n, [to Heay’n! 
‘« And bid thee take thy w eeping slave 
«Oh yes, 111 fly with thee 
Searce had she said 
These breathless words, when a voice 
deep and dread 
As that of Monker, waking up the dead 
From their first sleep—so startling ’twas 
to both— [oath ! thy oath !” 
Rung through the casement near, ‘‘Thy 


Oh Heay’n, the ghastliness of that 
Maid’s look !— [terror shook 
“Tis he,’ faintly she cried, while 


Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her 
eyes, [naught but the skies 
Though through the casement, now, 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm 
as before— 
“Tig he, and 1 am his—all, all is o’er— 
‘‘Go—fly this instant, or thowrt ruin’d 
too— [ true, 
‘“My oath, my oath, oh God ! ’tis all too 
“πὸ as the worm in this cold heart it 
is— [his— 
“41 am Moxanna’s bride—his, AzIM, 
“The Dead stood round us, while I 
spoke that vow, [them now! 
““Their blue lips echo’d it—I hear 
“Their eyes glared on me while I 
pledged that bowl, [my soul! 
“oMwas burning blood—I feel it in 
«« And the Veil’d Bridegroom—hist ! ! l’ve 
seen. to-night [sight, 
‘What angels know not of—so foul a 
“¢So horrible—oh ! never may’st thou 
see {and me! 
‘¢ What there lies hid from all but hell 
“Βα I must hence—off, off—Lam not 
thine, [that is divine— 
«ΝΟΥ Heay’n’s, nor Love’s, nor aught 
“ Hold me not—ha! think’st thou the 
fiends that sever | then—forever !” 
‘Hearts, cannot sunder hands ?—thus, 


With all that strength, which mad- 
ness lends the weak, [8 shriek, 
She flung away his arm: and, with 


410 


MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Whose sound, though he should linger 
out more years {his ears— 

Than wretch e’er told, can never leave 

Flew up through that long avenue of 
light, [night, 

Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of 

Across the sun, and soon was out of 
sight ! 


LALLA Rooks could think of nothing 
all day but the misery of these two 
young lovers. Her gaiety was gone, 
and she looked pensively even upon 
FADLADEEN. She felt, too, without 
knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure 
in imagining that Azim must have been 
just such a youth as FERAMORZ; just as 
worthy to enjoy all the blessings, with- 
out any ofthe pangs, of that illusive 
passion, which, too often, like the sunny 
apples of Istkahar,* is all sweetness on 
one side, and all bitterness on the other. 

As they passed along a sequestered 
river after sunset, they saw a young 
Hindoo girl upon the bank,t whose em- 
ployment seemed to them so strange, 
that they stopped their palankeens to 
observe her. She had lighted a small 
lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and _plac- 
ing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a 
wreath of flowers, had committed it with 
a trembling hand to the stream; and 
was now anxiously watching its progress 
down the current, heedless of the gay 
cavalcade which had drawn up beside 
her. LALLA RooxH was all curiosity ; 
—when one of her attendants, who had 
lived upon the banks of the Ganges, 
(where this ceremony is so frequent, 
that often, in the dusk of the evening, the 
river is seen glittering all over with lights, 
like the Oton-Tala, or Sea of Stars,t) 


* ‘Tn the territory of Istkahar there is a 
kind of apple, half of which is sweet and half 
sour.”’—EHbn Haukal. 

|} For an account of this ceremony, 
Grandpre’s Voyage in the Indian Ocean. 

# ‘The place where the Whangho, a river 
of Thibet, rises, and where there are more 
than a hundred springs, which sparkle like 
stars: whence it is called Hotun-nor, that 1s, 
the Sea of Stars."—Description of T'hibet in 
Pinkerton. 

§ ‘The Lesear or Imperial Camp is divided, 
like a regular town, into squares, alleys, and 
streets, and from a rising ground furnishes one 
of the most agreeable prospects in the world 
Starting up in a few hours in an uninhabited 
plain, it raises the idea of a city built by en- 
chantment. Even those who leave their houses 


see 


informed the Princess that it was the 
usual way in which the friends of those 
who had gone on dangerous voyages of- 
fered up vows for their safe return. If 
the lamp sunk immediately, the omen 
was disastrous; but if it went shining 
down the stream, and continued to burn 
till entirely out of sight, the return of the 
beloved object was considered as cer- 
tain. 

LALLA ΠΟΟΚΗ, as they moved on, 
more than once looked back, to observe 
how the young Hindoo’s lamp _proceed- 
ed; and while she saw with pleasure 
that it was still unextinguished, she 
could not help fearing that all the hopes 
of this life were no better than that fee- 
ble light upon the river. The remainder 
of the journey was passed in silence. She 
now, for the first time, felt that shade of 
melancholy which comes over the youth- 
ful maiden’s heart, as sweet and tran- 
sient as her own breath upon a mirror; 
nor was it till she heard the lute of FER- 
AMORZ, touched lightly at the door of 
her pavilion, that she waked from the 
revery in which she had been wander- 
ing. Instantly her eyes were lighted up 
with pleasure; and after a few unheard 
remarks from FADLADEEN upon the in- 
decorum of a poet seating himself in 
presence of a Princess, every thing was 
arranged as on the. preceding evening, 
and all listened with eagerness, while 
the story was thus continued :— 


Wnhost are the gilded tents that crowd 
the way, [day ? 
Where all was waste and silent yester- 
This City of War which, in a few short 
hours, [powers 

Hath sprung up here,§ as if the magic 


in cities to follow the Princein his progress, 
are frequently so charmed with the Lesear, 
when situated in a beautiful and convenient 
place, that they cannot prevail with themselves. 
to remove. To prevent this inconvenience to 
the court, the Emperor, after sufficient time is 
allowed to the tradesmen to follow, orders 
them to be burnt out of their tents.”—Dov's 
Hindostan. 

Colonel Wilks gives a lively picture of an 
Eastern encampment :—‘' His camp, like that: 
of most Indian armies, exhibited a motley col- 
lection of covers from the seorehing sun and 
dews of the night, variegated according to the 
taste or means of each individual, by extensive 
enclosures of colored calico surrounding superb 
suites of tents; by ragged clothes or Blankets 
stretched over sticks or branches; palm. leaves 


LALLA ROOKH. 


Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star, 

Built the high pillar’d halls of Cur~Mr- 
NAR,* 

Had conjured up, far as the eye can see, 

‘This world of tents, and domes, andsun- 
bright armory :— 

Princely pavilions, screen’d by many a 
fold [οἵ gold— 

Of crimson cloth, and topp’d with balls 


Steeds, with their housings of rich silver | 


spun, [sun ; 


Their chains and poitrels glitt’ring in the | 
And camels, tufted o’er with Yemen’s | 


shells, [bells? 
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned 


But yester-eve, so motionless around, 
So mute was this wide plain, that not a 
sound 
But the far torrent, or the locust birdt 
Hunting among the thickets, could be 
heard ;— 


[kind, | 


Yet hark! what discords now of ey ry | 


Shouts, laughs, and screams are revel- 
ling in the wind ; 
The neigh of cavalry ;—the tinkling 


throngs [songs ;—§ | 
Of laden camels and their drivers’ | 
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the 
breeze [pies ;— 


Of streamers from ten thousand cano- 
War-music, bursting out from time to 

time, [chime ; — 
With gong and tymbalon’s tremendous 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds 

are mute, [flute, 
The mellow breathings of some horn or 


hastily spread over similar supports; hand- 
some tents and splendid canopies; horses, 
oxen, elephants, and camels ; atl intermixed 
without any exterior mark of order or design, 
except the flags of the chiefs, which ciel 
mark the centres of a congeries of these 
masses; the only regular part of the encamp- 
ment being the streets of shops, each of which 
is constructed nearly in the manner of a booth 
at an English fair.”— Historical Sketches of the 
South of India. 


* The edifices of Chilminar and Balbee are | 


supposed to have been built by the Genii, act- 
ing under the orders of Jan ben Jan, who 
governed the world long before the time of 
Adam. 

t** A superb camel, ornamented with strings 
and tufts of small shells." —Ali Bey. 

ΤΑ native of Khorassan, and allured south- 
ward by means of the water of a fountain be- 
tween Shiraz and Ispahan, called the Fountain 
of Birds, of which it is so fond that it will fol- 
low wherever the water is carried. 

§ ‘‘Some of the camels have bells about 
their necks, and some about their legs, like 


411 

That far off, broken by the eagle note 

Of th’ Abyssinian trumpet,|| swell and 
float. 


Who leads this mighty army ?—ask 
ye “who?” [hue, 
And mark ye not those banners of dark 
The Night and Shadow,{] over yonder 
tent ?— 
It is the CALIPH’s glorious armament. 
Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, 


That hourly came, of the false Prophet’s 


arms, 

And of his host of infidels, who hurl’d 

Defiance fierce at Islam** and the 
world, — 

Though worn with Grecian warfare, 
and behind 

The veils of his bright Palace calin re- 
clined, {should stain, 

Yet brook’d he not such blasphemy 


Thus unrevenged, the evening of his 


reign; 
But, having sworn upon the Holy Gravett 
To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to the 
breeze, 
And with an army, nursed in victories, 
Here stands to crush the rebels that o’er- 
run {Sun. 
His blest and beauteous Province of the 


Ne’er did the march of MAHADI dis- 


play 

Such pomp before ;—not ev’n when on 
his way 

To Mecca’s Temple, when both land 
and sea 


those which our carriers put about their fore- 
horses’ necks, which, together with the ser- 
vants, (who belong to the camels, and travel 
on foot,) singing all night, make a pleasant 
noise, and the journey passes away delight- 
fully."—Pitt’s Account of the Mahometans. 

‘“The camel-driver follows the camels sing- 
ing, and sometimes playing upon his pipe; the 
louder he sings and pipes the faster the camels 
go. Nay, they will stand still when he gives 
over his music." —Tavernier. 

‘This trumpet is often called, in Abys- 
sinia, nesser cano, which signifies the Note of 
the Eagle.’— Note of Bruce's Editor 

J The two black standards borne before the 


| Caliphs of the House of Abbas were called, 


allegorically, The Night and The Shadow.— 
See Gibbon. 

** The Mahometan religion. 

ti‘'The Persians swear by the Tomb of 
Shah Besade, who is buried at Casbin; and 
when one desires another to asseyerite a 


| matter, he will ask him if he dare swear by the 


Holy Grave.” —Struy. 


412 


Were spoil’d to feed the Pilgrim’s lux- 
wy ;* 
When round him, mid the burning sands, 
he saw 
Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, 
And cool’d his thirsty lip, beneath the 
glow [snow :—f 
Of Mrcca’s sun, with urns of Persian 
Nor e’er did armament more grand than 
that 
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. 
First, in the van, the People of the 
Rock, ἢ [stock :§ 
On their light mountain steeds, of roval 
Then, chieftains of DAMAscUS, proud to 
see [quetry ;— || 
The flashing of their swords’ rich mar- 
Men, from the regions near the VOLGA’S 
mouth, [the South ; 
Mix’d with the rude, black archers of 
And Indian lancers, in white turban’d 
ranks, [banks, 
From the far SINDE, or ATTOCK’S sacred 
With dusky legions from the Land of 
Myrrh, [sea islander. 
And many a mace-arm’d Moor and Mid- 


Nor less in number, though more new 
and rude [tude 
In warfare’s school, was the vast multi- 
That, fired by zeal, or by oppression 
wrong’d, [tor throng’d. 
Round the white standard of th’ impos- 
Beside his thousands of Believers—blind, 
Burning and headlong as the Samiel 
wind— [feel 
Many who felt, and more who fear’d to 
The bloody Islamite’s converting steel, 


* Mahadi, in a single pilgrimage to Mecca, 
expended six millions of dinars of gold. 

fF Nivem Meeccam apportavit, rem ibi 
nunquam aut ravo visam.—A bulfeda. 

{ Lhe inhabitants of Hejaz or Arabia Pe- 
triea, called by an Eastern writer ‘‘ The People 
of the Rock.”—Lbn Haukal. 

§ “Those horses, called by the Arabians 
Koehlani, of whom a written genealogy has 
been kept for 2000 years. They are said to de- 
rive their origin from King Solomon's steeds.” 
— Niebuhr. 

| ‘Many of the figures on the blades of 
their swords are wrought in gold or silver, or 
in marquetry with small gems.’’—Asiat. Misc. 
Ξε 


aut 


is 
1 Azab or Saba. 

ἈΚ “The chiefs of the Uzbek Tartars wear 
a plume of white heron’s feathers in their tur- 
bans."’— Account of Independent Tartary. 

jf In the mountains of Nishapour and Tous 
(in Khorassan) they find turquoises.—Lbn 
ITaukal. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Flock’d to his banner ;—Chiefs of th’ 
UZBEK race, [grace ; ** 

Waving their heron crests with martial 

TURKOMANS, countless as their flocks, 
led forth 

From th’ aromatic pastures of the North ; 

Wild warriors of the turquoise hills,tt— 
and those 

Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows 

Of H1npoo Kosu,}} in stormy freedom 
bred, [rent’s bed. 

Their fort the rock, their camp the tor- 

But none, of all who own’d the Chief’s 


command, 
Rush’d to that battle-field with bolder 
hand, [men,$$ 


Or sterner hate, than IRAN’s outlaw'd 
Her Worshippers of Fire—all panting 
then 
For vengeance on th’ accursed Saracen ; 
Vengeance at last for their dear country 
. spurn’d, [ o’erturn’d. 
Her throne usurp’d, and her bright shrines 
From Yxzp’s|||| eternal Mansion of the 
Fire, [expire : 
Where aged saints in dreams of Heav’n 
From ΒΑΡ Κατ, and those fountains of 
blue flame 
That burn into the CAsPrIaAn,7{ fierce 
they came, 


| Careless for what or whom the blow 


was sped, [rants bled. 
So vengeance triumph’d, and their ty- 


Such was the wild and miscellaneous 
host, 


| That high in air their motley banners 


toss’d 


τ For a description of these stupendous 
ranges of mountains, see Hlphinstone’s Caubul. 

§§ The Ghebers or Guebres, those original 
natives of Persia who adhered to their ancient 
faith, the religion of Zoroaster, and who, after 
the conquest of their country by the Arabs, 
were either persecuted at home, or forced to 
become bere abroad. 

||| “ Yezd, the chief residence of those an- 
cient natives, who worship tue Sun and the 
Fire, which Jatter they have carefully kept 
lighted, without being once extinguished for a 
moment, about 3000 years, on a mountain near 
Yezd, called Ater Quedah, signifying the 
House or Mansion of the Fire. He is reckoned 
very unfortunate who dies off that mountain.” 
—Stephen's Persia. 

4 ‘‘ Whenthe weather is hazy, the springs of 
Naphtha (on an island near Baku) boil up the 
higher, and the Naphtha often takes fire on the 
surface of the earth, and runs in a flame into 
the sea to a distance almost incredible.” — Han- 
way on the Lverlasting Fire at Baku. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


Around the Prophet-Chief—all eyes still 
bent 

Upon that glittering Veil, whereer it 

That beacon through the  battle’s 
stormy flood, 

That rainbow of the field, 
showers were blood ! 


whose 


Twice hath the sun upon their conflict | 


set [pling yet ; 
And risen again, and found them grap- 
While streams of carnage in his noon- 
tide blaze, [crimson haze, 
Smoke up to Heay’n—hot as_ that 
By which the prostrate Caravan is 
awed,* [abroad. 
In the red Desert, when the wind’s 
“On, Swords of God!” the panting 
CALIPH calls,— 
“Thrones for the living—Heav’n for 
him who falls !’— 
“On, brave avengers, on,” MOKANNA 
cries, [flies !7— 
“And ΕΒ. blast the recreant slave that 


” 


Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the | 


*day— [troops give way! 
They clash—they strive—the CALIPH’s 


MoxKanna’s self plucks the black ban- | 


ner down, [crown 
And now the Orient World’s Inperial 


Is just within his grasp—when, hark, | 


that shout ! [Moslem’s rout ; 
Some hand hath check’d the flying 
Aud now they turn, they rally —at their 
head [led, 
A warrior, (like those angel youths who 
Inglorious panoply of Heay’n’s own mail, 
The Champions of the Faith through 
BEDER’s vale,t) 
Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, 
Turns on the fierce pursuer’s blades, and 
drives 
At once the multitudinous torrent back— 


While hope and courage kindle in his | 


track ; [makes 


And, at each step, his bloody falchion | 


Terrible vistas through which vict’ry 
breaks ! {flight, 
In vain Mokanna, midst the general 


_ * Savary says of the south wind, which blows 
in Egypt from February to May, ‘‘ Sometimes 


it appears only in the shape of an impetuous | 


whirlwind, which passes rapidly, and is fatal 
to the traveller, surprised in the middle of the 
deserts. 


[ went, | 


413 


Stands, like the red moon, on some 
| stormy night, [ing by, 
Among the fugitive clouds that, hurry- 
| Leave only her unshaken ijn the sky— 
|In vain he yells his desperate curses 
out, 
| Deals death promiscuously to all about, 
To foes that charge, and coward friends 


that fly, [enemy. 
_And seems of all the Great Arch- 
|The panic spreads—‘‘A miracle !” 
| throughout [shout, 


The Moslem ranks, ‘a miracle!’ they 
| All gazing on that youth, whose coming 

seems [dreams ; 
A light, a glory, such as breaks in 
And evry sword, true as o’er billows 

dim [lowing him ! 
The needle tracks the load-star, fol- 


| 
| Right tow’rds MoOKANNA now he 
cleaves his path, [of wrath 
|Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt. 
| He bears from Heay’n withheld its aw- 
ful burst [way cursed, 
From weaker heads, and souls but half 
|'To break o’er Him, the mightiest and 
the worst ! [hour of blood, 
But vain his speed—though, in that 
| Had all God’s seraphs round MOKAN- 
NA stood, [to fall, 
With swords of fire, ready like fate 


MoxKanna’s soul would have defied 
them all : [strong 


Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too 
/ For human force, hurries evn him 
| along : 
In vain he struggles ’mid the wedged 
array 
Of flying thousands—he is borne away ; 
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, 
In this forced flight, is—murd’ring as he 
goes ! [might 
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent’s 
' Surprises in some parch’d ravine at 


night. [wretched floeks, 
Turns, ev’n in drowning, on the 


Swept with him in that snow-flood from 
the rocks, 
| And, to the last, devouring on his way, 
| Bloodies the stream he hath not power 
| to stay. 


tIn the great victory gained by Mahomet at 


Torrents of burning sand roll before | Beder, he was assisted, say the Mussulmans, 


it, the firmament is enveloped in a thick veil, by three thousand angels, led by Gabriel, 
and the sun appears of the color of blood. | mounted on his horse Hiazum.—See The Koran. 


Sometimes whole caravans are buried in it.” 


and its Commentators. 


414 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“ Alla illa Alla!’—the glad shout re- 

new— [Rov. 

« Alla Akbar !”*—the Caliph’s in ME- 

Hang out your gilded tapestry in the 
streets, [ziraleets. t 

And light your shrines and chant your 

The Swords of God have triumph’d—on 
his throne 

Your Caliph sits, and the Veil’d Chief 
hath flown. 

Who does not envy that young warrior 
now, [brow, 

To whom the Lord of Islam bends his 

In all the graceful gratitude of power, 

For his throne’s safety in that perilous 


hour ? 
Who doth not wonder, when, amidst th’ 
acclaim [name— 


Of thousands, heralding to heaven his 

Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, 

Which sound along the path of virtuous 
souls, 

Like music round a planet as it rolls,— 

He turns away—coldly, as if some 
gloom 

Hung o’er his heart no triumphs can il- 
lume ;— 

Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted 
gaze [it plays. 

Though glory’s light may play, in vain 

Yes, wretched Azim! thireis sucha grief, 

Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; 

‘A dark, cold calm, which nothing now 
can break, [Lake,t 

Or warm or brighten,—like that Syrian 

Upon whose surface morn and summer 
shed 

Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is 
dead !— 

Hearts there have been, o’er which this 
weight of wo [slow ; 

Came by long use of suffring, tame and 

But thine, lost youth! was sudden— 
over thee 

Itbroke at once, when allseem’decstasy; 

When Hope look’d up, and saw the 
gloomy Past [last— 

Melt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at 

Twas then, ev’n then, o’er joys so fresh- 
ly blown, 

This mortal blight of misery came down; 


* The Teebir, or ery of the Arabs, ‘ Alla 
Acbar!” says Ockley, means, “God is most 
mighty.” 

+ The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the 
women of the East sing upon joyful occasions. 
—Russel. 


Ev’n then, the full, warm gushings of 

thy heart [as they start— 
Were check’d—like fount-drops, frozen 
And there, like them, cold, sunless relies 


hang, 
Each fix’d and chill’d into a lasting pang. 


One sole desire, one passion now re- 

mains 

To keep life’s fever still within his veins, 

Vengeance !—dire vengeance on the 
wretch who cast [blast. 

O’er him and all he loved that ruinous 

For this, when rumors reach’d him in 
his flight 

Far, far away, after that fatal night,— 

Rumors of armies, thronging to th’ attack 

Of the Veil’d Chief,—for this he wing’d 
him back, [furl’d, 

Fleet gs the vulture speeds to flags un- 

And, when all hope seem’d desp’rate, 
wildly hurl’d 

Himself into thescale, and saved a world. 

For this he still lives on, careless of all 

The wreaths that Glory on his path lets 


fall 
For this alone exists—like lightning-fire, 
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and ex- 
pire! 


But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives; 
With a small band of desp’rate fugitives, 
The last sole stubborn fragment, left 

unriv’n, [ing Heay’n, 
Of the proud host that late stood front- 
He gain’d Merou—breathed a short 
curse of blood [JrHon’s flood,$ 
O’er his lost throne—then pass’d the 
And gath’ring all, whose madness of 
belief [Chief, 
Still saw a Saviour in their down-fall’n 
Raised the white banner within NEK- 
SHEB’s|| gates, [conqu’ror waits. 
And there, untamed, th’ approaching 


Of all his Haram, all that busy hive 

With music and with sweets sparkling 

alive, [flight, 
He took but one, the partner of his 
One—not for love—not for her beauty’s 

light— [gay, 
No, ZELICA stood with’ring ’midst the 
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 


¢ The Dead Sea, which contains neither ani- 
mal nor vegetable life. 
The ancient Oxus. 
A city of Transoxiana. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


From th’ Alma tree and dies, while over- 
head [stead.* 
To-day’s young flow’r is springing in its 
Oh, not for loye—the deepest Damn’d 
must be [fiends as he 
Touch’d with Heaven’s glory, ere such 
Can feel one glimpse of Love’s divinity. 
But no, she is his victim ;- there lie all 
Her charms for him—charms that can 
never pall, 
As long as hell within his heart can stir, 
Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her. 
To work an angel’s ruin,—to behold 
As white a page as Virtue e’er unroll’d 
Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll 
Of damning sins, seal’d with a burning 
soul— 
This is his triumph; this the joy accursed, 
That ranks him among demons all but 
first : 
This gives the victim, that before him lies 
Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, 
A light like that with which hell-fire 
illumes [constunes! 
The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it 


But other tasks now wait him—tasks 
that need [deed 

All the deep daringness of thought and 
With which the Divest have gifted him— 
for mark, [made dark, 

Over yon plains, which night had else 
Those lanterns countless as the winged 
lights [nights, —t 

That spangle InprA’s fields on show’ry 
Far as their formidable gleams they shed, 
The mighty tents of the beleaguerer 
spread, {line, 
Glimm’ring along th’ horizon’s dusky 
And thence in nearer circles, till they 
shine [the town 
Among the founts and groves o’er which 
Inall its arm’d magnificence looks down. 
Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements 


* “You never can east your eyes on this 
tree, but you mect there either blossoms or 
fruit; and as the blossom drops underneath on 
the ground (which is frequently covered with 
these purple-colored flowers) others come forth 
in their stead,” &e. &c.—Nieuhoff. 

t The Demons of the Persian mythology. 

+ Carreri mentions the fire-flies in India 
during the rainy season.—See his Travels. 

§ Sennacherib, called by the Orientals King 
of Moussal.—D' Herbelot. 

|| Chosroes. For the deseription of his 
Throne or Palace, see Gibbon and 2) Herbelot. 

There was said to be under this Throne or 
Paluce of Khosrou Parviz a hundred yaults 


415 


MOKANNA views that multitude of tents; 
Nay, smiles to think that, though en- 
toiled, beset, [yet;— 
Not less than myriads dare to front him 
That friendless, throneless, he thus 
stands at bay, [they. 
By’n thus a match for myriads such as 
‘‘Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel’s 
wing, [ Assyrian King 
‘‘Who brush’d the thousands of th 
“To darkness in a moment, that I might 
‘People Hell’s chambers with yon host 
to-night ! grasp the throne, 
“But, come what may, let who will 
“‘Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall 
groan ; [Caliph— King— 
“Tet who will torture him, Priest— 
“¢ Alike this loathsome world of his shall 
ring [the slave,— 
“¢ With victims’ shrieks and howlings of 
“Sounds, that shall glad me ev’n within 
my grave !” 
Thus, to himself—but to the scanty train 
Still left around him, a far different 
strain :— 
“ Glorious defenders of the sacred Crown 
1 bear from Heay’n, whose light nor 
blood shall drown [whose gems 
“ΝΟΥ͂ shadow of earth eclipse ;—before 
“The paly pomp of this world’s diadems, 
“The crown of GERASHID, the pillar’d 


throne [shone, 7 
“Of Parviz,|| and the heron crest that 
‘‘Magnificent, o’er ALI’s beauteous 
eyes, ** [the skies : 


“Pade like the stars when morn is in 

‘‘ Warriors, rejoice—the port to which 
we've pass’d [last! 

‘¢O’er Destiny’s dark wave, beams out at 

“‘Viet’ry’s our own—’tis written in that 
Book [Llook, 

«Upon whose leaves none but the angels 

‘““That IsuAm’s sceptre shall beneath 
the power 


filled with ‘‘treasures so immense that some 
Mahometan writers tell us, their Prophet, to 
encourage his disciples, carried them to a rock, 
which at his command opened, and gaye them 
a prospect through it of the treasures of Khos- 
rou.’ — Universal History. 

q ‘<The crown of Gerashid is cloudy and tar- 
nished before the heron tuft of thy turban.”— 
rom one of the elegies or songsin praise of 
Ali, written in characters of gold round the 
gallery of Abbas’s tomb.—See Chardin. 

** The beauty of Ali’seyes wasso remarkable 
that whenever the Persians would deseribe 
any thing as very lovely they say it is Ayn 
ΤΠ], or the Eyes of Al.—Chardin. 


410 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


1 


“Of her great foe fall broken in that, 


hour, 
‘When the moon’s mighty orb, before 
all eyes, {tously shall rise ! | 


‘‘Trom NEKSHEB’S Holy Well porten- 
“‘ Now turn and see !”?—— 

They turn’d, and, as he spoke, 

A sudden splendor all around them 

broke, [bright, 

And they beheld an orb, ample and 

Rise from the Holy Well,* and cast its 

light 


tiles 
Of many a dome and fair-roofd imaret, 
As autumn suns shed round them when 
they set. [sign 
Instant from all who saw th’ illusive 
A murmur broke—‘‘ Miraculous! di- 
vine !” 
The Gheber bow’d, thinking his idol star 
Had waked, and burst impatient through 
the bar 


While he of Moussa’s creed saw, in that 
ray, [dom’s day, 

The glorious Light which, in his free- 

Had rested on the Ark,{ and now again 

Shone out to bless the breaking of his 
chain. 


“To yictory!” is at once the ery of | 


all— [eall ; 
Nor stands Moxanna loit’ring at that 
But instant the huge gates are flung 
aside, [tide 
And forth, like a diminutive mountain- 
Into the boundless sea, they speed their 
course 
Right on into the MosLEem’s mighty force. 
The watchmen of the camp,—who, in 
their rounds, 


* We are not told moreof this trick of the 
Impostor, than that it was ‘‘une machine, 
411} disoit étre la Lune.’ Aceording to Rich- 
ardson, the miracle is perpetuated in Nekscheb, 
—Nakshab, the name of a city in Transoxiana, 
where they say there is a well, in which the 
appearance of the moon is to be seen night and 
day.” 

i “Tl amusa pendant deux mois le peuple de 
la ville de Nekhsecheb, en faisant sortir toutes 
les nnits du fond d'un puits un corps lumineux 
semblable ἃ la Lune, qui portoit sa lumiére 
jusqu a la distance de plusieurs milles.’’— D’ Her- 
belot. 
the Moonmaker. 

τ The Shechinah, called Sakinat in the Ko- 
ran.—See Sale's Note, clap. 1]. 


[miles,—tT | 
Round the rich city and the plain for | 
Flinging such radiance o’er the gilded | 


Had paused, and ev’n forgot the pune- 
tual sounds 
Of the small drum with which they 
count the night, ὁ 
To gaze upon that supernatural light,— 
Now sink beneath an unexpected arm, 
And in a death-groan give their last 
alarm. [ sereen,]| 
‘‘On for the lamps, that light yon lofty 
‘Nor blunt your blades with massacre 
So mean ; [lucky lance 
“ There rests the CALIPH—speed—one 
“May now achieve mankind’s deliver- 
ance.” {east, 
Desp’rate the die—such as they only 
Who venture for a world, and stake 
their last. [for blade 
But Fate’s no longer with him— blade 
Springs up to meet them thro’ the glim- 


m’ring shade, , 


; And, as the clash is heard, new legions 


soon [ROON 9 


'Pour to the spot, like bees of KAUzE- 
To the shrill timbrel’s summons,—till, 
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war; 


at length, [strength, 
The mighty camp swarms out in all its 
And back to NEKSHEB’S gates, covering 
the plain [venturous train ; 
With random slaughter, drives the ad- 
Among the last of whom the Silver Veil 


Is seen glitt’ring at times, like the white 


sail 
Of some toss’d vessel, on a stormy night, 
Catching the tempest’s momentary hght! 


And hath not ‘his brought the proud 
spirit low ? [ing? No. 
Nor dash’d his brow, nor check’d his dar- 


Though half the wretches, whom at 


night he led [dead, 
To thrones and vict’ry, lie disgraced and 


| Yet morning hears him with unshrink- 


ing crest, — 


§ The parts of the night are made known as 
well by instruments of music, as by the rounds 
of the watehmen with cries and small drums. 
--See Burder's Oriental Customs, vol. 1. p. 119. 

|| The Serrapurda, high sereens of rd eloth, 


| stiffened with cane, used to enclose a consider- 
| able space round the royal tents — Notes on the 


Hence he was called Sazendéhmah, or 


Bahardanush. 

The tents of Princes were genevally illumi- 
nated. Norden tells us that the tent cf the 
Bey of Girge was distinguished from the other 
tents by forty lanterns being suspended betore 
it.--See Harmer’s Observations on Job. 


4 ‘‘From the groves of orange trees at 


| Kauzeroon the bees cull a celebrated honey. J 
'—Morier's Travels. 


. may 
Distrust that look which steals 


LALLA 


ROOKH. 417 


Still yaunt of thrones, and vict’ry to the 
rest; 
And they believe him!—oh, the lover 
[away ;— 
his soul 
The babe may cease to think that it can 
play [may doubt 
With Heaven’s rainbow ;—alchymists 
The shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
But Faith, fanatie Faith, once wedded 
fast [last. 
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the 


And well th’ Impostor knew all lures 
and arts, {hearts ; 
That Lucirer e’er taught to tangle 
Nor, ‘mid these last bold workings of his 
lot 
mathe men’s souls, is ZELICA forgot. 
Ill-fated Zenica! had reason been 
Awake, through half the horrors thou 
hast seen, {had come 


‘Thou never couldst have borne it—Death 


At once, and taken thy wrung spirit 
home. 

But twas not so—a torpor, ἃ suspense 

Of thought, almost of life, came o’er the 
intense {night, 

And passionate struggles of that fearful 


When her last hope of peace and heay’n | 


took flight : [broke, — 


And though, at times, a gleam of phrensy | 


As through some dull voleano’s vale of 

smoke [start, 

Ominous flashings now and then will 

Which sbow the fire’s still busy at its 

heart, [gloom,— 

Yet was she mostly wrapp’d in solemn 

Not such as Azim’s, brooding o’er its 

dvom, [death, 

And calm without, as is the brow of 

While busy worms are gnawing under- 
neath— 

But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 

*“ A custom still subsisting at this day, 


‘seems tome to prove that the Egyptians for- 
merly sacrificed a young virgin to the God of 


the Nile; for they now make a statue of earth | 


in shape of a girl, to which they give the name 
of the Betrothed Bride, ani throw it into the 
river.""—Savary. 

t That the 
fire among the Mussulmans early in the eley- 
enth century, Peper from Dow's Account of 
Mamood 1. *‘ When he arrived at Moultan, 
tinding that the country of the Jits was de- 


fended by great rivers, he ordered fifteen hun- 


- 


ἀκ 


dred boats to be built, each of which he armed 


With six iron spikes, projecting from their | 


| 


prows and sides, to prevent their being boarded 


knew the secret of the Greek | 


| From thought or pain, a seal’d-up apa- 

thy, [thrill, 
Which left her oft, with scarce one living 
The cold, pale victim of her tort’rer’s will. 


Again, as in MEROU, he had her deck’d 
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect; 
And led her glitt’ring forth before the 

eyes 
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice, — 
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride 
Of the fierce NILE, when, deck’d in all 
the pride 
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.* 
And while the wretched maid hung 
down her head, [dead, 
And stood, as one just risen from the 
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would 
tell [or spell 
His credulous slaves it was some charm 
Possess’d her now,—and from that dark- 
en’d trance [liverance. _ 
Should dawn ere long their Faith’s de- 
Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame, 
| Her soul was roused, and words of wild- 
ness came, [late 
Instant the bold blasphemer would trans- 
| Her ravings into oracles of fate, 
' Would hail Heay’n’s signals in her flash- 
ing eyes, [the skies! 
| And eall her shrieks the language of 


| But vain at length his arts—despair is 
seen [glean 
Gath’ring around ; and famine comes to 
All that the sword had left unreap’d :— 
in vain [plain 
| At morn and eve across the northern 
He looks impatient for the promised 
spears [ taineers ; 
Of the wild Hordes and TARTAR moun- 
They come not—while his fierce belea- 
guerers pour 
Engines of havoc in, unknown before, t 


by the enemy, who were very expert in that 
kind of war. When he had launehed this 
fleet, he ordered twenty archers iuto each boat, 
and five others with fire-balls, to burn the 
| eraft of the Jits, and naphtha to set the whole 
| river on fire.”’ 

The agnee aster, too, in Indian poems the 
Instrument of Fire, whose flame cannot be ex- 
| tinguished, is supposed to signify the Greek 
Fire.—See Wilks’s South of India. vol. i. p. 471. 
—And inthe curious Javan poem, the Brata 
Yudha, given by Sir Stamford Raffles in his 
History of Java. we find, ‘He aimed at the 
| heart of Soéta with the sharp-poimted Weapon 
of Fire.” 

The mention of gunpowder as in use among 


418 


And horrible as new ;*—javelins, that fly 

Enwreath’d with smoky flames through 
the dark sky, {mount, 

And red-hot globes, that, opening as they 

Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha 
fount, t 

Show’rs of consuming fire o’er all below ; 

Looking, as through th’ illumined night 
they go, [gians oft, 

Like those wild birds{ that by the Ma- 

At festivals of fire, were sent aloft 

Into the air, with blazing fagots tied 

To their huge wings, scatt’ring combus- 
tion wide. [pire, 

All night the groans of wretches who ex- 

Tn agony, beneath these darts of fire, 

Ring through the city—while, descend- 
ing o’er 

Its shrines and domes and streets of syc- 
amore, — 

Its lone bazars, with their bright cloths 
of gold, [roll’d,— 

Since the last peaceful pageant left un- 

Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle 


jets 

Now gush with blood,—and its tall min- 
arets, 

That late have stood up in the evening 
glare [er;— 


Of the red sun, unhallow’d by a pray- 
O’er each, in turn, the dreadful flame- 
bolts fall, [all 
And death and conflagration throughout 
The desolate city hold high festival! 


the Arabians, long before its supposed discoy- 
ery in Europe, is introduced by νη Fadhl, the 
Egyptian geographer, who lived in the thir- 
teenth century. ‘ Bodies,” he says. “ἴῃ the 
form of scorpions, bound round and filled with 
nitrous Powter. glide along, making a gentle 
noise; then, exploding, they lighten, as it were, 
and burn. But there are others which, east 
into the air, stretch along like a cloud, roaring 
horribly, as thunder roars, and on all sides 
vomiting out flames, burst, burn, and reduce 
to cinders whatever comes in their way.”’ The 
historian Ben Abdalla, in speaking of the 
sieges of Abulualid in the year of the Hegira 
712, says, “‘A fiery globe, by means of com- 
bustible matter, with ἃ mighty noise suddenly 
emitted, strikes with the foree of lightning:, 
and shakes the citadel.”—See the extracts 
from Casiri’s Biblioth. Arab. Hispan. in the 
Appendix to Berington’s Literary History of 
the Middle Ages. 

* The Greek fire, which was oceasionally 
lent by the emperors to their allies. ‘It was,” 
says Gibbon, “ὁ either launched in red-hot balls 
of stone and iron, or darted in arrows and 
javelins, twisted round with flax and tow, 
eres had deeply imbibed the imflammable 
oil. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


MOKANNA sees the world is his no 
more ;— [o’er. 
One sting at parting, and his grasp is 
““What! drooping now ?”—thus, with - 
unblushing cheek, {speak, 
He hails the few, who yet can hear him 
Of all those famished slaves around him 
lying, [ing;— 
And by the light of blazing temples dy- 
‘“ What! drooping now ?—now, when at 
length we press [cess 5 
‘“Home o’er the very threshold of suc- 
“When ALLA from our ranks hath 
thinn’d away [his ray 
“Those grosser branches that kept out 
“Of favor from us, and we stand at 
length {strength, 
“Heirs of his light and children of his 
“The chosen few, who shall survive the 
fall Lover all! 
“Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant 
“Have you then lost, weak murm’rers 
as you are, [your Star? 
“ ΑἸ] faith in him who was your Light, 
“ ave you forgot the eye of glory, hid 
“Beneath this Veil, the flashing of 
whose lid [ wither 
“O©ould, like a sun-stroke of the desert, 
“€ Millions of such as yonder Chief brings 
hither? [long—but now 
“Long have its lightnings slept—too 
‘All earth shall feel th’ unveiling of 
this brow! [very night, 
“‘To-night — yes, sainted men! this 


+See Hanway's Account of the Springs of 
Naphtha at Baku (which is ealled by Lieuten- 
ent Pottinger Joala Mookee, or, the Flaming 
Mouth) taking fire and running into the sea. 
Dr. Cooke, in his Journal, mentions some wells 
in Cireassia, strongly impregnated with this 
inflammable oil, from which issues_ boiling 
water. ‘‘ Though the weather,” he adds, ‘‘ was 
now very cold, the warmth of these wells of 
hot water produced nearthem the verdure and 
flowers of spring.”’ 

Major Scott Waring says, that naphtha is 
used by the Persians, as we are told it was in 
hell, for lamps. 


Met ao on bole many & row 

Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 

With naphtha and asphaltus, yielding light 

As from a sky. 

+‘ At the great festival of fire, called the 
Sheb Sezé, they used to set fire to large bunches 
of dry combustibles, fastened round wild beasts 
and birds, which being then let loose, the 
air and earth appeared one great illumination; 
and as these terrified creatures naturally fle 
to the woods for shelter, it is easy to conceive 
the conflagrations they produced.’’—Iichard- 
son's Dissertation. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


419 


“T bid you all to a fair festal rite, 
““Where—having deep refresh’d each 
weary limb {cherubin, 
“With viands, such as feast Heav’n’s 
“ And kindled up your souls, now sunk 
and dim, [ Maids above 
<‘ With that pure wine the Dark-eyed 
‘Keep, seal’d with precious musk, for 
those they love,—* 
“1 will myself uncurtain in your sight 
“The wonders of this brow’s ineffable 
light ; [ disperse 
“Then lead you forth, and with a wink 
“Yon myriads, howling through the 
universe "ἢ 


Hager they listen—while each accent 
darts 
New life into their chill’d and hope-sicl 
Such treach’rous life as the cool draught 
supplies [dies ! 
To him upon the stake, who drinks and 
Wildly they point their lances to the light 
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout ‘‘'To- 
night "ἢ -- [ voice 
“To-night,” their Chief re-echoes in a 
Of fiend-like mock’ry that bids hell re- 
joice. 
Deluded victims !—never hath this earth 
Seen mourning half so mournful as their 
mirth. [ stood 
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had 
This racking waste of famine and of 
blood, {the shout 
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom 
Of triumph like a maniac’s laugh broke 
out: [ fire, 
There, others, lighted by the smould’ring 
Danced, like wan ghosts about a funera 
pyre, {around ;— 


[hearts ; | 


'But hark—she 


In ev'ry horror doom’d to bear its part!— 
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, 
Who, while his quiv’ring lip the sum- 
mons gave, [of the grave 
Grew black, as though the shadows 
Compass’d him round, and ere he could 
repeat [feet ! 
His message through, fell lifeless at her 
Shudd’ring she went—a soul-felt pang 
of fear, {near, 
A presage that her own dark doom was 
Roused ev’ry feeling, and brought Rea- 
son back {the rack. 
Once more, to writhe her last upon 
All round seem’d tranquil—ev’n the foe 
had ceased, 
As if aware of that demoniac feast, 
{lis fiery bolts; and though the heay’ns 
look’d red, [ spread. 
’Twas but some distant conflagration’s 
stops—she  listens— 
dreadful tone ! [a groan, 
’Tis her Tormentor’s langh—and now, 
A long death-groan comes with it :—can 
this be 
The place of mirth, the bower of rey- 
elry ? 
She enters—Holy ALLA, what a sight 
Was there before her! By the glim- 
m’ring light {of brands 
Of the pale dawn, mix’d with the flare 
That round lay burning, dropp’d from 
lifeless hands, [spread, 
She saw the board, in splendidmockery 
Rich censers breathing—garlands over- 
head [late had quaff’d 
The urns, the cups, from which they 
All gold and gems, but—what had been 
the draught ? [guests, 
Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid 


Among the dead and dying strew’d | With their swoll’n heads sunk black’ning 
While some pale wretch look’d on, and | on their breasts, [glare, 
from his wound | Or looking pale to Heav’n with glassy 


Plucking the fiery dart by which he | 
bled, 


In ghastly transport waved it o’er his | 


’Twas more than midnight now—a 
fearful pause [applause, 

Had follow’d the long shouts, the wild 

That lately from those Royal Gardens 
burst, [accursed, 

Where the Veil’d demon held his feast 
When ZeLIcA—alas, poor ruin’d heart, 


*“ The righteous shall be given to drink of | 


pure wine. sealed; the seal whereof shall be 
musk.’’— Koran, chap. lxxxiii. 


Asif they sought but saw nomercy there; 


{head! | As if they felt, though poison rack’d 


them through, 

| Remorse the deadlier torment of the two! 

While some, the bravest, hardiest in the 
train 

Of their false Chief, who on the battle 
plain 

Would have met death with transport 
by his side, [they died, 

Here mute and helpless gasp’d :—but, as 

Look’d horrible vengeance with their 
eyes’ last strain, [in vain. 

And clench’d the slack’ning hand at him 


420 


MOORHP’S WORKS. 


Dreadful it was to see the ghastly 
stare, 
The stony look of horror and despair, 
Which some of these expiring victims 
cast [last ; 
Upon their souls’ tormentor to the 
Upon that mocking Fiend, whose veil, 
now raised, { gazed, 
Show’d them, as in death’s agony they 
Not the long-promised light, the brow 
whose beaming [ deeming, 
Was to come forth, all conqu’ring, all re- 
But features horribler than Hell e’er 
traced [the Waste, * 
On its own brood;—no Demon of 
No churchyard Ghole, caught ling’ring 
in the light [sight 
Of the blest sun, e’er blasted human 
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as 
those [shows :— 
Th’ Impostor now, in grinning mock’ry, 
“There, ye wise Saints, behold your 
Light, your Star— Lare. 
“Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye 
“Ts it enough? or must I, while a thrill 
“Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat 
you still? [ feel within 
“Swear that the burning death ye 
“Ts but the trance with which Heav’n’s 
joys begin ; [ graced 
“That this foul visage, foul as e’er dis- 
“Ἔν ἢ monstrous man, is—after God’s 
own taste ; [way said 
“And that—but see !—ere I have half- 
“My greetings through, th’ uncourteous 
souls are fled. [ die, 
“Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye 
‘« Tf Epuis loves you half so well as I.— 
‘Ta, my young bride !—’tis well—take 
thou thy seat ; [never meet 
“Nay, come—no shudd@’ring—didst thou 
“The Dead before ?—they graced our 
wedding, sweet ; 
‘And these, my guests to-night, have 
brimm’d so true 
‘Their parting cups, that thow shalt 
pledge one too. [ drunk up? 
‘*But—how is this?—all empty? all 
“Hot lips have been before thee in the 
cup, 


* “The Afghauns believe each of the numer- 
ous solitudes and deserts of their country to 
be inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they 
eall the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the 
Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of 
ar sequestered tribe, by saying, they are as 
wild as the Demon of the Waste.”--Elphin- 
stone's Caubul. 


“Young bride—yet stay—one precious 
drop remains, 

“Bnough to warm ἃ gentle Priestess’ 
veins ;— [conqwring arms. 

‘*Here, drink—and should thy lover's: 

“Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its 
charms, [ kiss, 

‘Give him but half this venom in thy 

“ And te forgive my haughty rival’s 
bliss ! 


“ Bor me—I too must die—but not like 
these [ breeze ; 
“Vile, rankling things, to fester in the 
“To have this brow in ruffan triumph 
shown, [own, 
“With all death’s grimness added to its 
“ And rot to dust beneath the taunting 
eyes [ Godship lies !’ 

“Of slaves, exclaiming, ‘There his 
““No—cursed race—since first my soul 
drew breath, [ev’n in death. 
“They’ve been my dupes, and shall be 
“Thou see’st yon cistern in the shade— 
tis fill’d (distill’d Ὁ 
“With burning drugs, for this last hour 
“There will I plunge me in that liquid 
flame— ({frame— 

“Pit bath to lave a dying Prophet’s 
“There perish, all—ere pulse of thine 
shall fail— ᾿ [the tale. 
“Nor leave one limb to tell mankind 


So shall my votaries, wheresoe’er they 


rave, [Saint it gave ;— 
“‘Proclaim that Heaw’n took back the 
“That Vve but vanish’d from this earth 
awhile, {shrouded smile ! 
“To come again, with bright, un- 
“So shall they build me altars in their 
zeal, [fools shall kneel ; 
““Where knayes shall minister, and 
“Where Faith may mutter o’er her 
mystic spell, [swell 
“Written in blood—and Bigotry may 
“The sail he spreads for Heay’n with 
blasts from hell! [be 
“¢So shall my banner, through long ages, 
“The rallying sign of fraud and an- 
archy ;— KANNA’S name, 
“Kings yet unborn shall rue Mo- 


+ “ILdonna du poison dans Je vin ἃ tous ses 
gens, et se jeta Ini-méme ensuite dans une cuye 
pleine de drozues brflantes et consumantes, 
‘fin qu'il ne restat rien de tous les membres de 
son corps, et que ceux qui restoient de sa secte 
puissent croire αὐ ἢ étoit monté au ciel, ce qui 
ne manqua pas darriver.”—D’ Herbelot. 


LALLA 


“And, though I die, my spirit, still the 
same, [strife, 
“Shall walk abroad in all the stormy 
“ And guilt, and blood, that were its 
bliss in life. [shakes the wall— 
“But, hark! their batt’rimg engine 
“Why, let it shake—thus I can brave 
them all. [they come, 
“No trace of me shall greet them, when 
«And I can trust thy faith, for —thow lt 
be dumb. [me, 
“Now mark how readily a wretch like 
“Tn one bold plunge commences 
Deity !” 


He sprung and sunk, as the last words 
were said— [head, 
Quick closed the burning waters o'er his 
And ZeLIcA was left—within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing, 
The only wretched one, still cursed with 
breath, 
In all that frightful wilderness of death ! 
More like some bloodless ghost—such 
as, they tell, [ dwell, 
In the Lone Cities of the Silent* 
And there, unseen of all but ALLA, sit 
Each by its own pale carcass, watchingit. 


But morn is up, and a fresh warfare 
stirs [ers. 
Throughout the camp of the beleaguer- 
Their globes of fire (the dread artill’ry 
ent [spent ; 
By GREECE to conqwring MAHADI) are 
And now the scorpion’s shaft, the quarry 
sent [throng 
From high balistas, and the shielded 
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, 
All speak th’ impatient Islamite’s intent 
To try, at length, if tower and battle- 
ment [ win, 
And bastion’d wall be not less hard to 
Less tough to break down than the 
hearts within. 
First in impatience and in toil is he, 
The bumning Azim—oh! could he but 
see [grasp, 
Th’ Impostor once alive within his 
Not the gaunt lion’s hug, nor boa’s 
clasp, [or keep pace 
Could match that gripe of vengeance, 
With the fell heartiness of Hate’s 
embrace ! 


*«They have all a great reverence for burial- 
grounds, which they sometimes eall by the 
poetical name of Cities of the Silent, and which 


ROOKH., 421 
Loud rings the pond’rous ram against 
the walls ; | falls, 
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress 
But still no breach—‘‘ Once more, one 
mighty swing [ing !” 
“Of all your beams, together thunder- 
There—the wall shakes—the shouting 
troops exult, [catapult 
‘¢ Quick, quick discharge your weightiest 
“Right on that spot, and NEKSHEB is 
our own !” [ing down, 
Tis done—the battlements come crash- 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv’n 
in two, [anew, 
Yawning, like some old crater rent 
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking 
through. living seen 
But strange! no signs of life—naught 
Above, below—what can this stillness 
mean ? " [and eyes— 
A minute’s pause suspends all hearts 
“Tn through the breach,” impetuous 
AZIM cries ; [ wile 
But the cool CAuipH, fearful of some 
In this blank stillness, checks the troops 
awhile— [vanced 
Just then, a figure, with slow step, ad- 
Forth from the ruin’d walls, and, as 
there glanced 
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see 
The well-known Silver Veil!—‘‘’Tis 
He, ’tis He, { around: 
““MoKANNA, and alone!” they shout 
Young Azim from his steed springs to 
the ground— { “the task 
“Mine, Holy Caliph, mine,” he cries, 
“To crush yon daring wretch—'tis all I 
ask.” 
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe, 
Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow 
And falteringly comes, till they are 
near ; [ spear, 
Then, with a bound, rushes on AzIM’s 
And, casting off the Veil in falling, 
shows [ flows! 
Oh!—’tis his Zenrca’s life-blood that 
“T meant not, AzIM,” soothingly she 
said, [head, 
As on his trembling arm she lean’d her 
And, looking in his face, saw anguish 
there {can bear— 
Beyond all wounds the quiv’ring flesh 
ΚΤ meant not thow shouldst have the 
pain of this :— 
they people with the ghosts of the departed, 


who sit each at the head of his own graye, in- 
visible to mortal eyes.” —Elwhinstone. 


422 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Though death, with thee thus tasted, 
is a bliss 
“Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst 
thou but know die so! 
“How oft I’ve pray’d to God I might 
“‘ But the Fiend’s venom was too scant 
and slow ;— [thought 
“To linger on were madd’ning—and 1 
““Tf once that Veil—nay, look not on it 
—caught [should be 
“<The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I 
“Struck by a thousand death-darts in- 
stantly. yes— 
ἐς But this is sweeter—oh! believe me, 
“1 would not change this sad, but dear 
caress, [not give 
“This death within thy arms I would 
“Por the most smiling life the happiest 
live! [the eye 
“ All, that stood dark and drear before 
“Cf my stray’d soul, is passing swiftly 
by; [of love, 
*“ A light comes o’er me from those looks 
“Like the first dawn of mercy from 
above ! 
** And if thy lips but tell me I’m forgiv’n, 
“Angels will echo the blest words in 
Heay’n! [mine 
“ But live, my Azim;—oh! to call thee 
“«Thus once again! my Azrm—dream 
divine ! 
*‘ Live, if thou ever loy’dst me, if to meet 
««Thy Zeuica hereafter would be sweet, 
“Oh, live to pray for her—to bend the 
knee 
“‘ Morning and night before that Deity, 
“* To whom pure lips and hearts without 
a stain, [ vain, — 
“ΑΒ thine are, Azim, never breathed in 
«And pray that He may pardon ber,— 
may take [ sake, 
«Compassion on her soul for thy dear 
‘*And, naught rememb’ring but her 
love to thee, 
“‘Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 
“Go to those happy fields where first 
we twined [wind 
“Our youthful hearts together—every 
““That meets thee there, fresh from the 
well-known flow’rs, 
“Will bring the sweetness of those in- 
nocent hours [again 
‘Back to thy soul, and thou may’st feel | 
‘“ Por thy poor ZELICA as thou didst then. 
“So shall ‘hy orisons, like dew that flies 
“To Heay’n upon the morning’s sun- 


shine, rise 


“With all love’s earliest ardor to the 
skies ! 
‘¢ And should they—but, alas, my senses 
fail— [ers prevail— 
‘Oh for one minute !—should thy pray- 
“Tf pardon’d souls may, from that World 
of Bliss, [ this— 
‘‘ Reveal their joy to those they love in 
““T’lleome to thee—in some sweet dream 
—and tell— [ well, farewell.” 
“Oh Heay’n—I die—dear loye! fare- 


Time fleeted—years on years had 
pass’d away, [ful day, 
And few of those who, on that mourn- 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden’s death, and the youth’s 
agony, 
Were living still—when, by a rustic 
grave, [ wave, 
Beside the swift Amoo’s transparent 
An aged man, who had grown aged 
there [in prayer, 
By that lone grave, morning and might 
For the last time knelt down—and, 
though the shade [play’d 
Of death hung dark’ning over him, there 
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, 
That brighten’d even Death—like the 
last streak 
Of intense glory on th’ horizon’s brim, 
When night o’er all the rest hangs chill 
and dim. [slept; 
His soul had seen a Vision, while he 
She, for whose spirit he had pray’d and 
wept dress’d 
So many years, had come to him, all 
In angel smiles, and told him she was 
blest! Land died 
For this theold man breathed his thanks, 
And there, upon the banks of that loved 
tide, 
He and his ZELICA sleep side by side. 


THE story of the Veiled Prophet of 
Khorassan being ended, they were now 
doomed to hear FALADEEN’s criticisms 
upon it. A series of disappointments 
and accidents had occurred to this learn- 
ed Chamberlain during the journey. In 
the first place, those couriers stationed, 
as in the reign of Shah Jehan, between 
Delhi and the Western coast of India, 
to secure a constant supply of mangoes 


| for the Royal Table, had, by some cruel 


irregularity, failed in their duty ; and to 
eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong 


LALLA ROOKH. 


423 


was, of course, impossible.* In the next 
place, the elephant, laden with his fine 
antique porcelain,t had, in an unusual 
fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set 
to pieces :—an irreparable loss, as many 
of the vessels were so exquisitely old, as 
to have been used under the Emperors 
Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages 
before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, 
too, supposed to be the identical copy 
between the leaves of which Mahomet’s 
favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been 
mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole 
days ; not without much spiritual alarm 
to FADLADEEN, who, though professing 
to hold with other loyal and orthodox 
Mussulmans, that salvation could only 
be found in the Koran, was strongly 
suspected of believing in his heart, that 
it could only be found in his own par- 
ticular copy of it. When to all these 
grievances 15 added the obstinacy of the 
cooks, in putting the pepper of Canara 
into his dishes instead of the cinnamon 
oi Serendib, we may easily suppose that 
he came to the task of criticism with, 
at least, a sufficient degree of irritability 
for the purpose. 

“In order,” said he, importantly 
swinging about his chaplet of pearls, 
“‘to convey with clearness my opinion 
of the story this young man has related, 
it is necessary to take a review of all 
the stories that have ever ——’—‘“ My 
good FADLADEEN !” exclaimed the Prin- 
cess, interrupting him, ‘‘ we really do 
not deserve that you should give your- 
self so much trouble. Your opinion of 
the poem we have just heard, will, I 
have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, 
without any further waste of your valu- 
able erudition.”—‘ If that be all,” re- 
plied the critic, —evidently mortified at 
SAS) gelebrity of Mazagong is owing to 
its mangoes, which are certainly the best fruit 
I ever tasted. The parent-tree, from which 
all those of this species have been grafted, is 
honored during the fruit-season by a guard of 
sepoys: and in the reign of Shah Jehan, 
couriers were stationed between Delhi and 
the Mahratta coast, to seeure an abundant 
and fresh supply of mangoes for the royal 
table.” —IMrs. Graham's Journal of a Residence 
in India. 

| This old porcelain is found in digging, and 
“Gf it is esteemed, 1t 1s not becanse it lias ac- 
quired any new degree of beauty in the earth, 
but because it has retained its ancient beauty; 


and this alone 15 of great importance in China, 
where they give large sums for the smallest 


not being allowed to show how much lie 
knew about every thing but the subject 
immediately before him —‘‘ if that be all 
that is required, the matter is easily dis- 
patched.” He then proceeded to ana- 
lyze the poem, in that strain (so well 
known to the unfortunate bards of Del- 
hi) whose censures were an infliction 
from which few recovered, and whose 
very praises were like the honey ex- 
tracted from the bitter flowers of the 
aloe. The chief personages of the story 
were, if he rightly understood them, an 
ill-favored gentleman, with a veil over 
his face ;—a young lady, whose reason 
went and came, according as it suited 
the poet’s convenience to be sensible or 
otherwise ;—and a youth in one of those 
hideous Bucharian bonnets, who took 
the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a 
Divinity. ‘‘ From such materials,” said 
he, “‘waatean be expected? —after rival- 
ling each other im long speeches and 
absurdities, through some thousands of 
lines as indigestible as the filberts of 
Berdaa, our friend in the veil jumps into 
a tub of aquafortis ; the young lady dies 
in a set speech, whose only recommen- 
dation is that it is her last; and the 
lover lives on to a good old age, for the 
laudable pumice of seeing her ghost, 
which he at last happily accomplishes, 
and expires. This, you will allow, is a 
fair summary of the story; and if Nas- 
ser, the Arabian merchant, told no bet- 
ter, our Holy Prophet (to whom be all 
honor and glory!) had no need to be 
jealous of his abilities for story-telling.”’} 

With respect to the style, it was wor- 
thy of the matter;—it had not even 
those politic contrivances of structure, 
which make up for the commonness of 
the thoughts by the peculiarity of the 


vessels which were used under the E:nperors 
Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages before 
the dynasty of Tang, at which time porcelain 
began to be used by the Emperors,” (:bout the 
year 442.)— Dunn's Collection of Curious Obser- 
vations, &¢.;—a bad translation of some parts 
of the Lettres Edifiantes et Curieuses of the 
Missionary Jesuits. 

¢** La lecture de ces Fables plaisoit si fort anx 
Arabes, que, quand Mahomet les entretenoit 
de |'Histoire de | Ancien Testament, ils les 
méprisoient, lui disant gue eelles que Nasser 
leur racontoient τοιοῦ beaucoup plus belles. 
Cette préférence attira ἃ Nasser lw malédiction 
de Mahomet et de tous ses disciples.” - D’ Her- 
belot. 


424 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


manner, nor that stately poetical phrase- 
ology by which sentiments mean in 
themselves, like the blacksmith’s* apron 
converted into a banner, are so easily 
gilt and embroidered into consequence. 
Then, as to the versification, it was, to 
say no worse of it, execrable: it had 
neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the 
sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious 
march of Sadi; but appeared to him, in 
the uneasy heaviness of its movements, 
to have been modelled upon the gait of 
a very tired dromedary. ‘The licenses, 
too, in which it indulged, were unpar- 
donable ;—for instance this line, and the 
poem abounded with such :— 


Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream 


‘«« What critic that can count,” said ΕΑ Ὁ- 
LADEEN, ‘and has his full complement 
of fingers to count withal, would toler- 
ate for an instant such syllabic superflui- 
ties ??—He here looked round, and dis- 
covered that most of his audience were 
asleep; while the glimmering lamps 
seemed inclined to follow their example. 
It became necessary, therefore, how- 
ever painful to himself, to put an end to 
his valuable animadversions for the pres- 
ent, and he accordingly concluded, with 
an air of dignified candor, thus :—‘‘ Not- 
withstanding the observations which I 
have thought it my duty to make, it is 
by no means my wish to discourage the 
young man:—so far from it, indeed, 


that if he will but totally alter his style | 


of writing and thinking, I have very lit- 
tle doubt that I shall be vastly pleased 
with him.” 

Some days elapsed, after this har- 
angue of the Great Chamberlain, before 
LALLA ΠΟΟΚΗ could venture to ask for 
another story. The youth was still a 
welcome guest in the pavilion—to one 


* The blacksmith Gao, who successfully re- 
sisted the tyrant Zohak, and whose apron be- 
came the Royal Standard of Persia. 

{The Huma, a bird peculiar to the East. 
It is supposed to fly constantly in the air, and 
never touch the ground; it is looked upon as a 
bird of happy omen; and that every head it 
overshades will in time wear a crown.”’—Jich- 
ardson. 

In the terms of alliance made by Fuzzel 
Oola Khan with Hyder in 1760, one of the 
stipulations was, ‘‘that he should have the dis- 
tinction of two honorary attendants standing 
behind him, holding fans composed of the 
feathers of the humma, according to the prac- 
tice of his family.”"— Wilks’s South of India. 


| lous. bird. 


heart, perhaps, too dangerously wel- 
come ;—but all mention of poetry was, 
as if by common consent, avoided. 
Though none of the party had much 
respect for FADLADEEN, yet his cen- 
sures, thus magisterially delivered, evi- 
dently made an impression on them all. 
The Poet, himself, to whom criticism 
was quite a new operation, (being 
wholly unknown in that Paradise of the 
Indies, Cashmere,) felt the shock as it 
is generally felt at first, till use has made 
it more tolerable to the patient ;—the 
Ladies began to suspect that they ought 
not to be pleased, and seemed to con- 
clude that there must have been much 
good sense in what FADLADEEN said, 
from its having set them all so soundly 
to sleep ;—while the self-complacent 
Chamberlain was left to triumph in the 
idea of having, for the hundred and fif- 
tieth time in his life, extinguished a Poet. 
LALLA ROoKH alone—and Love knew 
why—persisted in being delighted with 
all she had heard, and im resolving to hear 
more as speedily as possible. Her man 
ner, however, of first returning to the 
subject was unlucky. It was while 
they rested during the heat of noon near 
a fountain, on which some hand had 
rudely traced those well-known words 
from the Garden of Sadi, “‘ Many, like 
me, have viewed this fountain, but they 
are gone, and their eyes are closed for- 
ever !”’—that she took occasion, from 
the melancholy beauty of this passage, 
to dwell upon the charms of poetry in 
general. ‘It is true,” she said, ‘ few 
poets can imitate that sublime bird, 
which flies always in the air, and never 
touches the earth:+—it is only once in 
many ages a Genius appears, whose 
words, like those on the Written Moun- 
tain, last forever:{—but still, there are 
He adds in a note:—‘tThe Humma is a fabu- 
The head over which its shadow 
once passes will assuredly be cireled with a 
crown. ‘The splendid little bird suspended 
over the throne of Tippoo Sultaun, found at 
Seringapatam in 1799, was intended to repre- 
sent this poetical faney.”’ 

{ “To the pilgrims to Mount Sinai we must 
attribute the inscriptions, figures, &e., on those 
rocks which have from thenee acquired the 
name of the Written Mountain.”"—Volney. M. 
Gebelin and others have been at much pains to 
attach some mysterious and important mean- 
ing to these inscriptions; but Niebuhr, as well 
as Volney, thinks that they must have been ex- 
ecuted at idle hours by the travellers to Mount 


LALLA 


some, as delighted, perhaps, though not 
so wonderful, who, if not stars over our 
head, are at least flowers along our path, 
and whose sweetness of the moment we 
ought gratefully to inhale, without call- 
ing upon them for a brightness and a 
durability beyond their nature. In 
short,” continued she, blushing, as if 
conscious of being caught in an oration, 
‘it is quite cruel that a poet cannot 
wander through his regions of enchant- 
ment, without having a critic forever, 
like the Old Man of the Sea, upon his 
back !"*—F ADLADEEN, it was plain, took 
this last luckless allusion to himself, and 
would treasure it up in his mind asa 
whetstone for his next criticism. A sud- 
den silence ensued; and the Princess, 
glancing a look at FERAMORZ, saw 
plainly she must wait for a more coura- 
geous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her 
wild, fragrant airs, playing freshly over 
the current of youthful spirits, will soon 
heal even deeper wounds than the dull 
Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In 
an evening or two after, they came to 
the small Valley of Gardens, which had 
been planted by order of the Emperor, 
for his favorite sister, Rochinara, during 
their progress to Cashmere, some years 
before, and never was there a more 
sparkling assemblage of sweets since the 
Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rosé-bower of Irem. 
Every precious flower was there to be 
found, that poetry, or love, or religion, 
has ever consecrated; from the dark 
hyacinth, to which Hafez compares his 
mistress’s hair,f to the Camalata, by 
whose rosy blossoms the heaven of In- 
dra is scented. As they sat in the cool 
fragrance of this delicious spot, and 
LALLA Rook remarked that she could 
fancy it the abode of that Flower-loying 

. 


Sinai, “‘ who were satisfied with cutting the 
unpolished rock with any pointed instrument; 
adding to their names and the date of their 
journeys some rude figures, which hespeak the 
hand of a people but little skilled in the arts.” 
—Niebuhr. 

* The Story of Sinbad. 

t See Nott’s Hafez, Ode y. 

{‘*The Camalataé (called by Linnus, Tpo- 
mea) is the most beautiful of its order, both in 
the color and form of its leaves and flowers ; 
its elegant blossoms are ‘ celestial rosy red, 
Loye’s proper hue,’ and have justly procured 
it the name of Camalata, or Love's Creeper. "— 

“ Camalaté may also mean a mythological 


ROOKH. 425 


Nymph whom they worship in the tem- 
ples of Kathay,§ or of one of those Peris, 
those beautiful creatures of the air, who 
live upon perfumes, and to whom a 
lace like this might make some amends 
for the Paradise they have lost—the 
young Poet, in whose eyes she appeared, 
while she spoke, to be one of the bright 
spiritual creatures she was describing, 
said hesitatingly that he remembered a 
Story of a Peri, which, if the Princess 
had no objection, he would venture to 
relate. ‘It is,” said he, with an ap- 
ἘΞΟΙΣΕ look to FADLADEEN, ‘‘in ἃ 
ighter and humbler strain than the 
other;” then, striking a few careless 
but melancholy chords on his kitar, he 
thus began :— 


PARADISE AND THE PERI. 


ONE morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
And as she listen’d to the Springs 
Of Lite within, like music flowing, 
And caught the light upon her wings 
Through the half-open portal glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e’er have lost that glorious place ! 


“How happy,” exclaim’d this child of 
air, {there, 

“Are the holy Spirits who wander 
‘’Mid flowers that never shall fade or 
fall ; [and sea, 
‘«Though mine are the gardens of earth 
“ And the stars themselves have flowers 
for me, [them all! 

“One blossom of Heaven outblooms 


“Though sunny the Lake of cool Casu- 
MERE, 
‘With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, || 
“And sweetly the founts of that Val- 
ley fall ; 


plant, by which all desires are granted to such 
as inhabit the heaven of Indra; and if ever 
flower was worthy of paradise, it is our charm- 
ing [pomiea.’—Jb. 

§‘* According to Father Premare, in his tract 
on Chinese Mythology, the mother of Fo-hi 
was the daughter of heaven, surnamed Flower- 
loving ; and as the nymph was walking alone 
on the bank of a river, she found herself en- 
cireled by a rainbow, after which she became 
pregnant, and, at the end of twelve years, 
was delivered of ason radiant as herself.”— 
Asiat. Res. 

ll ‘* Numerous small islands emerge from the 
Lake of Cashmere. One is called Char Che 
naur, from the plane trees upon it." —Foster. 


420 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


‘‘Though bright are the waters of Βινα- 
SU-HAY, 
“‘And the golden floods that thither- 
ward stray, * 
‘“‘Yet—oh, ’tis only the blest can say 
‘« How the waters of Heaven outshine 
them all! 


“60, wing thy flight from star to star, 
““From world to luminous world, as far 
“« As the universe spreads its flaming 
wall: [ spheres, 
“Take all the pleasures of all the 
“And multiply each through endless 
years, 
“One minute of heaven is worth 


The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And, as he nearer drew and listen’d 
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten’d 
Within his eyelids, like the spray 

From Eden’s fountain, when it lies 
On the blue flow’r, which—Bramins 

say— 
Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.t 


‘Nymph of a fair but erring line !” 

Gently he said—“ One hope is thine. 

“ΠῚ written in the Book of Fate, 
“The Peri yet may be forgiv’n 

“ Who brings to this Eternal gate 
“The Gift that is most dear to 

Heav'n! 

““Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin— 

“OTis sweet to let the pardon’d in.” 

Rapidly as comets run 

To th’ embraces of the Sun ;— 


* “The Altan Kol or Golden River of Tibet, 
which runs into the Lakes of Sing-su-hay, 
has abundance of gold in its sands, which em- 


ploys the inhabitants all the summer in gather- | 


lng it. —Deseripton of Tibet in Pinkerton. 

|The Brahmins of this province insist that 
the blue campac flowers only in Paradise.”— 
Sir W. Jones. It appears, however, from a 
curious letter of the Sultan of Menangeabow, 
viven by Marsden, that one place on earth may 
lay claim to the possession of it. “" This is the 
Sultan, who keeps the flower ehampaka that is 
blue, and to be found in no other country but 
his, being yellow’ elsewhere.”— Marsden's 
Sumatra. 


- 


# ‘The Mahometans suppose that falling 


stars are the firebrands wherewith the good | ( 
tures that yield ivory, and among’ the plants of 


anevels drive away the bad, when they ap- 
1eavens.’—Fryer. 


ὁ The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the 
ruins of Persepolis. It is imagined by them 


[them all! | 


roich too near the empyrean or verge of the | 
| wood 


that this palace and the edifices at Balbee were | 


built by Genii, for the purpose of hiding in 


Fleeter than the starry brands 

Flung at night from angel handst 

At those dark and daring sprites . 

Who would climb th’ empyreal heights, 

Down the blue vault the ΡΈΕΙ flies, 
And, lighted earthward by a glance 

That just then broke from morning’s 

eyes, [panse. 

Hung hoy’ring o’er our world’s ex- 


But whither shall the Spirit go 

To find this gift for Heav’n 1--“1 know 

“The wealth,” she cries, ‘‘ of every urn, 

“In which unnumber’d rubies burn, 

“ Beneath the pillars of CHILMINAR ;§ 

“I know where the Isles of Perfume 
are, || 


'“‘Many a fathom down in the sea, 


“To the south of sun-bright ARABY ;J 

"ΕῚ know, too, where the Genii hid 

“The jewell’d cup of their King JAm- 
SHID,** 

‘With Life’s elixir sparkling high— 

“ But gifts like these are not for the sky. 

“ Where was there ever a gem that shone 

“‘Like the steps of ALLA’s wonderful 
Throne ? [would they be 

“And the Drops of Life—oh! what 

“Tn the boundless Deep of Eternity ?” 


While thus she mused, her pinions fann’d 
The air of that sweet Indian land, 
Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
O’er coral rocks, and amber beds,tt 
Whose mountains, pregnant by the 
beam 

Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
Whose rivulets are like rich brides, 


their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, 
which still remain there.".—D* Herbelot, Volney. 

|| Diodorus mentions the Isle of Panehiaia, 
to the south of Arabia Felix, where there was 
a temple of Jupiter. This island, or rather 
cluster of isles, has disappeared, ‘‘ sunk (says 
Grandpré) in the abyss made by the fire be- 
neath their foundations.’ — Voyage tothe Indian 
Ocean. ’ 

4 The Isles of Panchaia. 

~< “ Theeup ofJamshid, discovered, they say, 
when digging for the foundations of Persepolis ’ 
—Richardson. 

it “It is not like the Sea of India, whose bot- 
tom is rich with pearls and ambergris, whose 
mountains of the coast are stored with gold 
und precious stones, whose gulfs breed crea- 


whose shores are ebony, red wood, and the 
of Hairzan, aloes. camphor, cloves, 
sandal-wood, and all other spices and aromat- 
ies; where parrots and peacocks are birds of 
the forest, and musk andcivet are collected up- 
on the lands "—Zravels of two Mohammedans. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


427 


Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; 
Whose sandal groves and bow’rs of spice 
Might be a Peri’s Paradise ! 

But crimson now her rivers ran 

With human blood—the smell of death 
Came reeking from those spicy bow’rs, 
And man, the sacrifice of man, 

Mingled his taint with ev'ry breath 
Upwafted from th’ innocent flow’rs. 
Land of the Sun! what foot invades 
Thy Pagods and thy pillar’d shades *— 
Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones, 
Thy Monarchs and their thousand 

Thrones ? t 
’TNis He of GAzNnat—fierce in wrath 

He comes, and Inp1A’s diadems 
Lie scattered in his ruinous path.— 

His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
Torn from tbe violated necks 

Of many a young and loved Sultana;§ 

Maidens within their pure Zenana, 

Priests in the very fane he slaughters, 
And chokes up with the glitt’ring 

wrecks 

Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 
Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 
And, through the war-field’s bloody haze 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand, 

Alone beside his native river,— 

The red blade broken in his hand, 
And the last arrow in his quiver. 
“Tive,” said the Conqw’or, ‘‘ live to 
share 
“The trophies and the crowns I bear !” 
Silent that youthful warrior stood— 
Silent he pointed to the flood 
All crimson with his country’s blood, 
Then sent his last remaining dart, 
For answer, to th’ Invader’s heart. 
Pech seo. Ἐπ tbe round 
The bended twigs take root, and daughters 
Ἔτσ 
Δ ΠΡΙΟ mother-tree, ὦ pillar'd shade, 
High overarch'd, and echoing walks between. 
MILTON. 

For a particular description and plate of the 
Banyan-tree, see Cordiner’s Ceylon. 

1‘‘ With this immense treasure Mahmood 
returned to Ghizni, and in the year 400 pre- 
pared a magnificent festival, where he dis- 
played to the peorle his wealth in golden 
thrones and in other ornaments, in a great plain 


without the city of Ghizni.”—Ferishta. 
+ “Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who con- 


False πεν the shaft, though pointed 
well ; 
The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell !— 
Yet mark’d the Pert where he lay, 
And, when the rush of war was past, 
Swiftly descending on a ray 
Of morning light, she caught the last— 
Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 


| Before its free-born spirit fled ! 


“ Be this,” she cried, as she wing’d her 
flight, 
“My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
“Though foul are the drops that oft 
distil 
“On the field of warfare, blood lke 
this, 
“For Liberty shed, so holy 1s, || 
“Tt would not stain the purest rill, 
“That sparkles among the Bowers of 
Bliss. 


Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 


“* 4 boon, an offering Heay’n holds dear, 

“Tis the last libation Liberty draws 

‘From the heart that bleeds and breaks 
in her cause !” 


“Sweet,” said the Angel, as she gave 
The gift into his radiant hand, 
“Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 
“Who die thus for their native 
Land. — & 


| “But see—alas !—the crystal bar 


quered India in the beginning of the 11th cen- 


tury.”-—See his History in Dow and Sir J. 
Malcolm. 

§ “It is reported that the hunting equipage 
of the Sultan Mahmood was so magnificent 
that he kept 400 greyhounds and bloodhounds, 


each of which wore a collar set with jewels, | 


“Of Eden moves not —holier far 

“Than ον Ἢ this drop the boon must be, 

‘‘That opes the Gates of Heay’n for 
thee!” 


Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, 
Now among AFRIc’s lunarmountains, 1 


and a covering edged with gold and pearls.” 
— Universal History, vol. iii. 

\| Objections may be made to my use of the 
word Liberty in this, and more especially in 
the story that follows it, as totally inapplicable 
to any state of things that has ever existed in 
the East; but though I cannot, of course, 
mean to employ it in that enlarged and noble 


| sense which is so well understood at the pres- 


ent day, and, I grieve to say, so little acted 
upon, yet it is no disparagement to the word to 
apply it to that national independence, that 
freedom from the interference and dictation of 
foreigners, without which, indeed, no liberty 
of any kind ean exist; and for which both 
Hindoos and Persians fought agaimst their 
Mussulman invaders with, in many cases, a 
bravery that deserved much better success. 

* «The Mountains of the Moon, or Montes 
Lune of antiquity, at the foot of which the 
Nile is supposed to arise.""—Bruce. 

‘Sometimes culled,” says Jackson, ‘ Jibbel 


428 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Far to the South, the ῬΒΕῚ lighted ; 
And sleek’d her plumage at the foun- 

tains ᾿ : 

Of that Egyptian tide—whose birth 

Is hidden from the sons of earth 

Deep in those solitary woods 

Where oft the Genii of the Floods 

Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 

And hail the new-born Giant’s smile. * 

Thence over E@ypt’s palmy groves, 

Her grots and sepulchres of Kings, t 
The exiled Spirit sighing roves ; 

And now hangs list’ning to the doves 
In warm RoseETta’s valet—now loves 

To watch the moonlight on the wings | 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Maris’ Lake.§ 

’T was a fair scene—a Land more bright | 

Never did mortal eye behold! 

Who could have thought, that saw this 
night 

Those valleys and their fruits of gold 
Basking in Heav’n’s serenest light ;— 
Those groups of lovely date-trees bend- 

ing 

Languidly their leaf-crown’d heads, 
Like youthful maids, when sleep de- 

scending ᾿ 

Warns them to their silken beds ;--- [ἢ 
Those virgin lilies, all the night 

Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and 

bright, 

When their beloved Sun’s awake ;— 
Those ruin’d shrines and tow’rs that 
The relics of a splendid dream; [seem 

Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Naught but the lapwing’s cry is heard, 
Naught seen but (when the shadows, 

flitting 
Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam, ) | 
Kumrie, or the white or lunar-colored moun- 
tains; soa white horse is called by the Ara- 
bians a moon-colored horse.”’ 

*«The Nile, which the Abyssinians know by 
the names of Abey and Alawy, or the Giant.” 
—Asiat. Research. vol. 1. ᾿ 987, 

iSee Perry’s View of the Levant for an ac- 
count of the sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and 
the numberless grots covered all over with 
ieroglyphies in the mountains of Upper Egypt. 

‘<The orchards of Rosetta are filled with 
turtle-doves.’’—Sonnini. 

§ Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake 
Morris. 

1" The superb date-tree, whose head lan- 
guidly reclines, like that of a handsome woman 
overcome with sleep.”"—Dafard el Hadad. 

| ‘That beautiful bird, with plumage of the 
finest shining blue, with purple beak and legs, 
the natural and living ornament of the temples 


Some purple-wing’d Sultana{ sitting 
Upon a column, motionless 

And glitt’ring like an Idol bird !— 

Who could have thought, that there, 

ey’n there, 

Amid those scenes so still and fair, 
The Demon of the Plague hath cast 
From his hot wing a deadlier blast, 

More mortal far than ever came 

From the red Desert’s sands of flame! 

So quick, that ev'ry living thing 

Of human shape, touch’d by his wing, 
Like plants, where the Simoom hath 

pass’d, 

At once falls black and withering ! 

The sun went down on many a brow 
Which, full of bloom and freshness 

Is rankling in the pest-house now, [then, 
And ne’er will feel that sun again. 

And, oh! to see th’ unburied heaps 

On which the lonely moonlight sleeps— 

The very vultures turn away, 

And sicken at so foul a prey ! 

Only the fierce hyena stalks** 

Throughout the city’s desolate walkstt 

At midnight, and his carnage plies :— 
Wo to the half-dead wretch, who meets 

The glaring of those large blue eyestt 
Amid the darkness of the streets ! 


‘Poor race of men!” said the pitying 
Spirit, 
“ Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall— 
“Some flow’rets of Eden ye still in- 
herit, 
‘But the trail of the Serpent is over 
them all!” 


| She wept—the air grew pure and clear 


Around her, as the bright drops ran ; 
For there’s a magic in each tear, 
Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 


and palaces of the Greeks and Romans, which, 
from the stateliness of its port, as well as the 
brillianey of its colors, has obtained the title of 
Sultana.” —Sonnini. 

**« Jackson, speaking of the plague that oe- 
curred in West Barbary, when he was there, 
says, ‘he birds of the air fled away from the 
abodes of men. The hywnas, on the contrary, 
visited the cemeteries,” &c. 

tt “Gondar was full of hyenas from the time 
it turned dark, till the dawn of day, seeking 
the different pieces of slaughtered carcasses, 
which this cruel and unclean people expose in 
the streets without burial, and who firmly be- 
lieve that these animals are Falashta from the 
neighboring mountains, transformed by magic, 
and come down to eat human flesh in the dark 
in satety.”—Bruce. 

τ Lbid: 


LALLA 


Just then beneath some orange trees, 
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
Were wantoning together, free, 
Like age at play with infancy— 
Beneath that fresh and springing bower, 
Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
Of one who, at this silent hour, 
Had thither stol’n to die alone. 

One who in life where’er he moved, 
Drew after him the hearts of many ; 
Yet now, as thoughhe ne’er were loved, 
Dies here unseen, unwept by any! 
None to watch near him—noue to slake 

The fire that in his bosom lies, 
With ey’n a sprinkle from that lake, 
Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
No mene; well known through many a 
ay, 
To speak the last, the parting word, 
Which, when all other sounds decay, 
Is still like distant music heard ;— 
That tender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o’er, 
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
Puts off into the unknown Dark. 


Deserted youth ! one thought alone 
Shed joy around his soul in death— 
Thatshe, whom he for years hadknown, 
And loved, and might have called his 

own, [breath, — 
Was safe from this foul midnight’s 
Safe in her father’s princely halls, 
Where the cool airs from fountain falls, 
Freshly perfumed by many a brand 
Of the sweet wood from India’s land, 
Were pure as she whose brow they 
fann’d. 


But see—who yonder comes by stealth,* 
This melancholy bow’r to seek, 
Like a young envoy, sent by Health, 
With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? [dim, 
Tis she-—far off, through moonlight 
He knew his own betrothed bride, 
She, who would rather die with him, 
Than live to gain the world beside !— 
Her arms are round her lover now, 
His livid cheek to hers she presses, 
And dips, to bind his burning brow, 
In the cool lake her loosen’d tresses. 


Ah! once, how little did he think 

An hour would come, when he should 
shrink 

With horror from that dear embrace, 


* This circumstance has been often intro- 
duced into poetry ;—by Vineentius Fabricius, 


ROOKH.,. ; 429 
Those gentle arms, that were to him 
Holy as is the cradling place 
Of Eden’s infant cherubim ! 
And now he yields—now turns away, 
Shudd’ring as if the venom lay 
All in those proffer’d lips alone— 
Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his unask’d or without shame. 
‘Oh! Jet me only breathe the air, 
‘‘The blessed air, that’s breathed by 
thee, 
“ And, whether on its wings it bear 
‘‘ Healing or death, ’tis sweet to me ! 
“‘There—drink my tears, while yet they 
fall— 
“Would that my bosom’s blood were 
balm, : 
«« And, well thou know’st, Τ᾽ ἃ shed it all, 
“To give thy brow one minute’s calin. 
‘‘Nay, turn not from me that dear 
face— [bride— 
‘Am I not thine—thy own loved 
‘The one, the chosen one, whose place 
“Τῇ life or death is by thy side ? 
‘‘Think’st thou that she, whose only 
light [shone, 
“Jn this dim world, from thee hath 
‘Could bear the long, the cheerless 
night, [gone ? 
“That must be hers when thou art 
“That I can live, and let thee go, 
‘Who art my life itself ?—No, no— 
“When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
‘¢ Out of its heart must perish too! 
“Then turn to me, my own love, turn, 
“Before, like thee, I fade and bun; 
“Cling to these yet cool lips, and share 
“The lastpure life that lingers there !” 
She fails—she sinks—as dies the lamp 
In charnel airs, or cavern-damp, 
So quickly do his baleful sighs 
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. 
One struggle—and his pain is past— 
Her lover is no longer living! 
One kiss the inaiden gives, one last, 
Long kiss, which she expires in giv- 
ing! 
‘« Sleep,” said the Peri, as softly she stole 
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, 
As true as e’er warm’d a woman’s 
breast— 
“Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, 
ΚΤ balmier airs than ever yet stirr’d 
“ἢ enchanted pile of that lonely bird, 
by Darwin, and lately, with very powerful 
effect, by Mr. Wilson, 


490 


“« Who sings at the last his own death- 
lay, * paway !” 
‘“‘And in music and perfume dies 


Thus saying, from her lips she spread 
Unearthly breathings through {πὸ 
place, [ shed 
And shook her sparkling wreath, and 
Such lustre o’er each paly face, 
That like two lovely saints they seem’d, 
Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
T'rom their dim graves, in odor sleeping ; 
While that benevolent Pert beam’d 
Like their good angel, camly keeping 
Watch o’er them till their souls would 
waken. 


But morn is blushing in the sky ; 
Again the PERI soars above, 
Bearing to Heay’n that precious sigh 
Of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb’d her heart, with hope elate, 
Th’ Elysian palm she soon shall win, 
For the bright Spirit at the gate 
Smiled as she gave that off’ring in; 
And she already hears the trees 
Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 
That from the throne of ALLA swells ; 
And she can see the starry bowls 
That lie around that lucid lake, 
Upon whose banks admitted Souls [take.t 
Their first sweet draught of glory 


But, ah! ev’n Perts’ hopes are vain— 
Again the Fates forbade, again 

Th’ immortal barrier closed—‘‘ Not yet,” 
The Angel said, as, with regret, 

He shut from her that glimpse of glory — 
““True was the maiden, and her story 
“Written in light o’er ALLA’s head 
‘““By seraph eyes shall long be read. 
“But, Pert, see—the crystal bar 

“Of den moves not —holier far 


*«Tn the East, they suppose the Phoenix to 
have fifty orifices in his bill, which are con- 
tinued to his tail; and that, after living one 
thousand years, he builds himself a funeral 
pile, sings a melodious air of different harmo 
ies throneh his fifty organ pipes, flaps his 
Wings with a velocity which sets fire to the 
wood, and consumes himself.”’—Richardson. 

4 °*On the shores of a quadrangular lake 
stand a thousand goblets, made of stars, out of 
which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink 
the erystal wave.”’—From Chateaubriand’s 
Deseription of the Mahometan Paradise, in his 
Beauties of Christianity 

{ Richardson thinks that Syria hadits name 
from Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of 
rose, for which that country has been always 
famous ;—hence, Suristan, the Laud of Roses. 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


“Than ev’n this sigh the boon must be 
“That opes the Gates of Heav’n for 
ΠΟΘΙ 


Now, upon Syrta’s land of rosest 
Softly the light of Eve reposes, 
And, like a glory, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted LEBANON; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur tow’rs, 
And whitens with eternal sleet, 
While summer, in a vale of flow’rs, 
Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 


To one, who looked from upper air 

O’er all th’ enchanted regions there, 

How beauteous must have been the 

glow, 
The life, the sparkling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shining streams, with 
ranks 

Of golden melons on their banks, 

More golden where the sunlight falls ;— 

Gay lizards, glitt’ring on the walls$ 

Of ruin’d shrines, busy and bright 

As they were all alive with light ; 

And, yet more splendid, numerous 

Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,[flocks 

With their rich restless wings, that 

Variously in the crimson beam [gleam 

Of the warm West,—as if inlaid 

With brilliants from the mine, or made 

Of tearless rainbows, such as span 

Th’ unclouded skies of PERISTAN. 

And then the mingling sounds that come, 

Of shepherd’s ancient reed,|| with hum 

Of the wild bees of PALESTINE, Ἷ 
Banqueting through the flow’ry vales ; 

And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine, 
And woods, so full of nightingales. ** 


But naught can charm the luckless PERI ; 
Her soul is sad—her wings are weary— 
Joyless she sees the Sun look down 

On that great Temple, once his own, ff 


§ “The number of lizards I saw one day in 

the great court of the Temple of the Sun at 
jalbee amounted to many thousands; the 
eround, the walls, and stones of the ruined 
buildings, were covered with them.’’—Bruce. 

| ‘Lhe Syrinx, or Pan’s pipe, is still a pasto- 
ralinstrumentin Syria.’’—Russel. 

4“ ‘‘ Wild bees, frequent in Palestine, in hol- 
low trunks or branches of trees, and the 
clefts of rocks. Thusitis said, (J’salm 1xxxi.,) 
‘honey out of the stony rock.’’’—Burder’s Ori- 
ental Customs. 

ἘΠΕ (The river Jordanis on both sides beset 


| with little thick and pleasant woods, among 


which thousands of nightingales warble all te- 
gether.’ —Thevenot. 
{| Lhe Temple of the Sun at Balbee. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


401 


Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 
Flinging their shadows from on high, 

Like dials, whicn the wizard, Time, 
Had raised to count his ages by ! 


Yet haply there may lie conceal’d 
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 
Some amulet of gems, anneal’d 
In upper fires, some tablet seal’d 
With the great name of SoLoMon, 
Which, spell’d by her illumined eyes, 
May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
In earth or ocean, lies the boon, 
The charm, that can restore so soon 
An erring Spirit to the skies. 


Cheer’d by this hope she bends her 
thither ;— [ven, 
Still langhs the radiant eye of Hea- 
Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
In the rich West begun to wither ;— 
When, o’er the vale of BALBEC winging 
Slowly, she sees a child at play, 
Among the rosy wild-flow’rs singing, 
As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, 
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,* 
That flutter’d round the jasmine stems, 
Like winged flow’rs or flying gems :— 
And, near the boy, who tired with play 
Now nestling ’mid the roses lay, 
She saw a wearied man dismount 
From his hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret’s rustic fountt 
Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn’d 
To the fair child. who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day-beam burn’d 
Upon a brow more fierce than that,— 
Sullenly fierce—a mixture dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ; 
In which the PErt’s eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; 
The ruin’d maid—the shrine profaned— 
Oaths broken—and the threshold stain’d 
*«* You behold there a considerable number 
of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, 
the elegance of whose appearance and their 


attire procured for them the name of Damsels.” 
—NSonnini. 


1 Imaret, ‘‘hospice of on loge et nourrit, 
gratis, Jes pélerins pendant trois jours.”"— 
Toderini, translated by the Abbé de Cournand. 
—See also Castellan's Mours des Othomans, 
tom. y., p. 145. 


t “Such Turks as at the common hours of 
prayer are on the road, or so employed as not 
to find convenience to attend the mosques, are 
still obliged to execute that duty ; nor are they 


With blood of guests !—there written 
all, 

Black as the damning drops that fall 

From the denouncing Angel’s pen, 

Ere Mercy weeps them out again. 


Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
(Asif the balmy evening time 
Soften’d his spirit) look’d and lay, 
Watching the rosy infant’s play :— 
Though still, whene’er his eye by chance 
Fell on the boy’s, its lurid glance 
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
As torches, that have burn’d all night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 
Encounter morning’s glorious rays. 


But, hark! the vesper call to pray’r, 
As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
Is rising sweetly on the air, 
From Syria’s thousand minarets ! 
The boy has started from the bed 
Of flow’rs, where he had laid his head, 
And down upon the fragrant sod 
Kneelst with his forehead to the south, 
Lisping th’ eternal name of God 
From Purity’s own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Just lighted on that flow’ry plain, 
And seeking for its home again. 
Ob! ’twas a sight—that Heay’n—that 
child— 
A scene, which might have well beguiled 
By’n haughty ΕΒ. of a sigh 
For glories lost and peace gone by ! 


And how felt he, the wretched Man 
Reclining there—while memory ran 
O’er many a year of guilt and strife, 
Flew o’er the dark flood of his life, 

Nor found one sunny roping Tae 
Nor brought him back one branch of 

grace. 

then about, but pray immediately when the 
hour alarms them, whatever they are about, in 
that very place they chance to stand on ; Inso- 
much that when a janizary, whom you have to 
guard you up and down the city, hears the 
notice which is given him from the steeples, he 
will turn about, stand still, and beckon with his 
hand, to tell his charge he must have patience 
for awhile, when, taking out his handkerchief, 
he spreads it on the ground, sits cross-legged 
thereupon, and says his prayers, though im the 
open market, which having ended, he leaps 
briskly up, salutes the person whom he under- 
took to convey, and resumes his journey with 
the mild expression of Ghell gohnnum ghell, or 


eyer known to fail, whatever business they are | Come, dear, follow me.”"—Aaron Hull's Travels, 


432 


“There was a time,” he said, in mild, 
Heart-humbled tones—‘‘thou blessed 
child ! 
““ When, young and haply pure as thou, 
“1 look’d and pray’d like thee—but 
now ’— 
He hung his head—each nobler aim, 
And hope, and feeling, which had 
slept ἔ 
From boyhood’s hour, that instant came 
Fresh o’er him, and he wept—he 
wept ! 


Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 


“‘There’s a drop,’’ said the Pert, ‘‘ that 
down from the moon 
“Falls throughthe withering airs of June 
‘“‘Upon Heypt’s land,* of so healing a 
pow’r, 
“ἐ 850 balmy a virtue, that ev’n in the hour 
‘That drop descends, contagion dies, 
“And health reanimates earth and 
skies !— 
“ΟΠ, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 
‘The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
“Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 
“One heavenly drop hath dispell’d 
them all "Ὁ" 


And now—behold him kneeling there 

By the child’s side, in humble pray’r, 

While the same sunbeam shines upon 

The guilty and the guiltless one, 

And hymns of joy proclaim through 
Heay’n 

The triumph of a Soul Forgivy’n ! 


’T was when the golden orb had set, 
While on their knees they linger’d yet, 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
Dew’d that repentant sinner’s cheek. 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam— 

sut well th’ enraptured Pert knew 
"Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 

*The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which 
falls in Eeypt precisely on St. Johns day, in 
June, and is supposed to have the effect of 
stopping the plague. 

| The Peay, of Delight—the name of a 
provinee in the kingdom of Jinnistan, or Fairy 


Land, the eapital of which 1s called the City of 
Amberabad 1s another of the cities of 


Jewels. 
Jinnistan. 
{The tree Tooba, that stands in Paradise, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


From Heaven’s gate, to hail that tear 
Her harbinger of glory near! 


“ Joy, joy forever! my task is done— 
“The gates are pass’d, and Heavy’n is 
won! 
“Oh! am 1 not happy? I am, 1 am— 
““To thee, sweet Hden! how dark 
and sad [KIAM,t 
‘Are the diamond turrets of SHADU- 
“ And the fragrant bowers of AMBER- 
ABAD! 


‘Farewell, ye odors of Earth, that die 
“ Passing away like a lover’s sigh ;— 

‘“ My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,f 
‘« Whose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 


‘Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that 
shone [brief ;— 
“ΤῊ my fairy wreath, -so bright and 
“Oh! what are the brightest that e’er 
have blown, [ throne, § 
“To the lote-tree, springing by ALLA’s 
‘Whose flowers have a soul in every 
leaf. 
‘* Joy, joy forever !—my task is done— 
“The Gates are pass’d, and Heay’n is 
won!” 


‘« AnD this,” said the Great Chamber- 
lain, “415 poetry! this flimsy manufac- 
ture of the brain, which, in comparison 
with the lofty and durable monuments 
of genius, 1s as the gold filigree-work of 
Zamara beside the eternal architecture 
of Egypt!” After this gorgeous sen- 
tence, which, with a few more of the 
same kind, FADLADEEN kept by him for 
rare and important occasions, he pro- 
ceeded to the anatomy of the short poem 
just recited. The Jax and easy kind of 
metre in which it was written ought to 
be denounced, he said, as one of the 
leading causes of the alarming growth 
of poetry in our times. If some check 
were not given to this lawless facility, 
we should soon be overrun by a race of 
bards as numerous and as shallow as 
the hundred and twenty thousand 
inthe palace of Mahomet. See Sale’s Prelim. 
Dise.—'Looba, says D’ Herbelot, signifies beati- 
tude, or eternal happiness. 

§ Mahomet is deseribed, in the 53d chapter 
of the Koran, as having seen the angel Gabriel 
‘by the lote-tree, beyond which there 1s no 
passing; near it 1s the Garden of Eternal 
Abode.’ This tree, say the commentators, 
stands in the seventh Heaven, on the right 
hand of the Throne of God, 


LALLA 


Streams of Basra.* They who suc- 
ceeded in this style deserved chastise- 
ment for their yery success ;—as war- 
riors haye been punished, even after 
gaining a victory, because they had 
taken the liberty of gaining 1t in an ir- 
regular or wnestablished manner. What, 
then, was to be said to those who failed ? 
to those who presumed, as in the pres- 
ent lamentable instance, to imitate the 
license and case of the bolder sons of 
song, without any of that grace or vigor 
which gave a dignity even to negli- 
gence;— who, like them, flung the 
jereedt carelessly, but not, hke them, 
to the mark ;—‘ and who,” said he, 
raising his yoice to excite a proper de- 
gree of wakefulness in his hearers, ‘‘con- 
trive to appear heavy and constrained 
in the midst of all the latitude they 
allow themselves, like one of those 
young pagans that dance before the 

rincess, who 1s ingenious enough to 
move as if her limbs were fettered, in a 
pair of the hghtest and loosest drawers 
of Masuhpatam "ἢ 

It was but little suitable, he con- 
tinued, to the grave march of criticism 
to follow this fantastical Peri, of whom 
they had just heard, through all her 
flights and adyentures between earth and 
heaven; but he could not help advert- 
ing to the puerile conceitedness of the 
Three Gifts which she is supposed to 
carry to the skies, —a drop of blood, for- 
sooth, a sigh, and a tear! How the 
first of these articles was delivered into 
the Angel’s ‘radiant hand” he professed 
himself at a loss to discover; and as to 
the safe carriage of the sigh and the tear, 
such Peris and such poets were beings 
by far too incomprehensible for him even 
to guess how they managed such mat- 

*“Tt is said that the rivers or streams of 
Basra were reckoned in the time of Pelal ben 
Abi Bordeh, and amounted to the number of 
one hundred and twenty thousand streams. — 
Bin Haukal. 

| The name of the javelin with which the 
Easterns exercise. See Castellan, Maurs des 
Othomans, tom, iil. p. 161. 

} °° This account excited a desire of visiting 
the Banyan Hospital, as I had heard much of 
their benevolence to all kinds of animals that 
were either sick, lame, or infirm, through age 
or accident. On my arrival, there were pre- 
sented to my view many horses, cows, and 
oxen, in one bd gpa aah In another dogs, 


sheep, goats, and moukeys, with clean straw 


for them to repose on. Above stairs were de 


ROOKH., 433 


ters. ‘‘ But, in short,” said he, ‘‘it is a 
waste of time and patience to dwell 
longer upon a thing so incurably frivo- 
lous,—puny eyen among its own puny 
race, and such as only the Banyan Hos- 
pitalf for Sick Insects should under- 
take.” 

In vain did LALLA Rooks try to soft- 
en this inexorable critic; in vain did 
she resort to her most eloquent common- 
places,—reminding bin that poets were 
a timid and sensitive race, whose sweet- 
ness was not to be drawn forth, like 
that of the fragrant grass near the 
Ganges, by crushing and trampling upon 
them ;§—that severity often extinguish- 
ed every chance of the perfection which 
it demanded; and that, after all, perfec- 
tion was like the Mountain of the Talis- 
man,—no one had ever yet reached its 
sumunit.|} Neither these gentle axioms, 
nor the still gentler looks with which 
they were inculeated, could lower for 
one instant the elevation of Fapia- 
DEEN’S eyebrows, or charm him into any 
thing like encouragement, or even toler- 
ation, of her poet. Toleration, indeed, 
was not among the weaknesses of Fap- 
LADEEN :—he carried the same spirit 
into matters of poetry and of religion, 
/and, though little versed in the beauties 
and sublimities of either, was a perfect 
master of the art of persecution in both. 
His zeal was the same, too, in either 
pursuit; whether the game before him 
was pagans or poetasters,—worshippers 
of cows, or writers of epics. 

They had now arrived at the splendid 
city of Lahore, whose mausoleums and 
shrines, magnificent and numberless, 
where Death appeared to share equal 
honors with Heaven, would have pow- 
erfully affected the heart and imagina- 


positories for seeds of many sorts, and flat, 
road dishes for water for the use of birds and 
insects.""—Parson's Travels. 

It is said that all animals know the Banyans, 
that the most timid approach them, and that 


| birds will fly nearer to them than to other 
| people.—See Grandpre. 


§ “A very fragrant grass from the banks of 
ithe Ganges, near Heridwar, which in some 
pluces covers whole acres, and diffuses, when 
| crushed, a strong odor. '—Sir W Jones on the 
| Spikenard of the Ancients. 

| ‘‘ Near this is a curious hill, called Koh 
| Talism, the Mountain of the Talisman, be- 
| cause, according to the traditions of the coun- 
| try, no person ever succeeded in gaining its 
sum mit.''—Kinneir. 


494 


tion of LALLA Rook, if feelings more 
of this earth had not taken entire posses- 
sion of her already. She was here met 
by messengers, dispatched from Cash- 
mere, who ‘informed her that the King 
had arrived in the Valley, and was him- 
self superintending the sumptuous prep- 
arations that were then making in the 
Saloons of the Shalimar for her recep- 
tion. The chill she felt on receiving 
this intelligence,—which to ἃ bride 
whose heart was free and light would 
have brought only images of affection 
and pleasure,—convinced her that her 
peace was gone forever, and that she 
was in love, irretrievably in love, with 
young Frramorz, The veil had failen 

off in which this passion at first dis- 
guises itself, and to know that she loved 
was now as painful as to love without 
knowing it had been delicious. FERA- 
MORZ, too,—what misery would be his, 
if the sweet hours of intercourse so im- 
prudently allowed them should have 
stolen into his heart the same fatal fas- 
cination as into hers ;—if, notwithstand- 
ing her rank, and the modest homage he 
always paid to it, even he should have 
yielded to the influence of those long 
and happy interviews, where music, 
poetry, the delightful scenes of nature, — 
all had tended to bring their hearts close 
together, and to waken by every means 
that too ready passion, which often, like 


the young of the desert-bird, is warmed | 


into life by the eyes alone !* She saw 
but one way to preserve herself from be- 
ing culpable as well as unhappy, and 
this, however painful, she was resolved 
to adopt. FERAMORZ must no more be 
admitted to her presence. To have 
strayed so far into the dangerous laby- 
rinth was wrong, but to linger im it, 
while the clew was yet in her hand, 
would be criminal. Though the heart 
she had to offer to the King of Bucharia 


might be cold and broken, it should at | 


least be pure; and she must only en- 
deayor to forget the short dream of hap- 


*“The Arabians believe that the ostriches 
hatch their young by only looking at them.”’— 
P. Vanslebe, Relat. αὐ Egypte. 

f See Sale’s Koran, note, vol. ii. p. 484. 

; Oriental Tales. 

§ Ferishta. ‘Or rather,”’ says Scott, upon 
the passage of Ferishta, from which this is 
taken, ‘small coins, stamped with the figure 
of a flower. They are still used in India to 
distribute in charity, and, on occasion, thrown 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


piness she had enjoyed,—like that Ara- 

bian shepherd, who, in wandering into — 
the wilderness, ὁ caught a glimpse of the 

Gardens of Irim, and then lost them 

again forever ! t 

The arrival of the young Bride at La- 
hore was celebrated in the most enthusi- 
astic manner. The Rajas and Omras in 
her train, who had kept at a certain dis- 
tance during the journey, and never en- 
camped nearer to the Princess than was 
strictly necessary for her safeguard, 
here rode in splendid cavalcade through 
the city, and distributed the most costly 
presents to the crowd. Engines were 
erected in all the squares, which cast 
forth showers of confectionery among 
the people ; while the artisans, in chari- 
otst adorned with tinsel and flying 
streamers, exhibited the badges of their 
respective trades through the streets. 
Such brilliant displays of life and page- 
antry among the palaces, and domes, 
and gilded minarets of Lahore, made 
the city altogether like a place of en- 
chantment ;—particularly on the day 
when LALLA RooxH set out again upon 
her journey, when she was accompanied 
to the gate by all the fairest and richest 
of the nobility, and rode along between 
ranks of beautiful boys and girls, who 
kept waving over their heads plates of 
gold and silver flowers,§ and then threw 
them around to be gathered by the 
populace. 

For many days after their departure 
from Lahore, a considerable degree of 
gloom hung over the whole party. 
LALLA Rook, who had intended to 
make illness her excuse for not admit- 
ting the young minstrel, as usual, to the 
pavilion, soon found that to feign indis- 
position was unnecessary ;-—I°ADLADEEN 
felt the loss of the good road they had 
hitherto travelled, and was very near 
cursing Jehan-Guire (of blessed mem- 
ory!) for not haying continued his de- 
lectable alley of trees, || at least as far as 
the mountains of Cashmere ,—while the 
by the purse-bearers of the great among the 
popul: ce. 

|| The fine road made by the Emperor Jehan- 
Guire from Agra to Lahore, planted with trees 
on each side, This road is 250 leagues in 
length. It he 18. ‘little pyramids or turrets,’ 
says Bernier, ‘erected every half league, to 
mark the ways, and frequent wells to afford 
drink to passengers, and to water the young 
trees.’’ 


LALLA ROOKII, » 


435 


Ladies, who had nothing now to do all 
day but to be fann’d by peacocks’ fea- 
thers and listen to FADLADEEN, seemed 
heartily weary of the life they led, and 
in spite of all the Great Chamberlain’s 
criticisms, were so tasteless as to wish 
for the poet again. One evening, as 
they were proceeding to their place of 
rest for the night, the Princess, who, 
for the freer enjoyment of the air, had 
mounted her favorite Arabian palfrey, 
in passing by a small grove heard the 
notes of a lute from within its leaves, 
and a voice which she but too well knew, 


- singing the following words :— 


TELL me not of joys above, 
If that world can give no bliss, 
Truer, happier than the Love ἡ 
Which enslaves our souls in this. 


Tell me not of Houris’ eyes;— 
Far from me their dangerous glow, 
Tf those looks that light the skies 
Wound like some that burn below. 


Who, that feels what Love is here, 
All its falsehood—all its pai— 

Would, for ev’n Elysium’s sphere, 
Risk the fatal dream again ? 


Who, that midst a desert’s heat 
Sees the waters fade away, 

Would not rather die than meet 
Streams again as false as they ? 


The tone of melancholy defiance in 
which these words were uttered, went 
to LALLA Rooxkn’s heart ;—and, as she 
reluctantly rode on, she could not help 
feeling αὐ to be a sad but still sweet cer- 
tainty, that Frramorz was to the full 
as enamored and miserable as herself. 
The place where they encamped that 
evening was the first delightful spot they 
had come to since they left Lahore. On 
one side of them was a grove full of small 
Hindoo temples, and planted with the 
most graceful trees of the East; where 
the tamarind, the cassia, and the silken 
plantains of Ceylon were mingled in 
rich contrast with the high fan-like foli- 


>**The Baya, or Indian Gross-beak, ‘"—Sir 
W. Jones. 

| ‘* Here is a large pagoda by a tank, on the 
waters of which float multitudes ot the beauti 
ful red lotus; the flower 15 larger than that of 
the white water lily, and is the most lovely of 
the nymphias I have seen. "—Mrs. Graham's 
Journal of a Residence in India. 


age of the Palmyra,—that favorite tree 
of the luxurious bird that lights up the 
chambers of its nest with fire-flies.* In 
the middle of the lawn where the payil- 
ion stood there was a tank surrounded 
by small mango-trees, on the clear cold 
waters of which floated multitudes of 
the beautiful red lotus ;¢ while at a dis- 
tance stood the ruins of a strange and 
awful-looking tower, which seemed old 
enough to have been the temple of some 
religion no longer known, and which 
spoke the voice of desolation in the 
midst of all that bloom and loveliness. 
This singular ruin excited the wonder 
and conjectures of all. LALLA Rook 
guessed in vain, and the all-pretending 
FADLADEEN, who had never till this 
journey been beyond the precincts of 
Delhi, was proceeding most learnedly to 
show that he knew nothmg whatever 
about the matter, when one of the Ladies 
suggested that perhaps FerRAMORz could 
satisfy their curiosity. They were now 
approaching his native mountains, and 
this tower might perhaps be a relic of 
some of those dark superstitions, which 
had prevailed in that country before the 
hight of Islam dawned upon it. The 
Chamberlain, who usually preferred his 
own ignorance to the best knowledge 
that any one else could give him, was 
by no means pleased with this officious 
reference; and the Princess, too, was 
about to interpose a faint word of objec- 
tion, but before either of them could 
speak, a slave was dispatched for FERA- 
MORZ, Who, In a very few minutes, made 
his appearance before them—looking so 
pale and unhappy in Latta RooKn’s 
eyes, that she repented already of her 
cruelty in having so long excluded him. 

That venerable tower, he told them, 
was the remains of an ancient Fire- 
Temple, built by those Ghebers or Per- 
sians of the old religion, who, many hun- 
dred years since, had fled hither from 
their Arab conquerors,{ preferring lib- 
erty and their altars in a foreign land to 
the alternative of apostacy or persecu- 
tion in their own. It was impossible, 


! ‘*On les voit perséeutés par les Khalifes se 
retirer dans les montagnesdu Kerman: plusieurs 
choisirent pour retraite la 'Tartarie ct la Chine; 
d'autres s‘arrétérent sur les bords du Gange 
ἃ Pest de Delhi..—M. Anquetil, Mémoires de 
Académie, tom. xxXx1., p. 346 


436 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


he added, not to feel interested in the 
many glorious but unsuccessful strug- 
gles, which had been made by these ori- 
ginal natives of Persia to cast off the 
yoke of their bigoted conquerors. Like 
their own Fire in the Burning Field at 
Bakou,* when suppressed m one place, 
they had but broken out with fresh flame 
in another; and, as anative of Cashmere, 
of that fair and Holy Valley, which had 


in the same manner become the prey of 


strangers,t and seen her ancient shrines 
and native princes swept away before 
the march of her intolerant invaders, he 
felt a sympathy, he owned, with the suf- 
fermgs of the persecuted Ghebers, which 
every monument like this before them 
but tended more powerfully to awaken. 

It was the first time that Feramorz 
had ever ventured upon so much prose 
before FADLADEEN, and it may easily be 
conceived what effect such prose as this 
must have produced upon that most or- 
thodox and most pagan-hating person 
age. He sat for some minutes aghast, 
ejaculating only at tervals, ‘‘ Bigoted 
conquerors !—sympathy with Fire-wor- 
shippers !”{—while FERAMORz, happy 
to take advantage of this almost speech- 
less horror of the Chamberlain, proceed- 
ed to say that he knew a Taelach ale 
story, connected with the events of one 
of those struggles of the brave Fire-wor- 
shippers against their Arab masters, 
which, ifthe evening was not too far ad- 
vanced, he should have much pleasure 
in being allowed to relate to the Prin- 
cess. It was umpossible for LALLA 
Rooxu to refuse ;—he had never before 
looked half so animated; and when he 
spoke of the Holy Valley his eyes had 
sparkled, she thought, like the talis- 
manic characters on the cimeter of Solo- 
mon. Her consent was therefore most 


* The “ Ager ardens,’ described by Kemper/, 
Amenitat. Exot. 

ees Cashmere (says its historians) had its 
own princes 4000 years before its conquest by 
Akbar 1n 1585, Akbar would have found some 
difficulty vo reduce this paradise of the Indies, 
situated as 11 15 within such a fortress of moun. 
tains, but its monarch, Yusef-Khan, was 
basely betrayed by his Omrahs. '—Pennant. 

} Voltaire tells us that in his Tragedy, ‘ Les 
Guébres,”” he was generally supposed to haye 
alluded to the Jansenists. I should not be 
Surprised 1f this story of the Fire-worshippers 
were found capable of a similar doubleness of 
application, 


readily granted; and while FADLADEEN 
sat In unspeakable dismay, expecting 
treason and abomination in every line, 
the poet thus began his story of the Fire- 
worshippers :— 


THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS, 


"ΤῚΝ moonlight over OMAN’S SEA ;9 

Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 
Bask in the night-beam beauteously, 

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
’Tis moonlight in HARMOZIA’s|| walls, 
And through her Emrir’s porphyry halls, 
Where, some hours since, was heard the 

swell 
Of trumpet and the clash of zel,1 
Bidding the brizht-eyed sun farewell ;— 
The peaceful sun, whom better suits 
The musie of the bulbul’s nest, 
Or the light touch of lovers’ lutes, 

To sing him to his golden rest. [tion ; 
All hush’d—there’s not a breeze in mo- 
‘The shore 15 silent as the ocean. 

If zephyrs come, so light they come, 

Nor leaf is stirr’d nor wave is driven ; 
The wind-tower on the Emrr’s dome** 

Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 


Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 
Calm, while a nation round him weeps ; 
While curses load the air he breathes, 
And falchions from unnumber’d sheaths 
Are starting to avenge the shame 
His race hath brought on IRAN’s ffname. 
Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike 
Mid eyes that weep, and swords that 
strike ;— 
One of that saintly, murd’rous brood, 
To carnage and the Koran giy’n, 
Who think through unbelievers’ blood 
Lies their directest path to heay’n, 
One, who will pause and kneel unshod 
In the warm blood his hand hath 
pour’d, : 
To mutter o’er some text of God 


§ The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, 
which separates the shores of Persia and 
Arabia. 

|| Lhe present Gombaroon, a town on the 
Persian side of the Gulf. 

“Δ Moorish instrument of musie. 

***At Gombaroon and other places in Per- 
sia, they have towers for the Napanee of catch- 
ing the wind and cooling the houses.”—Le 
Bruyn. 

1) “Tran is the true general name for the 
empire of Persia.” —Asiat. Ies., Darsc. ὃ. 


ως ΡΥ. 


Engrayven on his reeking sword ; 
Nay, who can coolly note the line, 
The letter of those words divine, 

To which his blade, with searching art, 
Had sunk into its victim’s heart! 


Just ALLA! what must be thy look, 
When such a wretch before thee 
stands 
Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,— 
Turning the leaves with blood-stain’d 
hands, 
And wresting from its page sublime 
His creed of lust, and hate, and crime ;— 
Ey’n as those bees of TREBIZOND, 
σον from the sunniest flow’rs that 
glad 
With their pure smile the gardens round, 
Draw yenom forth that drives men 
mad.t 


Never did fierce ARABIA send 

A satrap forth more direly great ; 
Never was Irn doom’d to bend 

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 
Her throne had fall’n—her pride was 

crush’d— 
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush’d, 
In their own land, —no more their own,— 
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
Her tow’rs, where Mirura once had 

burn’d, [turn’d, 
To Moslem shrines—oh shame !—were 
Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
Their mean, apostate worship pour’d, 
And cursed the faith their sires adored. 
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, 
O’er all this wreck bigh buoyant still 
With hope and vengeance ;—hearts that 

yet— 

Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays 
They've treasured from the sun that’s 

set,— 

Beain all the light of long-lost days! 
And swords she hath, nor weak nor 

slow 

To second all such hearts can dare ; 
As he shall know, well, dearly know, 

Who sleeps in moonlight lux’ry there, 
Tranquil as 1{ his spirit lay 

** On the blades of their cimeters some 
verse from the Koran 1s usually inseribed.’’— 
Russel. 

1‘ There 1s akind of Rhododendros about 
Trebizond, whose flowers the bee feeds upon, 
and the honey thence drives people mad.”’— 
Tournefort. 

ἐλ Their kings wear plumes of black heron's 
feathers upon the right side, as a badge of 
sovereignty, '—Hanway. 


LALLA ROOKH. 437 


Beealm'd in Heav’n’s approving ray. 
Sleep on—for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hush'd, those planets 
shine; 
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmoved 
By the white moonbeam’s dazzling 
power ;— 
None but the loving and the loved 
Should be awake at this sweet hour. 


And see—where, high above those rocks 
That o’er the deep their shadows fling, 
Yon turret stands ;—where ebon locks, 
As glossy as a heron’s wing 
Upon the turban of a king,} 
Hang from the lattice, long and wild— 
'Tis she, that Emur’s blooming child, 
All truth, and tenderness, and grace, 
Though born of such ungentle race ;— 
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain ἐδ 


Oh what a pure and sacred thing 
Is Beauty, curtain’d from the sight 
Of the gross world, illumining 
One only mansion with her light! 
Unseen by man’s disturbing eye, — 
The flow’r that blooms beneath the sea, 
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 
Hid in more chaste obscurity. 
So, Hip, have thy face and mind, 
Like holy myst’nes, lam enshrined. 
And oh, what transport for a lover 
To lift the vale that shades thém 
o'er !— 
Like those who, all at once, discover 
In the lone deep some fairy shore, 
Where mortal never trod before, 
And sleep and wake in scented airs 
No hip had ever breathed but theirs. 


Beautiful are the maids that glide, 
On summer-eves, through YEMEN’S|| 
dales, 
And bright the glancing looks they hide 

Behind their litters’ roseate veils ;— 
And brides, as delicate and fair 
As the white jasmine flow’rs they wear, 
Hath YreMEN in her blissful clime, 

Who, lull’d m cool kiosk or bow’r, § 

§ The Fountain οἱ Youth, by a Mahome- 
tan tradition, is situated in some dark region 
of the Enst.'— Richardson. 

|| Arabia Felix. 

4 ‘Inthe midst of the garden is the chiosk, 
that is. a large room, commonly beautified 
with a fine fountain in the midst of it. It is 
raised nine or ten steps, and enclosed with 
gilded lattices, round which vines, jessamines, 
and honeysuckles, make a sort of green wall; 


438 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


Before their mirrors count the time,* 
And grow still lovelier ev’ry hour. 
But never yet hath bride or maid 
In ARABY’s gay Haram smiled, 
Whose pease brightness would not 
fade 
Before AL HAssan’s blooming child. 


Light as the angel shapes that bless 
An infant’s dream, yet not the less 
Rich in all woman’s loveliness ;— 
With eyes so pure, that from their ray 
Dark Vice would turn abash’d away, 
Blinded like serpents, when they gaze 
Upon the ew’rald’s virgin blaze ;—f 
Yet fill’d with all youth’s sweet desires, 
Mingling the meek and vestal fires 
Of other worlds with all the bliss, 
The fond, weak tenderness of this: 
A soul, too, more than half divine, 
Where, through some shades of earthly 
feeling, 
Religion’s soften’d glories shine, 
Like light through summer fohage 
stealing, 
Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
As makes the very darkness there 
More beautiful than light elsewhere. 


Such is the maid who, at this hour, 
Hath risen from her restless sleep, 
And sits alone in that high bow’r, 
Watching the still and shining deep. | 
Ah! ’twas not thus—with tearful eyes 
And beating heart,—she used to gaze | 
On the magnificent earth and skies, 
In her own land, in happier days. 


large trees are planted round this place, which 
15 the scene of their greatest pleasures.’ —Lady 
Δ]. W. Montagu. 

» The women of the East are never without 
their looking-glasses. ‘In Barbary,’ says 
Shaw, “they are so fond of their looking: 
glasses, Which they hang upon their breasts, 
that they will not lay them aside, even when 
after the drudgery of the day they are obliged | 
to go two or three miles with a pitcher or a 
goat's skin to fetch water.”—Travels. 

In other parts of Asia they wear little look- 
ing-glasses on their thumbs. ‘ Hence (and 
from the lotus being considered the emblem of | 
beauty) is the meaning of the following mute 
intercourse of twolovers before their parents:— 

““«Tie with salute ofdef'rence due, 

A lotus to his forehead press’d; 

She raised her mirror to his view, 
Then turn’d it inward to her breast.’” 
Asiatic Miscellany, vol. ii 


+‘ They say that if a snake or serpent fix his 


eyes on the lustre of those stones, (emeralds,) 


== 


Why looks she now so anxious down 
Among those rocks, whose rugged 
frown 
Blackens the mirror of the deep ? 
Whom waits she all this lonely night? 
Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, 
For manto scale that turret’s height !— 


So deem’d at least her thoughtful sire, 

When high, to catch the cool night- 

air, 
After the day-beam’s with’ring fire,t 

He built her bow’r of freshness there, 
And had it deck’d with costliest skill, 

And fondly thought it safe as fair:— 
Think, reverend dreamer! think so still, 

Nor wake to learn what Love can 

dare ;- 
Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease ;— 
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss 
Are pluck’d on Danger’s precipice ! 
Bolder than they, who dare not dive 

For pearls, but when the sea’s at rest, 
Love, in the tempest most alive, 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 
He finds beneath the stormiest water. 
Yes—ARABY’s unrivall’d daughter, 
Though high that tow’r, that rock-way 

rude, [cheek, 

There’s one who, but to kiss thy 
Would climb th’ untrodden solitude, 

Of ARARAT’s tremendous peak,¥ 


| And think its steeps, though dark and 


dread, 
Heav’n’s pathways, if to thee they led! 
Ev’n now thou seest the flashing spray, 


he immediately becomes blind.”"—Ahmed ben 
Abdalaziz, Treatise on Jewels. 

+“ At Gombaroon and the Isle of Ormus if 
is Sometimes so hot, that the people are obliged 
to lie all day m the water.’—Marco Polo. 


§ This mountain is generally supposed to be 
inaceessible, Struy says, 1 ean well assure 
the reader that their opinion is not true, who 
suppose this mount to be inaccessible.” He 
adds, that “πὸ lower part of the mountain is 
cloudy, misty, and dark, the middlemost part 
very cold, and like clouds of snow, but the 
upper regions perfectly calm.”—It was on this 
mountain that the Ark was supposed to have 
rested after the Deluge, and part of it, they 
say, exists there still, whi h Struy thus gravely 
accounts for:—'* Whereas none can remember 
that the air ontop of the hill did ever change 
or was subject either to wind or rain, which is 
presumed to be the reason that the Ark has 
endured so long without being rotten.’—See 
Carreri’s Travels, where the doctor laughs at 
this whole account of Mount Ararat. 


shee οδ 
Ῥ to 


- 


LALLA 


That lights his oar’s impatient way ; 
Ey'n now thou hear’st 
Of his swift bark against the rock, 

And stretchest down a arms of snow, 
As if to lift him from below ! 

Like her to whom, at dead of night, 


’ The bridegroom, with his locks of light, * 


Came, in the flush of love and pride, 

And sealed the terrace of his bride ;— 

When, as she saw him ἀκ spring, 

And midway up in danger cling, 

She flung him down her long black hair, 

Exclaiming, breathless, ‘‘'There, love, 

there !”’ Ἢ 

And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 

The hero ZA in that fond hour, 


Than wings the youth who, flect and | 


bold, { bower. 
Now climbs the rocks to HINDA’s 
See—light as up their granite steeps 
The rock-goats of ARABIA clamber,t 
Fearless from crag to crag he leaps, 
And now is in the maiden’s chamber. 


She loves—but knows not whom she 
loves, {came ;— 
Nor what his race, nor whence he 
Like one who meets, in Indian groves, 
Some beauteous bird without a name, 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze, 
From isles in th’ undiscover’d seas, 
To show his plumage for a day 
To wond’ring eyes, and wing away ! 
Will he thus fly—her nameless lover? 
ALLA forbid! ’twas by a moon 
As fair as this, while singimg over 
Some ditty to her soft Kanoon,t 
Alone, at this same witching hour, 
She first beheld his radiant eyes 
Gleam through the lattice of the bow’, 


ROOKH. 439 


Yet often since, when he hath spoken 


e sudden shock Strange, awful words,—and gleams have 


broken 
| From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, 

| Oh! she hath fear'd her soul was giv’n 
| To some unhallow’d child of air, 

Some erring Spirit cast from heay’n, 
Like those angelic youths of old, 

Who burn’d for maids of mortal mould, . 
Bewilder’d left the glorious skies, 
And lost their heav'n for woman’s eyes. 
Fond girl! nor fiend nor angel he 
Who woos thy young simplicity ; 

But one of earth’s impassion’d sons, 
| As warm in love, as fierce in ire, 

As the best heart whose current runs 
Full of the Day God’s living fire. 


But quench’d to-night that ardor seems, 
And pale his cheek, and sunk his 
brow ;— 
| Never before, but in her dreams, 

Had she beheld him pale as now: 
'And those were dreams of troubled 
sleep, [weep ; 
From which ’twas joy to wake and 

Visions that will not be forgot, 

But sadden every waking scene, 
| Like ἸΡΤΩΠΙΣ, Shes that leave the spot 
| <All shied where they once have 
een. 


|“ How sweetly,” said the trembling 
maid, 
Of her own gentle voice afraid, 
So long had they in silence stood, 

| Looking upon that tranquil flood— 

'“How sweetly does the moonbeam 
smile 

“‘To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 


Where nightly now they mix their “ΟΠ, m my fancy’s wanderings, 


sighs ; 
And thought some spirit of the air 
(For what could waft a mortal there ?) 
Was pausing on his moonlight way 
To listen to her lonely lay ! 
This fancy ne’er hath left her mind: 
And—though, when terror’s swoon 
had pass’d, 
She saw a youth of mortal kind, 
Before her in obeisance cast, — 


*In one of the books of the Shih Nameh, 
when Zal (a celebrated hero of Persia, remark- 


able for his white hair) comes to the terrace of 


his mistress Rodahver at night, she lets down 
her long tresses to assist him in his ascent ;— 
he," however, manages it in a less romantic 
way, by fixing his crook in a projecting beam. 
—See Champion's Ferdosi. 


| “*T’ve wish’d that little isle had wings, 
“‘ And we, within its fairy bow’rs, 

‘““Were wafted off to seas unknown, 

|“ Where not a pulse should beat but 

| ours, 

| Andwe might live, love, die alone! 
‘Far from the cruel and the cold,— 

| «Where the bright eyes of angels only 

“Should come around us, to behold 

| ‘+A paradise so pure and lonely. 


| 4° On the lofty hills of Arabia Petrwa are 
| rock-goats.''—Niebuhr. 


{‘‘Canun, espece de psaltérion, avec des 
cordes de boyaux ; les dames en touchent dans 
le sérail, avee des décailles armées de pointes 

‘ de coo.” —Joderini, trans. by De Cournand. 


440 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Would this be world enough for 
thee ??— 
Playful she turn’d, that he might see 
The passing smile her cheek put on; 
But when she mark’d how mournfully 
His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; 
And, bursting into heartfelt tears, 
“Yes, yes,” she cried, ‘‘my hourly 
fears, 
‘My dreams have boded all too right— 
“We part—forever part—to night! 
“TL knew, I knew it could not last— 
‘OTwas bright, ’twas heav’nly, but ’tis 
ast! 
“¢Oh! ever thus, from childhood’s hour, 
“<T’ve seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
“T never loved a tree or flow’r, 
“« But ’twas the first to fade away. 
“1 never nursed a dear gazelle, 
“To glad me with its soft black eye, 
“Βα when it came to know me well, 
“ And love me, it was sure to die! 
“‘Now too—the joy most like divine 
“ Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
‘« To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,— 
‘Oh misery! must I lose that too? 
“Yet go—on peril’s brink we meet ;— 
“Those frightful rocks—that treach’r- 
ous sea— 
‘“No, never come again—though sweet, 
‘Though heay’n, it may be death to 
thee. 
“« Farewell—and blessings on thy way, 
“Where’er thou goest, beloved 
stranger ! 
‘Better to sit and watch that ray, 
“« And think thee safe, though far away, 
‘“‘Than have thee near me, and in 
danger !” 


“Danger !—oh, tempt me not to boast”— 
The youth exclaim’d—‘ thou little 
know’st [nursed 
‘“What he can brave, who, born and 
“In Danger’s paths, has dared her 
worst ; 
‘Upon whose ear the signal word [ing; 
“Of strife and death is hourly break- 
‘Who sleeps with head upon the sword 
“His feverd hand must grasp in 
waking. 
‘* Danger !—” 


“Say on—thou fear’st not then, 
‘And we may meet—oft meet again ?” 


“Oh! Jook not so—beneath the skies 
“JT now fear nothing but those eyes. 


“Tf aught on earth could charm or force 

“My spirit from its destined course,— 

“ Tf aught could make this soul forget 

“¢The bond to which its seal is set, — 

“oTwould be those eyes ;—they, only 
they, 

‘Could melt that sacred seal away ! 

“ But no—’tis fix’d—my awful doom 

“Ts fix’d—on this side of the tomb 

“We meet no more;—why, why did 
Heay’n 

“Mingle two souls that earth has riv’n, 

‘Has rent asunder wide as ours? 

“Oh, Arab maid, as soon the Powers 

“Of Light and Darkness may combine, . 

‘As I be hnked with thee or thine! 

‘“‘Thy Father τ 


‘‘Holy ALLA save 
‘“‘His gray head from that lightning 
glance! [brave ; 
“Thou know’st him not—he loves the 
“ΝΟΥ lives there under Heaven's ex- 
panse [thee 
‘One who would prize, would worship 
“ And thy bold spirit, more than he. 
“ΟἿ when, in childhood, I have play’d 
‘‘ With the bright falchion by his side, 
‘ye heard him swear his lisping maid 
‘««TIn time should be a warrior’s bride. 
“¢ And still, whene’er at Haram hours, 
“JT take him cool sherbets and flow’rs, 
“Ἢ tells me, when in playful mood, 

‘© A hero shall my bridegroom be, 
“Since maids are best in battle woo’d, 
“ And won with shouts of victory ! 

“Nay, turn not from me—thou alone 
“Art form’d to make both hearts thy 
own. [ know’st 
‘‘Go—join his saered ranks—thou 
“Th’ unholy strife these Persians 
wage :— [thou glow’st 
‘““Good Heav’n, that frown—even now 
‘‘With more than mortal warrior’s 
rage. 
“ Haste to the camp by morning’s light, 
“And, when that sword is raised in 
fight, 
“Oh, still remember, Love and I 
‘‘ Beneath its shadow trembling lie! 
‘One vict’ry 0’er those Slaves of Fire, 
‘Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire 
« Abhors 2 


“Hold, hold—thy words are death—” 
The stranger cried, as wild he flung 
His mantle back, and show’d beneath 


LALLA ROOKH. 


The Gheber belt that round him 
clung. *— [see 
“Here, maiden, look—weep—blush to 
“ All that thy sire abhors in me! 
“ Yes—I am of that impious race, 
“Those Slaves of Fire who, morn and 
even, 
“ Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 
‘« Among the living lights of heaven ;t 
“Yes—ZI am of that outcast few, 
“ΠῸ IRAN and to yengeance true, 
«© Who curse the hour your Arabs came 
“To desolate our shrines of flame, 
« And swear, before God’s burning eye, 
“To break our country’s chains, or die! 
««Thy bigot sire, —nay, tremble not,— 
“He, who gave birth to those dear 
eyes, 
«With me is sacred as the spot 
“Prom which our fires of worship rise! 
“Βα know—twas he I sought that 
night, [sea, 
“When, from my watch-boat on the 
“1 caught this turret’s glimm ring light, 
“And up the rude rocks desp’rately 
“‘Rush’d to my prey—thou know’st the 
rest — 
“‘T climb’d the gory vulture’s nest, 
“ And found a trembling dove within ;— 
“‘Thine, thine the victory—thine the 


sin— 

“Tf Love hath made one thought his 
own 

‘*That Vengeance claims first—last— 
alone! 


“‘Oh! had we never, never met, 

“Or could this heart ev’n now forget 

“Tow link’d, how bless’d we might 
have been, 

“ Had fate not frown'd so dark between! 

“ Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 


*“ They (the Ghebers) lay so much stress on 
vheir cushee, or girdle, as not to dare to be an 
instant without it.’"—Grose’s Voyage.—* Le 
jeune homme nia d’abord la chose; mais, ayant 
été dépouillé de sa robe, et la large ceinture 
qwil portoit comme Ghébre,” &c., &e.—D'IHer- 
belot, art. Agduani. ‘Pour se distinguer des 
Idolitres de 1 Inde les Guébres se ceignent tous 
d'un cordon de Jaine, ou de poil de chameau.”’— 
Encyclopédie Frangoise. 

D'Herbelot says this belt was generally of 
leather. 


_ +“ They suppose the Throne of the Almighty 
is seated in the sun, and hence their worship of 
that lumivary.’—Hanway. “As to fire, the 
sa ghers place the spring-head of it in that 
£ obe of fire, the Sun, by them called Mythras, 
or Mihir, to which they pay the highest rever- 


441 


‘Tn neighboring valleys had we dwelt, 
‘‘Through the same fields in childhood 
play’d, 
‘* At the same kindling altar knelt,— 
‘‘Then, then, while all those nameless 
ties, 
‘Tn which the charm of Country lies, 
‘‘Had round our hearts been hourly 
spun, 
“{Π}}} TRAN’s cause and thine were one; 
‘‘ While in thy lute’s awak’ning sigh 
“1 heard the voice of days gone by, 
“« And saw, in every smile of thine, 
“Returning hours of glory shine :— 
“While the wrong’d Spirit of our Land 
“ Lived, look’d, and spoke her wrongs 
through thee,— 
“God! who could then this sword with- 
stand ? 
“Tts very flash were victory ! 
‘But now—estranged, divorced forever, 
‘Har as the grasp of Fate can sever ; 
“«Our only ties what love has wove,— 
“In faith, friends, country, sunder’d 
wide ; 
«And then, then only, true to love, 
‘When false to all that’s dear beside; 
“Thy father IRAN’s deadliest foe— 
“Thyself, perhaps, evn now—but no— 
‘‘Hate never look’d so lovely yet! 
““ No—sacred to thy soul will be 
“The land of him who could forget 
‘« All but that bleeding land for thee. 
“When other eyes shall see, unmoved 
“¢ Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 
“Thow'lt think how well one Gheber 
loved, {all ! 
“And for his sake thou’lt weep for 
“* But look " 
With sudden start he turn’d 
And pointed to the distant wave, 


ence, in gratitude for the manifold benefits 
flowing from its ministerial omniscience. But 
they are so far from confounding the subordi- 
nation of the Servant with the majesty of its 
Creator, that they not only attribute no sort of 
sense or reasoning to the sun or fire in any of 
its operations, but consider it as a purely pas- 
sive blind instrument, directed and governed 
by the immediate impression on it of the will 
of God; but they do not even give that lumina- 
ry, all glorious as it is, more than the second 
rank amongst his works, reserving the first for 
that stupendous production of divine power, the 
mind of man."—Grose. The false charges 
brought against the religion of these people by 
their Mussulman tyrants is but one proof 
among many of the truth of this writer's re- 
mark, that “calumny is often added to oppres- 
sion, if but for the sake of justifying it.” 


442 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Where lights, like charnel meteors, 
burn’d, 
Bluely, as o’er some seaman’s grave : 
And fiery darts, at intervals,* 
Flew up all sparkling from the main, 
As if each star that nightly falls, 
Were shooting back to heay’n again. 


«My signal lights !—I must away— 

“Both, both are ruin’d if I stay. 

“« Farewell—sweet life! thou cling’st in 
vain— j 

“Now, Vengeance, I am thine again!” 

Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp’d, 

Nor look’d—but from the lattice dropp’d 

Down mid the pointed crags beneath, 

As if he fled from love to death, 

While pale and mute young HinpA 
stood, 

Nor moved, till in the silent flood 

A momentary plunge below 

Startled her from her trance of wo ;— 

Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 

“1 come—I come—if in that tide 
“Thou sleep’st to-night, 11] sleep there 

too, 

“Tn death’s cold wedlock, by thy 

side. 
“Oh! I would ask no happier bed 

“Than the chill wave my love lies 

under :— 
“Sweeter to rest together dead, 

‘Far sweeter, than to live asunder "ἢ" 
But no—their hour is not yet come— 

Again she sees his pinnace fly, 
Wafting him fleetly to his home, _ [lie ; 

Where’er that ill-starr’d home may 
And calm and smooth it seem’d to win 

Its moonlight way before the wind, 
Asif it bore all peace within, 

Nor left one breaking heart behind! 

*“The Mamelukes that were in the other 
boat, when it was dark used to shoot up a sort 
of fiery arrows into the air, which in some 
measure resembled lightning or falling stars.” 
—Baumgarten. 

i ‘Within the enclosure which surrounds 
this monument (at Gualior) is a small tomb to 
the memory of Tan-Sein, a musician of incom- 
parable skill, who flourished at the court of 
Akbar. The tomb is overshadowed by a tree, 
concerning which a superstitious notion pre- 
vails, that the chewing of its leaves will give 
an extraordinary melody to the voice.”—Nar- 
rative of aJourney from Agrato Ouzein, by W. 
Hunter, Esq. 

{It is usual to place a small white triangnu- 
lar flag, fixed to a bamboo staff of ten or twelve 
feet long, at the place where a tiger has de- 
stroyed aman. It is common for the passen- 
gers also to throw each a stone or brick near 


THE Princess, whose heart was sad 
enough already, could have wished that 
FrraMorz had chosen a less melancholy 
story; as it is only to the happy that 
tears are a luxury. Her Ladies, how- 
ever, were by no means sorry that love 
was once more the Poet’s theme; for, 
whenever he spoke of love, they said, 
his voice was as sweet as if he had ehew- 
ed the leaves of that enchanted tree 
which grows over the tomb of the musi- 
cian, Tan-Sein. t 

Their road all the morning had lain 
through a very dreary country ;—through 
valleys, covered with a low, bushy jun- 
gle, where, in more than one place, the 
awful signal of the bamboo-staff,+ with 
the white flag at its top, reminded the 
traveller that, in that very spot, the tiger 
had made some human creature his vic- 
tim. It was, therefore, with much plea- 
sure that they arrived at sunset in a safe 
and lovely glen, and encamped under 
one of those holy trees, whose smooth 
columns and spreading roofs seem to 
destine them for natural temples of re- 
ligion. Beneath this spacious shade, 
some pious hands had erected a row of 
pillars, ornamented with the most beau- 
tiful porcelain,§ which now supplied the 
use of mirrors to the young maidens, as 
they adjusted their hair in descending 
from the palankeens. Here, while, as 
usual, the Princess sat listening anx- 
iously, with FADLADEEN in one of his 
loftiest moods of criticism by her side, 
the young Poet, leaning against a 
branch of the tree, thus continued his 
story :- 

THE morn hath risen clear and calm, 

And o’er the Green Sea palely shines, 
the spot, so that in the course of a little timea 
pile equal to a good wagon-load is collected. 
The sight of these flags and piles of stones im- 
parts a certain melancholy, not, perhaps, alto- 
gether void of apprehension.” —Oriental Field 
Sports, vol. ii. 

§ “The Fieus Indica is ealled the Pagod 
Tree and Tree of Councils; the first, from the 
idols placed under its shade; the second, be- 
enuse meetings were held under its cool 
branches. In some places it is believed to be 
the haunt of spectres, as the ancient spreading: 
oaks of Wales have been of fairies; in others: 
are erected beneath the shade pillars of stone, 
or posts, elegantly carved, and ornamented 
with the most beautiful porcelain to supply the 
use of mirrors.’—Pennunt. 

§ Lhe Persian Gulf.—‘ 'To dive for pearls im 
the Green Sea, or Persian Gulf."—Sir W- 
Jones 


' LALLA ROOKH. 443 


Revealing BAurern’s* groves of palm, | On foreign shores, unloved, unknown, 
And lighting KisuM.’s* amber vines Beyond the Caspian’s Iron Gates, ἢ 


Fresh smell the shores of ARABY, | Or onthe snowy Mossian mountains, 
While breezes from the Indian Sea | Far from his beauteous land of dates, 
Blow round Se,ama’st sainted cape, Her jasmine bow'rs and sunny foun- 


And curl the shining flood beneath,— | Yet happier so than if he trod __ [ tains: 
Whose waves are rich with many ἃ His own beloved, but blighted, sod, 


grape, “Beneath a despot stranger's nod !— 

And cocoa-nut and flow’ry wreath, Oh, he would rather houseless roam 
Which pious seamen, as they pass’d, Where Freedom and his God may lead, 

Had tow’rd that holy headland cast— | Than be the sleekest slave at home 
Oblations to the Genii there That crouches to the conqu’ror’s creed! 


For gentle skies and breezes fair! 

The nightingale now bends her flight} Bt Pn τ : 

From the high trees, where all the night | Quene ee the flame in MiTiR.’s 
She sung so sweet, with none to listen ; eat-in 


: : ’ No—she has sons, that never—never— 
And hides her from the morning star Will stoop to be the Moslem’s slaves, 


Where thickets of pomegranate glisten Se te : 
In the clear dawn,—bespangied Ser ee has light or earth has 
i ‘4 ~] Ϊ ad “4 Che, . 3 ST 
ioe a Tnee night-drops would Spirits of fire, that brood not long, 
: : But flash resentment back for wrong; 
Ἴ as ἕξ § £3 
ΕΝ [An Hearts where tow bt tea i 
ἴ τ Τα εῖδὲ df vengeance ripen into deeds, — [seeds 
On the first morning of his reign. Till, in some treach’rous hour of calm, 
They burst, like ZEILAN’s giant palin,** 
Whose buds fly open with a sound 
That shakes the pigmy forests round ! 


Is IRAN’s pride then gone forever, 


And see—the Sun himself!—on wings 
Of glory up the East he springs. 
Angel of Light! who from the time 
Those heavens began their march sub- | Yes, Emir! he, who scaled that tow’r, 


lime, And, had he reach’d thy slumb’ring 
Hath first of all the starry choir breast, 
Trod in his Maker’s steps of fire ! Had taught thee, in a Gheber’s pow’r 
Where are the days, thou wondrous | How safe ey’n tyrant heads may rest— 
sphere, Is one of many, brave as he, 
When Irn, like a sun-flow’r, turn’d Who loathe thy haughty race and thee; 
To meet that eye where’er it burn’d?— | Who, though they knowthe strife is vain, 
When, from the banks of BENDEMEER | Who, though they know the riven chain 
To the nut-groves of SAMARCAND, Snaps but to enter in the heart 


Thy temples flamed o’er all the land? ΟΥ̓ him who rends its links apart, 
Where are they ? ask the shades of them | Yet dare the issue,—bless’d to be 
Who on CaApgsstA’s|| bloody plains, [ν᾽ for one bles moment free, 
i 


Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem And die in pangs of liberty! 

From Irnan’s broken diadem, Thou know’st them well—'tis some 
And bind her ancient faith in chains :— moons since (flags, 

Ask the poor exile, cast alone Thy turban’d troops and blood-red 
κα Islands in the Gulf. 
tOr Selemeh, the genuine name of the || The place where the Persians were finally 


headland at the entrance of the Gulf, commonly | defeated by the Arabs, and their ancient mon- 
called Cape Musseldom. ‘‘ The Indians, when | archy destroyed. 
they pass the promontory, throw cocoa-nuts, « Derbend.—“ Les Tures appelent cette ville 
fruits, or flowers into the sea, to secure a pro- | Demir Cupi, Porte de Fer; co sont les Caspis 
pitious voyage."’—JMorier. Portie des anciens.'"—D' Herbelot. 
{‘*The nightingale sings from the pome- ** The Talpot or Talipottree. ‘ This bean- 
ranate-groves in the day-time, and from the | tiful palm-tree, which grows in the heart of the 
oftiest trees at night.’"—Russel’s Aleppo. | forests, may be classed among the loftiest trees, 
§ In speaking of the climate of Shiraz, | and becomes still higher when on the point of 
Francklin says, “ The dew is of such a pure | bursting forth from its leafy summit. The 
nature, that if the brightest cimeter should be | sheath which then envelopes the flower is very 
exposed to it all night, it-;would not receive the | large, and, when it bursts, makes an explosion 
least rust.”’ like the report of a cannon." —Thunberg. 


444 MOORE’S 


Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, [crags; 
Have swarm’d among these Green Sea 

Yet here, ev’n here, a sacred band, 

Ay, in the portal of that land 

Thou, Arab, dar’st to call thy own, 

Their spears across thy path have 

thrown ; [o’er— 
Here—ere the winds half wing’d thee 
Rebellion braved thee from the shore. 


Rebellion! foul, dishonoring word, 
Whose wrongful blight so oft has 
stain’d : 
The holiest cause that tongue or sword 
Of mortal ever lost or gain’d. 
How many a spirit, born to bless, 
Hath sunk beneath that with’ring 
name, 
Whom but a day’s, an hour’s success 
Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
As exhalations, when they burst 
From the warm earth, if chill’d at first, 
If check’d in soaring from the plain, 
Darken to fogs and sink again ;— 
But, if they once triumphant spread 
Their wings above the mountain-head, 
Become enthroned in upper air, 
And turn to sun-bright glories there! 


And who is he, that wields the might 
Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
Before whose sabre’s dazzling light * 
The eyes of YEMEN’S warriors wink? 
Who comes, embower'd in the spears 
Of KERMAN’S hardy mountaineers ?— 
Those mountaineers that truest, last, 
Cling to their country’s ancient rites, 
As if that God, whose eyelids cast 
Their closing gleam on IRAn’s heights, 
Among her snowy mountams threw 
The last light of his worship too ! 


‘Tis Warep—name of fear, whose sound 

Chiils like the mutt’ring of a charm !— 
Shout but that awful name around, 

And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 
"Tis ΠΑΤΈΡ, most accursed and dire 
(So rank’d by Moslem hate and ire) 

Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ; 

* “When the bright cimeters make the eyes 
of our heroes wink.’—The Moallakat, Poem of 
Amru. 

_+ Tahmuras, and other ancient kings of Per- 
sia; whose adventures in Fairy-land among 
the Peris and Dives may be found in Richard- 
son’s curious Dissertation. The griffin Si- 
moorgh, they say, took some feathers from her 
breast for Tahmuras, with which he adorned 
his helmet, and transmitted them afterwards to 
his descendants. 

} This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the 


WORKS. 


Of whose malign, tremendous power 
The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, 
Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 
That each affrighted sentinel 

Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, 
Lest HAFED in the midst should rise! 


A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and earth, 
Sprung from those old, enchanted kings, 
Who in their fairy helms, of yore, 
A feather from the mystic wings 
Of the Simoorght resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
Who groan’d to see their shrines expire, 
With charms that, all in vain withstood, 
Would drown the Koran’s light in blood ! 


Such were the tales, that won belief, 
And such the coloring Fancy gave 
Toa young, warm, and dauntless Chief,— 

One who, no more than mortal brave, 
Fought for the land his soul adored, 
For happy homes and altars free, 
His only talisman, the sword, 
His only spell-word, Liberty ! 
One of that ancient hero line, 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names, that have sanctified their blood ; 
As LEBANON’s small mountain-flood 
Is render’d holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks.t 
’T was not for him to crouch the knee 
Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 
’T was not for him, whose soul was cast 
In the bright mould of ages past, 
Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
With all the glories of the dead, 
Though framed for IRAN’s happiest 
years, [tears !— 
Was born among her chains and 
’T was not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow’d 


| Before the Moslem, as he pass’d, 


Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast— 
No—far he fled—indignant fled 

The pageant of his country’s shame ; 
Whiie every tear her children shed 
Holy River from the ‘‘cedar-saints’’ among 
which it rises. : 

In the Lettres Edifiantes, there is a different 
cause assigned forits name of Holy. ‘In these 
are deep caverns, which formerly served as so 
many cells for a great number of recluses, who 
had chosen these retreats as the only witnesses 
upon earth of the severity of their penance. 
The tears of these pious penitents gave the 
river of which we have just treated the name 
of the Holy River.”—Sce Chdteaubriand’s 
Beauties of Christianity. 


LALLA ROOKH, 


445 


Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
And, as a lover hails the dawn 

Of a first smile, so welcomed he 
The sparkle of the first sword drawn 

For vengeance and for liberty ! 


But vain was valor—vain the flow’r 

Of KERMAN, in that deathful hour, 

Against AL HaAssan’s whelming pow- 
er,— 

Tn vain they met him, helm to helm, 

Upon the threshold of that realm 

He came in bigot pomp to sway, 

And with their corpses block’d his way— 

In yain—for every lance they raised, 

Thousands around the conqueror blazed ; 

For every arm that lined their shore, 

Myriads of slaves were wafted o’er,— 

A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, 

Before whose swarm as fast they bow’d 

As dates beneath the locust cloud. 


There stood—but one short league away 
From old HArMozrA’s sultry bay— 

A rocky mountain o’er the Sea 

Of OMAN bectling awfully ; * 

A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 
From the broad Caspian’s reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
Around its base the bare rocks stood, 
Like naked giants, in the flood, 

As if to guard the Gulf across ; 
While, on its peak, that braved the sky, 
A ruin’d Temple tower’d, so high 

That oft the sleeping albatross t 
Struck the wild ruins with her wing, 
And from her cloud-rock’d slumbering 
Started—to find man’s dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air! 

Beneath, terrific caverns gaye 
Dark welcome to each stormy wave 

* This mountain is my own creation, as the 
“stupendous chain,” of which [ suppose it a 
link, does not extend quite so far as the shores 
of the Persian Gulf. ‘This long and lofty 
range of mountains formerly divided Media 
from Assyria, and now forms the boundary of 
the Persian and Turkish empires. It rans par- 
allel with the river Tigris and Persian Gulf, 
and almost disappearing in the vicinity of Gom- 
beroon, (Harmozia,) seems once more torise in 
the southern districts of Kerman, and following 
an easterly course through the centre of Meck- 
raun and Balouchistan, is entirely lost in the 
deserts of Sinde."’"—Kinnier's Persian Empire. 

t These birds sleep in the air. They are 
most common about the Cape of Good Hope. 

{ ‘There is an extraordinary hill in this 
neighborhood, called Kohé Gubr, or the Gue- 
bre’s mountain. It rises in the form of a lofty 
cupola, and on the summit of it, they say, are the 


That dash’d, like midnight revellers, 
in ;— 

And such the strange, mysterious din 

At times throughout those caverns 
roll’d, — 

And such the fearful wonders told 

Of restless sprites imprison’d there, 

That bold were Moslem, who would 
dare, 

At twilight hour, to steer his skiff 

Beneath the Gheber’s lonely cliff.t 


On the land side, those tow’rs sublime, 
That seem’d above the grasp of Time, 
Were βου τ ἃ from the haunts of men 
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
So fathomless, so full of gloom, 

No eye could pierce the void between: 


It seem’d a place where Gholes might 


come 
With their foul banquets from the tomb, 
And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below, 
The sound of many torrents came, 
Too deep for eye or ear to know 
If ’twere the sea’s imprison’d flow, 
Or floods of ever-restless flame. 
For, each ravine, each rocky spire 
Of that vast mountain stood on fire;§ 
And, though forever past the days 
When God was worshipp’d in the blaze 
That from its lofty altar shone,— 
‘Though fled the priests, the vot’ries gone, 
Still did the mighty flame burn on, || 
Through chance and change, through 
good and ill, 
Like its own God’s eternal will, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 


Thither the vanquish’d Harep led 
His little army’s last remains ;— 


“Welcome, terrific glen !” he said, 


remains of an Atush Kudu, or Fire Temple. It 
is superstitiously held to be the residence of 
Deeves or Sprites, and many marvellous stories 
are recounted of the injury and witcheraft suf 
fered by those who essayed in former duys to 
ascend or explore it.""—Pottinger’s Beloochis- 
tan. 

§ The Ghebers generally built their temples: 
over subterrancous fires. 

|“ At the city of Yezd, in Persia, which is. 
distinguished by the appellation ofthe Darfib 
Abadut, or Seat of Religion, the Guebres are 
permitted tohave an Atush Kuda or Fire Tem- 
le (which, they assert, has had thesacred fire 
init since the days of Zoroaster) in their own 
compartment of the city; but for this indul- 
gence they are indebted to the avarice, not the 
tolerance of the Persian government, which 
taxes them at twenty-five rupees each man,” 
—FPottinger’s Beloochistan. 


448 


““Thy gloom, that Eblis’ self might 
dread, [ chains "ἢ" 
‘‘Ts Heav’n to him who flies from 
‘O’er a dark, narrow bridgeway, known 
To him and to his Chiefs alone, 
They cross’d the chasm and gain’d the 
towers, — [ ours ;— 
<“This home,” he cried, ““δὖ least is 
“ Here we may bleed, unmock’d by 
hymns 
“Of Moslem triumph o’er our head ; 
“‘ Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs 
“To quiver to the Moslem’s tread. 
ἐς Stretch’d on this rock, while vultures’ 
beaks 
«¢ Are whetted on your yet warm cheeks, 
“‘Here—happy that no tyrant’s eye 
““Gloats on our torments—we 
die !” — 


’Twas night when to those towers they 
And gloomily the fitful flame, [came, 
That from the ruin’d altar broke, 
Glared on his features as he spoke :— 
<OTig o’er—what men could do, we’ve 
“Tf TRAN will look tamely on, [done— 
““ And see her priests, her warriors driv’n 
“4 Before a sensual bigot’s nod, 
“A wretch who shrines his lust 
heav’n, 
“ And makes a pander of his God; 
“Tf her proud sons, her high-born souls, 
“Men in whose veins—oh last dis- 
grace ! 
“¢The blood of ZALand RusTAM* rolls, — 
“Tf they will court this upstart race 
«“ And turn from MITHRA’Ss ancient ray, 
“ΠῸ kneel at shrines of yesterday ; 
“Tf they will crouch to IRAN’s foes, 
“ Why, let them —till the land’s de- 
spair [ grows 
““Cries out to Heav’n, and bondage 
“Too vile for ev’n the vile to bear! 
“«Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
“Their inmost core, and conscience 
turns 


may 


in 


* Ancient heroes of Persia. ‘ Among the 
Ghebres there are some who boast their de- 
scent from Rustam."—Stephen’s Persia. 

} See Russel’s account of the panthers at- 
tacking travellers in the night on the sea-shore 
about the roots of Lebanon. 

{5 Among other ceremonies the Magi used 
to place upon the tops of high towers various 
kinds of rich viands. upon whieh it was sup 
poved the Peris and the spirits of their departed 
ieroes regaled themselves.” — Richardson. 

§In_ the ceremonies of the Ghebers round 
their Fire, as deseribed by Lord, ‘the Daroo,”’ 
he says, ‘‘ giveth them water to drink, and a 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


<> 


“Hach coward tear the slave lets fall 

‘¢ Back on his heart in drops of gall. 

“« But here, at least, are arms unchain’d, 

“And souls that thraldom never 
stain’d ;— - 

“This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
“ΟΥ̓ satrap ever yet profaned ; 
“‘And though but few—though fast 

the wave 

“« Of life is ebbing from our veins, 

“Enough for vengeance still remains. 

“‘ As panthers, after set of sun, 

“Rush from the roots of LEBANON 

‘* Across the dark-sea robber’s way,t 

“We'll bound upon our startled prey ; 

“And when some hearts that proudest 
swell 

“Have felt our falchion’s last farewell; 

““ When Hope’s expiring throb is o’er, 

‘“« And ev’n Despair can prompt no more, 

“This spot shall be the sacred grave 

“ΟΥ̓ the last few who, vainly brave, 

‘“‘ Die for the land they cannot save!” 


His Chiefs stood round—each shining 
Upon the broken altar Jaid— [blade 
Ana though so wild and desolate [sate; 
Those courts, where once the Mighty 
Nor longer on those mould’ring tow’rs 
Was seen the feast of fruits and flow’rs, 
With which of old the Magi fed 
The wand’ring Spirits of their dead :} 
Though neither priest nor rites were 
there, [ate ;§ 
Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegran- 
Nor hymn, nor censer’s fragrant air, 
Nor symbol of their worshipp’d planet;|| 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard them, while on that altar’s fires 
They swore{ the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts, still left to bleed, 
Should be, in IrRAN’s injured name, 
To die upon that Mount of Flame-— 
The last of all her patriot line, 
3efore her last untrampled Shrine ! 
pomegranate leaf to chew in the mouth, to 
cleanse them from inward uncleanness.” 
|| ‘Early in the morning, they (the Parsees 
or Ghebers at Oulam) go in crowds to pay their 
devotions to the Sun, to whom upon all the 
altars there are spheres consecrated, made by 
magic, resembling the cirales of the sun, and 
when the sun rises, these orbs seem to be in- 
flamed, and to turn round with a great noise. 
They have every one a censer in their hands, 
and offer incense to the sun.’"—Rabbi Benja- 
min. 
Ἵ ΝῺ] d’entre eux oseroit so parjurer, quand 
ila pris ἃ té moin eet ¢lément terrible et ven- 
geur.”—Lneyclop. Francoise. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


447 


Braye, suffring souls! they little knew 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one gentle foe, 
Whom love first touch’d with others’ 
wo— 

Whose life, as free from thought as sin, 
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
His talisman, and woke the tide, 
And spread its trembling circles wide. 
Once, Emre! thy unheeding child, 
Mid all this havoc, bloom’d and smiled, — 
Tranquil as on some battle plain 

The Persian lily shines and tow’rs, * 
Before the combat’s redd’ning stain 

Hath fall’n upon her golden flow’rs. 
Lighthearted maid, unawed, unmoved, 
While Heay’n but spared the sire she 

loved, 

Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unlist’ning and aloof she stood— 

And oft, when thou hast paced along 
Thy Haram halls with furious heat, 
Hast thou not cursed her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and 
sweet, 
Like lutes of angels, touch’d so near 
Hell's aera that the damn’d can 
ear! 


Far other feelings Love hath brought— 
Her soul all flame, her brow all sad- 
ness, 
She now has but the one dear thought, 
And thinks that o’er, almost to mad- 
ness ! 
Oft doth her smking heart recall 
His words—“ for my sake weep for all-” 
And bitterly, as day on day 
Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, 
She weeps a lover snatch’d away 
In ev'ry Gheber wretch that bleeds. 
There’s not a sabre meets her eye, 
But with his life-blood seems to swim : 
There’s not an arrow wings the sky 
But faney turns its point to him. 
No more she brings with footstep light 
AL Hassay’s falchion for the fight; 
And—had he look’d with clearer sight, 
Had not the mists, that ever mse 
From a foul spint, dimm’d his eyes— 
He would have mark’d her shudd’ring 
frame, 
When from the field of blood he came, 


*** A vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal 
rains, and the ploughed fields are covered with 
the Persian lily, ofa resplendent yellow color.’ 
—Russel's Aleppo. 


The falt’ring speech—the look estrang- 
ed— {ed— 

Voice, step, and life, and beauty chang- 

He would have mark’d all this, and 
known 

Such change is wrought by Love alone! 


Ah! not the Love, that should have 
bless’d 
So young, so innocent a breast ; 
Not the pure, open, prosp’rous Love, 
That, pledged on earth and seal’d above, 
Grows in the world’s approving eyes, 
In friendship’s smile and home’s ca- 
ress, 
Collecting all the heart’s sweet ties 
Into one knot of happiness! 
No, Hinpa, no,—thy fatal flame 
Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame ;— 
A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
In thy soul’s darkness buried deep, 
It lies like some ill-gotten treasure,— 
Some idol, without shrine or name, 
O’er which its pale-eyed vot’ries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep. 


Seven nights have darken’d OMAN’s Sea, 
Since last, beneath the moonlight ray, 
She saw his light oar rapidly 
Hurry her Gheber’s bark away,— 
And still she goes, at midnight hour 
To weep alone in that high bow’r, 
And watcb, and look along the deep 
For him whose smiles first made her 
weep; — 
But watching, weeping, all was vain, 
She never saw his bark again. 
The owlet’s solitary cry, 
The night-hawk, flitting darkly by, 
And oft the hateful carrion bird, 
Heavily flapping his clogg’d wing, 
Which reek’d with that day’s banquet- 
ing— 
Was all she saw, was all she heard. 


Tis the eighth morn—AL HAssan’s 
brow 

Is brighten’d with unusual joy— 
What mighty mischief glads him now, 

Who never smiles but to destroy? 
The sparkle upon HERKEND’S Sea, 
When toss’d at midnight furiously, t 
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, 

More surely than that smiling eye! 

ΕἼ It is observed, with respect to the Sea of 
Herkeni, that when it is tossed by tempestuous 
winds it sparkles like fire."—Travels of Two 
Mohammedans. 


448 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


““Up, daughter, KErN<A’s* 
breath 

“< Has blown a blast would waken death, 

““ And yet thou sleep’st—up, child, and 
see 

‘«This blessed day for Heaven and me, 

“Α day more rich in Pagan blood 

“« Than eyer flash’d o’er OMAN’s flood. 

“« Before another dawn shall shine, 

“‘ His head—heart—limbs—will all be 
mine ; 

“This very night his blood shall steep 

‘*These hands all over ere I sleep """ -- 


up—the 


“* His blood!” she faintly scream’d— 
her mind 
Still singling one from all mankind— 
“‘Yes—spite of his ravines and tow’rs, 
“*HAFED, my child, this night is ours. 
“¢ Thanks to all-conqu’ring treachery, 
‘‘ Without whose aid the links ac- 
cursed, [be 
“«That bind these impious slaves, would 
‘Too strong for ALLA’S self to burst! 
“‘That rebel fiend, whose blade has 
spread 
«* My path with piles of Moslem dead, 
“Whose baffling spellshad almost driv’n 
“ Back from their course the Swords of 
Heay’n, [know 
“This mght, with all his band, shall 
“ How deep an Arab’s steel can go, 
“« When God and Vengeance speed the 
blow. 
“« And—Prophet! by that holy wreath 
“Thou wor’st on OnOn’s field of death, t 
“T swear, for ev’ry sob that parts 
“Τὴ anguish from these heathen hearts, 
“¢ A gem from PERSIA’s plunder’d mines 
“Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines. 
* But, ha!—she sinks—that look so 
wild— 
“Those livid hps—my child, my child, 
««This life of blood befits not thee, 
“ And thou must back to ARABY. 
‘© Ne’er had I risk’d thy timid sex 
“In scenes that man himself might 
dread, 


~A kind of trumpet ;—it ‘was that used by Ta- 
merlane, the sound of which is described ss un- 
commonly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard 
at the distance of several miles.’’—Richardson. 

1 Mohammed had two helmets, an interior 
and exterior one; the latter of which, called 
Al Mawashah, the fillet, wreath, or wreathed 
garland, he wore at the battleof Ohod.’’—Uni- 
versal History. 
They say thatthere are apple-trees upon the 
sides ofthis sea, Which bear very lovely fruit, 


oer 


“ Had I not hoped our ey’ry tread 
“Would be on prostrate Persian 

necks— 5 

“Cursed race, they offer swords instead ! 

“But cheer thee, maid,—the wind that 
now 

“Ts blowing o’er thy feverish brow, 

“To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 

““ And, ere a drop of this night’s gore 

“« Have time to chillin yonder tow’rs, 

“Thowlt see thy own sweet Arab 
bow’rs !” 


His bloody boast was all too true ; 
There lurk’d one wretch among the few 
Whom HaAFeEp’s eagle eye could count 
Around him on that Fiery Mount,— 
One miscreant, who for gold betray’d 
The pathway through the valley's shade 
To those high tow’rs, where Freedom 
stood 
In her last bold of flame and blood. 
Left on the field last dreadful night, 
When, sallying from their Sacred height, 
The Ghebers fought hope’s farewell fight, 
He lay—but died not with the brave ; 
That sun, which should have gilt his 
grave, : 
Saw him a traitor and a slave ;— 
And, while the few, who thence return’d 
To their high roeky fortress, mourn’d 
For him among the matchless dead 
They left behind on glory’s bed, 
He lived, and, in the face of morn, 
Laugh’d them, and Faith, and Heav’n 
to scorn. 


Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, 
Whose treason, like a deadly blight, 
Comes o’er the councils of the brave, 
And blasts them in their hour of might ! 
May Life’s unblessed cup for him 
Be drugg’d with treach’ries to the brim,— 
With hopes, that but allure to fly, 
With joys, that vanish while he sips, 
Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, 
But turn to ashes on the lips! $ 


but within are all full of ashes.”—Thevenot. 
The same is asserted of the oranges there; vide 
Witman's Travelsin Asiatic Turkey. 

“The Asphalt Lake, known by the name of 
the Dead Sea, is very remarkable on account 
of the considerable proportion of salt which it 
contains. In this respect it surpasses every 
other known water on the surface of the earth. 
This great proportion of bitter-tasted salts is 
the reason why neither animal nor plant can 
live in this water.’"—laproth's Chemical An- 


᾿ JY 


lessings 


l—and Ὁ 


l 
Where’er thou goest 


Farewe 
Better t 


, be 


o sitand watch 


1ink thee safe, t 


I 
rh 


Andt 
Than 


a 
φιλῶ ee oe 


LALLA 


his children’s 


His country’s curse, 
shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, 
May he, at last, with lips of flame 
On the parch’d desert thirsting die, — 
While lakes, that shone in mockery 
nigh, * 
Are fading off, untouch’d, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And, when from earth his spirit flies, 
Just Prophet, let the damn’d one dwell 
Full in the sight of Paradise, 
Beholding heay’n, and feeling hell! 


LALLA Rook had, the night before, 
been visited by a dream which, in spite 
of the impending fate of Se HAFED, 
made her heart more than usually 


cheerful during the morning, and gave | 


her cheeks all the freshened animation 
of a flower that the Bidmusk has just 
passed over.t She fancied that she was 
sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where 
the sea-gipsies, who live forever on the 
water,f enjoy a perpetual summer in 
wandering from isle to isle, when she 
saw a small gilded bark approaching 
her. It was Fike one of those boats 
which the Maldivian islanders send 
adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, 
loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odor- 


alysis of the Water of the Dead Sea, Annals 
of Philosophy, January, 1813. Hasselquist, 
however, doubts the truth of this last assertion, 
as there are shell-fish to be found in the lake. 


Lord Byron has a similar allusion to the | 


fruits of the Dead Sea, in that wonderful dis- 
play of genius, his third Canto of Childe Har- 
old,—maguificent, beyond any thing, perhaps, 
that even he has ever written. 

**© The Suhrab or Water of the Desert is said 
to be caused by the rarefaction of the atmo- 
sphere from exteme heat ; and, which augments 
the delusion, it is most frequent in hollows, 
where water might be expected to lodge. I 
have seen bushes and trees reflected in it, with 
us much accuracy as though it iad been the 
face of a clear and still lake.""—Pottinger. 

* As to the unbelievers, their works arelike 
a yapor in a plain, which the thirsty travel- 
ler thinketh to be water, until when he cometh 
thereto he findeth it to be nothing.”"—Koran, 
chap. 24. 

tA wind which prevails in February, 
called Bidmusk, from a small and odoriferous 
flower of that name.”"—'* The wind which blows 
these flowers commonly lasts till the end of the 
wonth."—Le Bruyn. 

} The Biajis are of two races: the one is 


settled on Borneo, and are a rude but warlike | 


and industrious nation, who reckon themselves 
the original possessors of the island of Borneo. 


‘The other is a species of sea-gipsies or itiner- 


ROOKH. 


] 
iferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit 
whom they call King of the Sea. At 
first this little bark appeared to be emp- 
ty, but, on coming nearer 
She had proceeded thus far in relating 
'the dream to her Ladies, when Frera- 
| MORZ appeared at the door of the pavil- 
‘ion. In his presence, of course, every- 
thing else was forgotten, and the con- 
tinuance of the story was instantly re- 
quested by all. Fresh wood of aloes 
was set to burn in the cassolets;—the 
violet sherbets$ were hastily handed 
| round, and after a short prelude on his 
lute, inthe pathetic measure of Nava,|| 
| which is always used to express the la- _ 
mentations of absent lovers, the Poet 
thus continued:— 


THE day is low’ring—stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heay’n’s 
rack, 
Dispersed and wild, ’twixt earth and sky 
Hangs like a shatter’d canopy. 
There’s not a cloud in that biue plain 
But tells of storm to come or past ; 
Here, flying loosely as the mane 
Οὐδ young war-horse in the blast ;— 
There, roll’d in masses dark and swell- 
ing, P 
As proud to be the thunder’s dwelling! 


ant fishermen, who livein small covered boats, 
and enjoy a perpetual summer on the eastern 
ocean, shifting to leeward from island to island, 
With the variations of the monsoon. In some 
of their customs this singular race resemble 
the natives of the Maldivia islands. The Mal- 
divians annuallylaunch a small bark, loaded 
with perfumes, gums, flowers, and odoriferous 
wood, and turn it adrift at the merey of wind 
and waves, as an offering to the Spirit of the 
Winds; and sometimes similar offerings are 
made to the spirit whom they term the Aing of 
the Sea. In like manner the Biajtis perform 
their offering to the god of evil, launching «a 
small bark, loaded with all the sins and misfor- 
tunes of the nation, which are imagined to fall 
on the unhappy crew that may be so unlucky 
as first to mect with it.’—Dr. Leyden on the 
Language and Literature of the Indo-Chinese 
| Nations. 


δ᾽ The sweet-scented violet is one of the 
| plants most esteemed, particularly for its great 
}use in Sorbet, which they make of violet 
| sugar.'’’— Hasselquist. ; 
| “Thesherbet they most esteem, and which 
is drunk by the Grand Signor himself, is made 
| of violets and sugar.” —Tavernier. 


Π ‘* Last of all she took a guitar, and sung a 
athetic air in the measure called Nava, which 
ΕἾΝ always used to express the lamentations of 
‘ absent lovers.”"—Persian Tales, 


450 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


While some, already burst and riv’n, 
Seem melting down the verge of heay’n ; 
As though the infant storm had rent 
The mighty womb that gave him 
birth, 
And, having swept the firmament, 
Was now in fierce career for earth. 


On earth ’twas yetall calm around, 

A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
More awful than the tempest’s sound. 
The diver steer’d for ORMUS’ bowers, 
And moor’d his skiff till calmer hours; 
The sea-birds, with portentous screech, 
Flew fast to land ;—upon the beach 
The pilot oft had paused, with glance 
Turn’d upward to that wild expanse ;— 
And all was boding, drear, and dark 

As her own soul, when H1npa’s bark 
Went slowly from the Persian shore.— 
No music timed her parting oar,* 

Nor friends upon the less’ning strand 
Linger’d, to wave the unseen hand, 

Or speak the farewell, heard no more ;— 
But lone, unheeded, from the bay 

The vessel takes 1ts mournful way, 
Like some ill-destined bark that steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears.t 


And where was stern AL Hassan then ? 
Could not that saintly scourge of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there ? 
No—close within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of pray’r, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night of blood,— 
With thatkeen, second-scent of death, 
By which the vulture snuffs his food 
In the still warm and living breath "ἢ 
While o’erthe wave his weeping daugh- 
ter [ter, — 
Is wafted from these scenes of slaugh- 
As a young bird of BAByLoN,—§ 
Let loose to tell of vict’ry won, 


*“The Easterns used to set out on their 
longer yoyages with music.”"—Harmer. 

ἐ The Gate of Tears, the straits or passages 
into the Red Sea, commonly called Babelman- 
del. Itreceived this name from the old Ara- 
bians, on account of the danger of the naviga- 
tion, and the number of shipwrecks by which 
it was distingnished; which induced them to 
consider as dead, and to wear mourning for, 
all who had the boldness to hazard the passage 
through it into the Ethiopie ocean.”—Richard- 
son. 

ΓΤ have been told that whensoever an ani- 
mal falls down dead, one or more vultures, un- 
seen before, instantly appear.”—Pennant, 


| étoit de belles et grosses perles 


Flies home, with wing, ah ! not unstain’d | 
By the red hands that held her chain’d. 


And does the long-left home she seeks 
Light up no gladness on her cheeks ? 
The flow’rs she nursed—the well-known 
groves, ΄ 
Where oft in dreams her spirit roves— 
Once more to see her dear gazelles 
Come bounding with their silver bells ; 
Her birds’ new plumage to behold, 

And the gay, gleaming fishes count, 
She left, all filleted with gold, 

Shooting around their jasper fount ;|| 
Her little garden mosque to see, 

And once again, at evening hour, 

To tell her ruby rosary] 

In her own sweet acacia bow’r.— 
Can these delights, that wait her now, 
Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
No,—silent, from her train apart,— 

As even now she felt at heart 

The chill of her approaching doom,— 

She sits, all lovely in her gloom 

As a pale Angel of the Grave ; 

And o’er the wide, tempestuous wave, 

Looks, with a shudder, to those tow’rs, 

Where, in a few short awful hours, 

Blood, blood, instreaming tides shall run, 

Foul incense for to-morrow’s sun ! 

““Where art thou, glorious stranger! 

thou, ] 

“¢So loved, so lost, where art thou now ? 

“ Foe—Gheber —infidel—whate’er 

‘Th’ unhallow'd name thouw’rt doomed 

to bear, 

“Still glorious—still to this fond heart 

“‘TDear as its blood, whate’er thou art ! 

“Yes—ALLA, dreadful ALLA! yes— 

‘Tf there be wrong, be crime in this, 

“ Let the black waves that round us roll, 

‘““Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, 

“ Forgetting faith—home—father—all— 

‘« Before its earthly idol fall, 

“ Nor worship ev'n Thyself above him— 
§ “ They fasten some writing to the wings 


of a Bagdat or Babylonian pigeon.” —TZrave 
of certain Englishmen 

\|‘* The Empress of Jehan-Guire used to di; 
vert herself with feeding tame fish in her ca- 
nals, some of which were many years afterwards 


| known by fillets of gold which she caused to be 


put round them.’’— Harris. 


4 ‘*‘ Le Tespih, gai est un chapelet, composé 
de 99 petites boules d’agatlie, de jaspe, dam; 
bre, de corail, ou d’autre matiére précieuse. 
J’en ai vu un superbe au Seigneur Jerpos ; il 
arfaites et 
égales, estimé trente mille piastres.”"—Zoderint, 


“For, oh, so wildly do I love him, 
“‘Thy Paradise itself were dim 
“4 And joyless, if not shared with him!” 
Her hands were clasp’d—her eyes up- 
turn’d, [rain ; 
χ χα their tears like moolight 
And, though her lip, fond raver! burn’d 
With words of epee bold, profane, 
Yet was there light around her brow, 
A holiness in those dark eyes, 
Whichshow’d,—though wand’ring earth- 
ward now,— 
Her spirit’s home was in the skies. 
Yes—for a spirit pure as hers 
Is always pure, ev’n while it errs; 
As sunshine, broken in the rill, 
Though turn’d astray, is sunshine still ! 


So wholly had her mind forgot 

All thoughts but one, she heeded not 

The rising storm—the wave that cast 

A moment’s midnight, as it pass’d— 

Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 

Of gath’ring tumult o’er her head— 

Clash’d swords, and tongues that seem’d 
to vie 

With the rude riot of the sky.— 

But, hark !—that war-whoop on the 
deck— 

That crash, as if each engine there, 
Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 
Mid yells and stampings of despair! 

Merciful Heaven ! what can it be? 

’Tis not the storm, though fearfully 

‘The ship has shudder’d as she rode 

O’er mountain waves—‘‘ Forgive me, 
God! [knelt, 

ἐς Forgive me ”—shriek’d the maid, and 

Trembling all over—for she felt 

As if her judgment-hour was near ; 

While crouching round, half dead with 
fear, [ stirr’d— 

Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor 

When, hark !—a second crash—a third— 

And now, as if a bolt of thunder 

Had riv’n the laboring planks asunder, 

The deck falls in—what horrors then! 

Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and 

men 

mix’d together 

chasin,— 

Some wretches in their dying spasm 

Still fighting on—and some that call 

“Por Gop and Iran!” as they fall! 


* The meteors that Pliny calls ‘ faces.” 
t ‘The brilliant Canopus, unseen in Euro- 
pean climates.""—Brown, ° 


Come through the 


Ss LALLA ROOKH. 


451 
Whose was the hand that turn’d awa 
The perils of th’ infuriate fray, [neat 
And snatch’d her breathless from be- 
This wilderment of wreck and death ? 
She knew not—for a faintness came 
Chill o’er her, and her sinking frame 
Amid the ruins of that hour 
Lay, like a pale and@ scorched flow’r, 
Beneath the red volcano’s shower. 
But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread 
That shock’d her ere her senses fled ! 
The yawning deck—the crowd that 
strove 


| Upon the tott’ring planks aboye— 


The sail, whose fragments, shiv ring o’er 
The strugglers’ heads, all dash’d with 
gore, 

Flutter’d like bloody flags—the clash 

Of sabres, and the lightning’s flash 

Upon their blades, high toss’d about 

Like meteor brands*—as if throughout 
The elements one fury ran, 

One gen’ral rage, that left a doubt, 
Which was the fiercer, Heay’n or Man! 


Once too—but no—it could not be— 
’T was fancy all—yet once she thought, 
While yet her fading eyes could see, 
High on the ruin’d deck she caught 
A glimpse of that unearthly form, 
That glory of her soul,—even then. 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, 
Shining above his fellow-men, 
As, on some black and troublous night, 
The Star of Eayprt,t whose proud hight 
Never hath beam’d on those who rest 
Inthe White Islands of the West,t 
Burns through the storm with looks of 
flame [shame. 
That put Heav’n’s cloudier eyes to 
But no—twas but the minute’s dream— 
A fantasy—and ere the scream 
Had half-way pass’d her pallid lips, 
A deathlike swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul and sense its darkness spread 
Around her, and she sunk, as dead. 


How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone; 
When warring winds have died away, 
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity,— 

Fresh as if Day again were born, 

Again upon the lap of Morn !— 


t See Wilford’s learned Essays on the Sacred 
Tsles in the West. 


ςς 


452 


When the light blossoms, rudely torn 

And scatter’d at the whirlwind’s will, 

Hang floating in the pure air still, 

Filling it all with precious baln, 

In gratitude for this sweet calm ;— 

And every drop the thunder-show’rs 

Have left upon the grass and flow’rs 

Sparkles, as ’twere that lightning-gem* 

Whose liquid fame is born of them ! 

When, ’stead of one unchanging breeze, 
There blow a thousand gentle airs, 
And each a diff’rent perfume bears,— 

As if the loveliest plants and trees 

Had vassal breezes of their own 

To watch and wait on them alone, 

And waft no other breath than theirs: 

When the blue waters rise and fall, 

In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 

And ev’n that swell the tempest leaves 

Is like the full and silent heaves 

Of lovers’ hearts, when newly bless’d, 

Too newly to be quite at rest. 


Such was the golden hour that broke 
Upon the world, when H1npa woke 
From her long trance, and heard around 
No motion but the water’s sound 
Rippling against the vessel’s side, 
As slow it mounted o’er the tide.— 
But where is she ?—her eyes are dark, 
Are wilder’d still—is this the bark, 
The same, that from HArMozIA’s bay 
Bore her at morn—whose bloody way 
The sea-dog track’d ?—no—strange and 
new 
Is all that meets her wond’ring view. 
Upon a galliot’s deck she lies, 
3eneath no rich pavilion’s shade,— 
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, 
Nor jasmine on her pillow laid. 
But the rude litter, roughly spread 
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 
And shaw! and sash, on javelins hung, 
For awning o’er her head are flung. 
Shudd’ring she look’d around—there lay 
A group of warriors in the sun, 
testing their limbs, as for that day 
Their ministry of death were done. 
Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 
Lost in unconscious revery ; 
And some, who seem’d but ill to brook 


*A precious stone of the Indies, called by 
the ancients Ceraunium, because it was sup- 
posed to be found in plaees where thunder had 
fallen. Tertullian says it has a glittering ap- 
pearance, as if there had been fire in it; and 
the author of the Dissertation in Harris’s Voy- 
ages supposes it to be the opal. 


MOORL’S WORKS. — 


That sluggish calm, with many a look ~ 
To the slack sail impatient cast, 
As loose it flagg’d around the mast. 


Blest ALLA ! who shall save her now ¥ 
There’s not in all that warrior band 
One Arab sword, one turban’d brow 
From her own Faithful Moslem land. 
Their garb—the leathern beltf that 
wraps 
Each yellow vestt{—that rebel hue— 
The Tartar fleece upon their capsj}— 
Yes—yes—her fears are all too true, 
And Heav’n hath, in this dreadful hour, 
Abandon’d her to HAFED’s power ; 
HAFED, the Gheber!-—at the thought ~- 
Her very heart’s blood chills within ; 
He, whom her soul was hourly taught 
To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 
Some minister, whom Hell had sent 
To spread its blast, where’er he went, 
And fling, as o’er our earth he trod, 
His shadow betwixt man and God! 
And she is now his captive,—thrown 
In his fierce hands, alive, alone ; 
His th’ infuriate band she sees, 
All infidels—all enemies! 
What was the daring hope that then 
Cross’d her like lightning, as again, 
With boldness that despair had lent, 
She darted through that armed crowd 
A look so searching, so intent, 
That ev’n the sternest warrior bow’d 
Abash’d, when he her glances caught, 
As if he guess’d whose form they 
sought. 
But no—she sees him not—’tis gone, 
The vision that before her shone 
Through all the maze of blood and 
storm, 
Is fled, twas but a phantom form— 
One of those passing rainbow dreams, 
Half light, half shade, which Fancy’s. 
beams 
Paint on the fleeting mists that roll 
In trance or slumber round the soul, 


But now the bark, with livelier bound, 
Seales the blue wave—the crew’s im 
motion, 
The oars are out, and with light sound 


+ D’ Herbelot, art. Agduani. 

+“ The Guebres are known by a dark yellow 
color, which the men affect in their clothes.”— 
Thevenot. 

§ ‘‘ The Kolah, er cap, worn by the Persians, 
is made of the skin of the sheep of Tartary.’”” 
— Waring. 


ΠΥ mer fe ΤΣ 
a? «. 5 σ 


“ 


LALLA ROOKH. 453 


™~ : Vv | ; 
___ Break the bright mirror of the ocean, | Just then, a day-beam through the shade 
_  Scatt'ring its brilliant fragments round. Broke tremulous—but, ere the maid 

"And now she sees—with horror sees, | Can see from whence the brightness 


Their course is tow’rd that mountain. | 
hold, [ freeze, | 
Those tow’rs, that make her life-blood 
Where Mecca’s godless enemies 
Lie, like beleaguer’d scorpions, roll’d 
Τὴ their last deadly, venomous fold ! 
Amid th’ illumined land and flood 
Sunless that mighty mountam stood; | 
Save where, above its awful head, 
There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, 
As ’twere the flag of destiny [be! 
Hung out to mark where death would 


Had her bewilder’d mind the pow’r 
Of thought in this terrific hour, | 
She well might marvel where or how 
Man’s foot could scale that mountain’s| 
brow, — 
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 
Of path but through the glen alone.— | 
But every thought was lost in fear, | 
When, as their bounding bark drew near | 
The craggy base, she felt the waves 
Hurry them tow’rd those dismal caves, | 
That from the Deep in windings pass 
Beneath that Mount’s volcanic mass ;— | 
And loud a voice on deck commands 
To low’r the mast and light the brands :— 
Instantly o’er the dashing tide 
Within a cayern’s mouth they glide, 
Gloomy as that eternal Porch 
Through which departed spirits go :— 
Not ev’n the flare of brand and torch 
Its flick’ring light could further throw 
Tuan the thick flood that boil’d below. | 
Silent they floated—as if each 
Sat breathless, and too awed for speech 
In that dark chasm, where even sound 
Seem’d dark, —so sullenly around 
The goblin echoes of the cave 
Mutter’d it o’er the long black wave, | 
As ’twere some secret of the graye! 


J, 
¢ 


But soft—they pause—the current turns’) 
Beneath them from its onward. 
track ; — 
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns 
The vexed tide, all foaming, back, 
And scarce the oars’ redoubled force 
Can stem the eddy’s whirling course ; 
_ When, hark!—some desp’rate foot has. 
i sprun 
Among the rocks—the chain is flang— 
The oars are up—the grapple clings, 
And the toss’d bark in moorings swings. 


steals, 
Upon her brow she shudd’ring feels 
A viewless hand, that promptly ties 
A bandage round her burning eyes ; 
While the rude litter where she lies, 


_ Uplifted by the warnor throng, 


O’er the steep rocks is borne along. 
Blest power of sunshine !—genial Day, 
What balm, what life is in thy ray ! 
To feel thee is such real bliss, 

That had the world no joy but this, 


To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,— 


It were a world too exquisite 
For man to leave it for the gloom, 

The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 
Evy’n Hixpa, though she saw not where 
Or whither wound the perilous road, 

Yet knew by that awak’ning air, 
Which suddenly around her glow’d, 
That they had risen from darkness then, 

And breathed the sunny world again ! 


But soon this balmy freshness fled— 

For now the steepy labyrinth led 

Through damp and gloom—’mid crash 
of boughs, 


| And fall of loosen’d crags that rouse 


The leopard from his hungry sleep, 
Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey, 


_ And long is heard, from steep to steep, 


Chasing them down their thund’ring 
way ! 

The jackal’s ery, the distant moan 

Of the hyena, fierce and lone — 

And that eternal sadd’ning sound 
Of torrents in the glen beneath, 

As ’twere the ever dark Profound 
That rolls beneath the Bridge of 

All, all is fearful—ev’n to see, [ Death! 
'To gaze on those terrific things 

She now but blindly hears, would be 
Relief to her imaginings ; 

Since never yet was shape so dread, 
But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown, 

And by such sounds of horror fed, 
Could frame more dreadful of her own. 


| But does she dream ? has Fear again 


Perplex’d the workings of her brain, 
Or did a voice, all music, then [near— 
Come from the gloom, low whisp’rin 
‘Tremble not, love, thy Gheber’s here ?” 
She does not dream—all sense, all ear, 


484 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


She drinks the words, ‘‘ Thy Gheber’s 
here.” [err— 
7Twas his own yoice—she could not 
Throughout the breathing world’s ex- 
tent 
There was but one such voice for her, 
So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
Oh, sooner shall the rose of May 
Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minstrel’s lay 
Open her bosom’s glowing veil, * 
Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, 
A breath of the beloved one! 


Though blest, ’mid all her ills, to think 
She has that one beloved near, [brink, 
Whose smile, though met on ruin’s 
Hath power to make even ruin dear, — 
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross’d 
By fears for him, is chill’d and lost. 
How shall the ruthless HArEp brook 
That one of Gheber blood should look, 
With aught but curses in his eye, 
On her, a maid of ARABY— 
A Moslem maid—the child of him, 
Whose bloody banner’s dire success 
Hath left their altars cold and dim, 
And their fair land a wilderness ! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 
Which comes so fast—Oh! who shall 
stay 
The sword, that once hath tasted food 
Of Persian hearts, or turn its way? 
What arm shall then the victim cover, 
Or from her father shield her lover? 


“‘Save him, my God !” she inly cries— 
««Save him this night—and if thine eyes 
ΕΠ ἃν ever welcomed with delight 

“«The sinners’ tears, the sacrifice 
“ΟΥ̓ sinners’ hearts—guard him this 
night, 
*¢ And here, before thy throne, I swear 
‘* From my heart’s inmost core to tear 
“Love, hope, remembrance, though 
they be [there, 
“Vink’d with each quiv’ring life-string 
“ And give it bleeding all to Thee! 
“Let him but live,—the burning tear, 
“The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 
““ Which have been all too much his own, 
‘«Shall from this hour be Heayen’s alone. 
“Youth pass’d in penitence, and age 


* A frequent image among the oriental poets. 
“The nightingales warbled their enchanting 
notes, and rent the thin voils ef the rose-bud 
andl the vose.”’--Jami. 


“Τὴ long and painful pilgrimage, 
‘Shall leave no traces of the flame 
‘“‘That wastes me now—nor shall his 
name 
“ Her bless my lips, but when I pray 
‘or his dear spirit, that away 
‘Casting from its angelic ray 
“'Th’ eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine 
“ Redeem’d, all glorious and all Thine! 
“ Think—think what victory to win 
‘One radiant soul like his from sin,— 
‘One wand’ring star of virtue back 
“To its own native, heavenward track ! 
‘Let him but live, and both are Thine, 
‘‘Together Thine — for, bless’d or 
cross’d, 
‘Living or dead, his doom is mine, 
“ And, if he perish, both are lost!” 


THE next evening LALLA ROOKH was 
entreated by her Ladies to continue the 
relation of her wonderful dream; but the 
fearful interest that hung round the fate 
of HinpA and her lover had completely 
removed every trace of it from her mind; 
—much to the disappointment of a fair 
seer or two in her train, who prided 
themselves on their skill in interpreting 
visions, and who had already remarked 
as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, 
on the very morning after the dream, 
had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms 
of the sorrowful tree, Nilica.t 

FADLADEEN, whose indignation had 
more than once broken out during the 
recital of some parts of this heterodox 
poem, seemed at length to have made 
up his mind to the infliction; and took 
his seat this evening with all the patience 
of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his 
profane and seditious story as follows:— 


To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas, 
That lay beneath that mountain’s 
height, 

Had been a fair enchanting sight. 
’T was one of those ambrosial eves 
A day of storm so often leayes 
At its calm setting—when the West 
Opens her golden bowers of rest, 

1‘ Blossoms of the sorrowful Nyctanthes give 
a durable color to silk.’—Remarks on the Hus- 
bandry of Bengal, p. 200. Niliea is one of the 
Indian names of this flower.—Sir W. Jones. 
The Persians eall it Gul.—Carreri. 


~~ 
7 
Ἵ 


΄ 


5 


Ἢ 


, 


> 


LALLA ROOKH. 


nd a moist radiance from the skies 
hoots trembling down, as from the eyes 
Of some meek penitent, whose last, 
Bright hours atone for dark ones past, 
And whose sweet tears, o’er wrong for- 
giv’n, [heay’n! 
Shine, as they fall, with hght from 


’T was stillness all—the winds that late 

Had rush’d through KErMAN’s almond 
groves, 

And shaken from her bow’rs of date 
That cooling feast the traveller loves, * 

Now, lull’d to languor, scarcely curl 
The Green Sea waye, whose waters 

Limpid, as if her mines of pearl [gleam 
Were melted all to form the stream; 

And her fair islets, small and bnght, 
With their green shores reflected there, 

Look like those PErt isles of light, 
That hang by spell-work in the air. 


But vainly did those glories burst 

On Hrnp.’s dazzled eyes, when first 

The bandage from her brow was taken, 

And, pale and awed as those who waken 

Τὰ their dark tombs—when, scowling 

near, 

The Searchers of the Gravet appear, — 

She shudd’ring turn’d to read her fate 
In the fierce eyes that flash’d around ; 

And saw those towers all desolate, 
That o’er her head terrifie frown’d, 

As if defying ev’n the smile 

Of that soft heav’n to gild their pile. 

Tn vain with mingled hope and fear, 

She looks for him whose voice so dear 

Had come, like music, to her ear— 

Strange, mocking dream ! again ’tis fled. 

And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread 

That through her mmost bosom run, 
When voices from without proclaim 

“TAFED, the Chief ”—and, one by one, 
The warriors shout that fearful name ! 

He comes —therock resounds his tread— 

How shall she dare to lift her head, 

Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 

Not YEMEN’s boldest sons can bear? 

In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, 

Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, 

As in those hellish fires that light 

The mandrake’s charnel leaves at night. ἢ 

How shall she bear that voice’s tone, 
*“Tn parts of Kerman, whatever dates are 

shaken from the trees by the wind they do not 

touch, but leave them for those who have not 

any, or for travellers."—Ebn Haukal. 


_ | The two terrible angels, Monkir and Nakir, 
who are called ‘the Searchers of the Grave” 


At whose loud battle-cry alone 

Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 

Scatter’d like some vast caravan, 

When, stretch’d at evening round the 
well 

| They hear the thirsting tiger’s yell. 


Breathless she stands, with eyes cast 
down, 

Shrinking beneath the fiery frown, 

| Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 

15 flashing o'er her fiercely now : 

| And shudd’ring as she hears the tread 

Of his retiring warrior band.— 

Never was pause so full of dread ; 

Till HA¥FED with a trembling hand 
Took hers, and, leaning o’er her, said, 
|“ Hinpa ;’—that word was all he spoke, 
| And ’twas enough—the shriek that broke 
| From her full bosom, told the rest.— 

Panting with terror, joy, surprise, 
|The maid but lifts her wond’ring eyes, 
| To hide them on her Gheber’s breast ἢ 
"ΤῚΝ he, ’tis he —the man of blood, 
The fellest of the Fire-fiend’s brood, 
| HAFED, the demon of the fight, 
| Whose yoice unnerves, whose glances 
blight,— 
Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smiled 
| In her Jone tow’r, and left such beams 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams, 
| That she believed her bow’r had giv’n 
| Rest to some wanderer from heay’n! 


| Moments there are, and this was one, 
Snatch’d like a minute’s gleam of sun 
Amid the black Simoom’s eclipse— 
Or, like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater’s burning lips, 
Sweet’ning the very edge of doom! 
The past—the future —all that Fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them cast 
Intenser radiance while they las:! 


Ev’n he, this youth—though dimm’d 
and gone 

Each star of Hope that cheer’d him on— 

His glories lost—his cause betray’d— 

Tran, his dear-loved country, made 

A land of carcasses and slaves, 

One dreary waste of chains and graves !— 


in the “Creed of the orthodox Mahometans ” 
| given by Ockley, vol. ji. 


! ‘The Arabians call the mandrake ‘the 
Devil's candle,’ on account of its shining ap- 
pearance in the night." —Richardson. 


456 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Himself but ling’ring, dead at heart, 
'o see the last, long struggling breath 
Of Liberty’s great soul depart, 
Then lay him down and share her 
death— 
Ev’n he, so sunk in wretchedness, 
With doom still darker gath’ring o’er 
him, 
Yet, in this moment’s pure caress, 
In the mild eyes that shone before him, 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other transports known on earth, 
That he was loved—well, warmly 
loved— 
Oh! in this precious hour he proved 
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of wo ;— 
Haw exquisite one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
Of mis’ry’s cup—how keenly quaft’d, 
Though death must follow on the 
draught ! 


She, too, while gazing on those eyes 
That sink into her soul so deep, 
Forgets all fears, all miseries, 
Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, 
Whom fancy cheats into a smile, 
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while ! 
The mighty Ruins where they stood, 


Upon the mount’s high, rocky verge, | 


Lay open tow’rds the ocean flood, 


Where lightly o’er the illumined surge | 


Many a fair bark that, all the day, 
Had lurk’d in shelt’ring creek or bay, 
Now bounded on, and gave their sails, 
Yet dripping, to the ev’ning gales ; 
Like eagles, when the storm is done, 
Spreading their wet wings in the sun 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight 
Star 

Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 
Werestill with ling’ring glories bright, — 
As if, to grace the gorgeous West, 

The Spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left his sunny vest 

Behind him, ere he wing’d his flight. 
Never was scene so form’d for love! 
Beneath them waves of crystal move 
In silent swell—Heay’n glows above, 
And their pure hearts, to transport giv’n, 
Swell like the wave, and glow like 

Heay’n. 


But ah! too soon that dream is past— 
Again, again her fear returns ;— 

Night, dreadful night, is gath’ring fast, 
More faintly the horizon burns, 


And every rosy tint that lay : 

On the smooth sea hath died away. 

Hastily to the dark’ning skies 

A glance she casts—then wildly cries 

“dAtnight, he said—and, look, ’tis near— 
“Bly, fly—if yet thou lov’st me, fly— 

“Soon will his murd’rous band be here, 
“« And I shall see thee bleed and die.— 

‘Hush! heard’st thou not the tramp of 

men 
‘‘ Sounding from yonder fearful glen ?— 
“Perhaps evn now they climb the 


wood— : 
“Fly, fly—though still the West is 


bright, 
‘He'll come—oh! yes—he wants thy 
blood— [night !” 


“T know him—he’ll not wait for 


In terrors ev’n to agony ; 
She clings around the wond’ring 
Chief ;— 
“ Alas, poor wilder’d maid! tome | 
«Thou ow’st thisraving trance of grief. 
“Tost as I am, naught ever grew 
‘Beneath my shade but perish’d too— 
“My doom is like the Dead Sea air, 
“ And nothing lives that enters there ! 
“ Why were our barks together driv’n 
“ Beneath this morning’s furious h2ay’n? 
““Why, when I saw the prize that chance 
“Had thrown into my desp’rate 
arms— 
“When, casting but a single glance 
‘“« Upon thy pale end prostrate charms, 


ΠΑ Lvow’d (though watching viewlesso’er 


“Thy safety through that  hour’s 
alarms) [more— 


'“To meet th’ unmanning sight no 


‘‘ Why have I broke that heart-wrung 
vow? 
«Why weakly, madly met thee now 7— 
‘“ Start not —that noise is but the shock 
“Of torrents through yon valley 
hurl’d— : 
“Dread nothing here —upon this rock 
‘< We stand above the jarring world, 
“ Alike beyond its hope—its dread— 
“In gloomy safety, like the Dead! 
“Or, could ey’n earth and hell unite 
“ Tn league to storm this Sacred Hei ht, 
“Pear nothing thou—myself, to-night, 
“ And each o’erlooking star that dwells 
“Near God, will be thy sentinels;— 
“ And, ere to-morrow’s dawn shall glow, 
“ Back to thy sire τ 
“«T'o-morrow !—no”’— 


ἂν». 


= 
_ The maiden seream’d—* thou’lt never 


; 
is 
is 
- 


τὰ ἐς eee et hee Me ee ee. 


ν see [be 
“To-morrow’s sun—death, death will 
“The night-cry through each reeking 

tower, 
“ Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour ! [knew 
‘Thou art betray’d—some wretch who 
“That dreadful glen’smysterious clew— 
“Nay, doubt not—by yon stars, ’tis 
true— 
“ Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
“This morning, with that smile so dire 


_ “ He wears in joy, he told me all, [hall, 


“ And stamp’d in triumph through our 
“ΑΒ though thy heart already beat 

“Tts last life-throb beneath his feet ! 

“ Good Heay’n, how littledream’d I then 

“His victim was my own loved 

youth !— {glen— 

“ Ply—send—let some one watch the 

“ By all my hopes of heav’n’tis truth!” 


Oh! colder than the wind that freezes 

Founts, that but now in sunshine 

play’d, 
Is that congealing pang which seizes 

The trusting bosom, when betray’d. 
He felt it—deeply felt—and stood, 

As if the tale had froz’n his blood» 

So mazed and motionless was he ;— 
Like one whom sudden spells enchant, 
Or some mute, marble habitant 

Of the still Halls of ἸΒΉΜΟΝΤΕ !* 


But soon the painful chill was o’er, 
And his great soul, herself once more, 
Look’d from his brow in all the rays 
Of her best, happiest, grandest days. 
Never, in moment most elate, 
_ Did that high spirit loftier rise ;— 
While bright, serene, determinate, 
His looks are lifted to the skies, 
As if the signal lights of Fate 
Were shining in those awful eyes ! 
’Tis come—his hour of martyrdom 
In [RAy’s sacred cause is come ; 
And, though his life hath pass’d away, 
Like lightning on a stormy day, 
Yet shall his death-hour leave a track 


* For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified 
city in Upper Egypt, where, it is said, there are 
many statues of men, women, &e., to be seen 
to this day, see Perry's View of the Levant. 

t Jesus. 

t The Ghebers say that when Abraham, their 
great Prophet, was thrown into the fire by 
order of Nimrod, the flame turned instantly in- 


τς to*‘‘a bed of roses, where the child sweetly re- 


— posed.” — Tavernier. 


erent) - LALLA ROOKH. 


457 


Of glory, permanent and bright, 

To which the brave of after-times, 

The suffring brave, shall long look back 
With proud regret,—and by its light 
Watch through the hours of slavery’s 

night 

For vengeance on th’ oppressor’s crimes. 

This rock, his monument aloft, 

Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 

And hither bards and herpes oft 
Shall come in secret pilgrimage, 

And bring their warrior sons, and tell 

|The wond’ring boys where HArep fell ; 

| And swear them on those lone remains 
| Of their lost country’s ancient fanes, 

| Never—while breath of life shall live 

| Within them—never to forgive 

Th’ accursed race whose ruthless chain 
| Hath left on IRAn’s neck a stain 
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ! 


| Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
| Enthrone themselves on HAFrEp's brow; 
And ne’er did Saint of Issat gaze 
On the red wreath, for martyrs 
twined, ᾿ 
More proudly than the youth surveys 
That pile, which through the gloom 
behind, 
| Half lighted by the altar’s fire, 
| Glimmers—his destined funeral pyre! 
Heap’d by his own, his comrades’ hands, 
Of ev’ry wood of odorous breath, 
| There, by the Fire-God’s shrine it stands, 
| Ready to fold in radiant death 
The few still left of those who swore 
To perish there, when hope was o’er— 
| The few, to whom that couch of flame, 
| Which rescues them from bonds and 
shame, 
| Issweet and welcome as the bed 
| For their own infant Prophet spread, 
| When pitying Heav’n to roses turn’d 
}The death-flames that beneath him 
burn’d "1 


| With watchfulness the maid attends 
| His ἀν ὴς glance, where’er it bends— 
| Why shoot his eyes such awful beams? 


Of their other Prophet, Zoroaster, there is a 
story toll in Dion Pruscus, Orat. 36, that the 
|love of wisdom and virtue leading him to a 
solitary life upon a mountain, he found it one 
day all in a flame, shining with celestial fire, 
out of which he came without any harm, and 
instituted certain sacrifices to God, who, he 
| declared, then appearod to him." —Vide Patrick 
on Exodus, iii, 2. 


458 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


What plans he now? what thinks or 
dreams ? 
Alas! why stands he musing here, 
When ev’ry moment teems with fear? 
‘*HAFED, my own beloved Lord,” 
She kneeling cries—‘‘ first, last adored! 
“‘Tfin that soul thou’st ever felt 
“Half what thy lips impassion’d 
swore, 
‘*¢ Here, on my knees, that never knelt 
“To any but their God before, 
“1 pray thee, as thou lov’st me, fly— 
“ΝΟΥ, now—ere yet their blades are 


nigh 
“¢ Oh haste—the bark that bore me hither 
“«Can waft us o’er yon dark’ning sea, 
“ἐ Hast—west—alas, I care not whither, 
‘«So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 
“Go where we will, this hand in thine, 
‘«Those eyes before me smiling thus, 
“Through good and ill, through storm 
and shine, 
‘The world’s a world of love for us ! 
“On some calm, blessed shore we'll 
dwell, 
“« Where ’tis nocrime to love too well ;— 
“« Where thus to worship tenderly 
“An erring child of light like thee 
“Will not be sin, or, if it be, 
‘« Where we may weep our faults away, 
“¢ Together kneeling, night and day, 
“Thou, for my sake, at ALLA’s shrine, 
“And I—at any God’s, for thine "ἢ 


Wildly these passionate words she 

spoke— [shame ; 

Then hung her head, and wept for 
Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke 


With ev’ry deep-heaved sob that came. | 
While he, young, warm—oh! wonder | 


not 
Tf, fora moment, pride and fame, 
His oath—his cause—that shrine of 
flame, 
And IRrAn’s self are all forgot 
For her whom at his feet he sees 
Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
Dawn’d in his soul, and threw her smile 
O’er hours to come—o’er days and 
nights, 
Wing’d with those precious, pure delights 
Which she, who bends all beauteous 


there, 
* “The shell called Siiankos, common to 
India, Africa, and the Mediterranean, and still 


used in many parts as a trumpet for blowing 


Was born to kindle and to share. 
A tear or two, which, as he bow’d 
To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 
First warn’d him of this dang’rous cloud 
Of softness passing o’er his soul. 
Starting, he brush’d the drops away, 
Unworthy o’er that cheek to stray ;— 
Like one who, on the morn of fight, 
Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimm’d, not stain’d its 
light. 


Yet, though subdued th’ unnerving thmill, 
Its warmth, its weakness, linger’d still 
So touching in its look and tone, 
That the fond, fearing, boping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray’d, 
Half thought the hero’s soul was 
grown 
As soft, as yielding as her own, 
And smiled and bless’d him, while he 
said, 
“ Yes—if there be some happier sphere, 
‘“Where fadeless truth like ours is 
dear,— ὃ 
“Tf there be any land of rest 
‘« For those who love and ne’er forget, 
“Oh! comfort thee—for safe and bless’d 
‘“‘ We'll meet in that calm region γοῦ 


é 


Scarce had she time to ask her heart 

If good or ill these words impart, 
When the roused youth impatient flew 
To the tow’r wall, where, high in view, 
A pond’rous sea-horn* hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 

The storm-fiend at his rising blows.— 
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true 
Through life and death, that signal knew; 
For ‘twas th’ appointed warning blast, 
Th’ alarm to tell when hope was past, 
And the tremendous death-die cast ! 
And there, upon the mould’ring tow’r, 
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour, 
Ready to sound o’er land and sea 

That dirge-note of the brave and free. 


They came—his Chieftains at the call 
Came slowly round, and with them all— 
Alas, how few !—the worn remains 
Of those who late o’er KERMAN’S plains 
Went gayly prancing to the clash 

Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun, 


alarms or giving signals; it sends forth a deep - 
and hollow sound.’’—Pennant. 


LALLA 


And, as their coursers charged the wind, 

And the white ox-tails stream’d behind, * 

Looking, as if the steeds they rode 

Were wing’d, and every Chief a God! 

How fall’n, how alter’d now! how wan 

Each scarr’d and faded visage shone 

As round the burning shrine they came ; 
How deadly was the glare it cast, 

As mute they paused before the flame 
To light their torches as they pass’d ! 

‘Twas silence all—the youth had plann’d 

The duties of his soldier-band ; 

And each determined brow declares 

His faithful Chieftains well knew theirs. 


But minutes speed—night gems the 
skies— 
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes, 
That look from heaven, ye may behold 
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold ! 
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, 
The maiden sees the yeteran group 
Her litter silently prepare, 
And lay it at her trembling feet ;- 
* And now the youth, with gentle care, 
Hath placed her in the shelter’d seat, 
And press’d her hand—that ling’ring 
Tess 
Of hands, that for the last time sever ; 
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, 
When that hold breaks, is dead forever. 
And yet to her this sad caress 
Gives hope—so fondly hope can err! 
Twas joy, she thought, joy’s mute ex- 
cess— 
Their happy flight’s dear harbinger ; 
’Twas warmth -— assurance — tender- 
ness— 
’Twas anything but leaving her. 


** Haste, haste !’’ she cried, “ the clouds 
grow dark, [bark ; 

“But still, ere night, we’ll reach the 

* And by to-morrow’s dawn—oh bliss ! 


“With thee upon the sun-bright deep, | 


“ Far off, ’ll but remember this, 
“As some dark yanish’d dream of 
sleep ; {not— 
** And thou ——” but ah!—he answers 
Good Heay’n !—and does she go alone? 
She now has reach’d that dismal spot, 
Where, some hours since, his yoice’s 
tone 
Had come to soothe her fears and ills, 


~“ The finest ornament for the horses is made 
of six large flying tassels of long white hair, 
τ taken out of the tails of wild oxen, that are to 


ROOKH. 


| 
| Sweet as the angel Israri’s,t 
When every leaf on Eden’s tree 
Is trembling to his minstrelsy— 
Yet now—oh, now, he is not nigh— 
‘“‘HAFED! my HAFEpD !—if it be 
“«Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 
“Let me but stay to die with thee, 
“ And I will bless thy loved name, 
“Till the last life-breath leave this 
] fraine. 
“Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid 
* But near each other while they fade ; 
“Let us but mix our parting breaths, 
“ And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
“You too, who hurry me away 


“So cruelly, one moment stay— 
“Oh! stay—one moment is not 
much— , 


“* He yet may come—for him I pray— 
“ILAFED ! dear HAFED !""—all the way 
In wild lamentings, that would touch 
A heart of stone, she shriek’d his name 
ΤῸ the dark woods—no Harep came :— 
_No—hapless pair—you’ve look’d your 
last :-- [then. 
Your hearts should both have broken 
The dream is o’er—your doom is cast:— 
You'll never meet on earth again! 


Alas for him, who hears her cries ! 
Still half-way down the steep he 
stands, . s 
| Watching with fix’d and feverish eyes 
| The glimmer of those burning brands, 
That down the rocks, with mournful ray, 
| Light all he loves on earth away ! 
Hopeless as they who, far at sea, 
By the cold moon have just consign’d 
| The corse of one, loved tenderly, 
| To the bleak flood they leave behind; 
And on the deck still ling’ring stay, 
_And long look back, with sad delay, 
To watch the moonlight on the wave, 
That ripples o’er that cheerless graye. 


But see—he starts—what heard he 
then ? 

That dreadful shout !—across the glen 
From the land-side it comes, and loud 
Rings through the chasm; as if the crowd 
Of fearful things that haunt that dell, 
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell, 
Had all in one dread howl broke out, 
So loud, so terrible that shout ! 
be found in some places of the Indies.”— 
Thevenot. 

+ The angel Israfil, who has the most melo- 
dious voice of all God's creatures. ’"—Sale. 


A30 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


“ They come—the Moslems come !’’— 
he cries, 

His proud soul mounting to his eyes,— 

‘« Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam 

“ Enfranchised through yon starry 
dome, 

“ Rejoice—for souls of kindred fire 

ἐς Are on the wing to join your choir!” 

He said—and, light as bridegrooms 
bound [steep 

To their young loves, reclimb’d the 

And gain’d the Shrine—his Chiefs stood 

round— 
Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 

Together, at that cry accursed, 

Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, 
burst. 

And hark !—again—again it rings ; 

Near and more near its echoings [then 

Peal through the chasm—oh ! “who that 

Had seen those list’ning warrior-men, 

With their swords grasp’d, their eyes of 
flame [shame, 

Turn’d on their Chief—could doubt the 

Th’ indignant shame with which they 
thrill 

To hear those shouts, and yet stand still? 


He read their thoughts—they were 
his own— {these blades, 
“What! while our arms can wield 
“<Shall we dte tamely ? die alone 7 
‘““Without one victim to our shades, 
“One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 
“The sabre from its toil may sleep ? 
“No—God of IRAN’s burning skies ! 
““Thou scorn’st th’ inglorious sacrifice. 
“No—though of all earth’s hope bereft, 
“ς Life, swords, and vengeance still are 
left. 
* We’ll make yon yvalley’s reeking caves 
‘‘ Livein the awe-struck minds of men, 
“Till tyrants shudder,when their slaves 
“Tell of the Gheber’s bloody glen. 
“Follow, brave hearts !—this pile re- 
mains 
‘«Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
“ But his the best, the holiest bed, 
‘¢ Who sinks entomb’d in Moslem dead !” 


Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
While vigor, more than human, strung 
Each arm and heart.—Th’ exulting foe 
Still through the dark defiles below, 
Track’d by his torches’ lurid fire, 
Wound slow, as through GOLCONDA’S 
vale* 
* See Hoole upon the Story of Sinbad. 


The mighty serpent, in his ire, 

Glides on with glitt’ring, deadly trail. 
No torch the Ghebers need—so well 
They know each myst’ry of the dell, 

So oft have in their wanderings, 
Cross’d the wild race that round them 
dwell, 

The very tigers from their delves 
Look out, and let them pass, as things 

Untamed and fearless like themselves! 


There was a deep ravine, that lay 

Yet darkling in the Moslem’s way ; 

Fit spot to make invaders rue 

The many fall’n before the few. 

The torrents from that morning’s sky 

Had fill’d the narrow chasm breast-high, 

And, on each side, aloft and wild, 

Huge cliffs and toppling crags were 
piled, -— [lines 

The guards with which young Freedom 

The pathways to her mountain-shrines. 

Here, at this pass, the scanty band 

Of IrRAN’s last avengers stand ; 

Here wait, in silence like the dead, 

And listen for the Moslem’s tread 

So anxiously, the carrion-bird 

Above them flaps his wing unheard ! 


They come—that plunge into the water 
Gives signal for the work ot slaughter. 
Now, Ghebers, now—if e’er your blades 
Had point or prowess, prove them 
now— 
Wo to the file that foremost wades ! 
They come—a falchion greets each 
brow, 
And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 
Beneé ath the gory w aters sunk, 
Still o’er their drowning bodies press 
New victims quick and rnumberless ; 
Till scarce an arm in HAFED’sS band, 
So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 
But listless from each crimson hand 
The sword hangs, clogge’d with mas- 
Never was horde of tyrants met [sacre. 
With bloodier welcome—never yet 
To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
More terrible libations pour'’d ! 


All up the dreary, long ravine, 

By the red, murky elimmer seen 

Of half-quench’d brands, that o’er the 
flood 

Lie seatter’d round and burn in blood, 

What ruin glares ! what cé image swims ! 

Heads, blazing turbans, quiy’ring limbs, 


, 


> 


LALLA ROOKH. 


Lost se that, dropp’d from many a 
han 
Tn that thick pool of slaughter stand ;— 
Wretches who wading, half on fire 
From the toss’d brands that round 
them fly, 
*Twixt flood and flame in shrieks ex- 
pire ;— 
And some who, grasp’d by those that 
die, 
Sink woundless with them, smother’d o’er 
In their dead brethren’s gushing gore ! 


But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 

Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ; 

Countless as tow’rds some flame at night 

The North’s dark insects wing their flight, 

And quench or perish in its light, 

To this terrific spot they pour— 

Till, bridged with Moslem bodies o’er, 

It bears aloft their slipp’ry tread, 

And o’er the dying and the dead, 

Tremendous causeway ! on they pass— 

Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas, 

What hope was left for you? for vou, 

Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 

Is smoking in their vengeful eyes ;— 

Whose swords how keen, how fierce 
they knew, 

And burn with shame to find how few ? 


Crush’d down by that vast multitude, 
Some found their graves where first they 
stood; 
While some with hardier struggle died, 
And still fought on by HArep’s side, 
Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 
Tow’rds the high towers his gory track ; 
And, as a lion swept away 
By sudden swell of Jorpan’s pride 
From the wild covert where he lay,* 
Long battles with th’ o’erwhelming 
tide, 
So fought he back with fierce delay, 
And kept both foes and fate at bay. 


But whither now ? their track is lost, 

Their prey escaped—guide, torches 
gone— 

By torrent-beds and Jabyrinths cross’d, 
The seatter’d crowd rush blindly on— 

**Ourse on those tardy lights that wind,” 

They panting cry, ‘‘ so far behind ; 

“ Oh tor a bloodhound’s precious scent, 

“To track the way the Gheber went "ἢ 


Jordan several sorts o 


461 


Vain wish—confusedly along [wrong: 
They rush, more desp’rate as more 
Till, ’wilder’d by the far-off lights, 

Yet glitt’ring up those gloomy heights, 
Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss, 
And down the darkling precipice 

Are dash’d into the deep abyss; 

Or midway hang, impaled on rocks, 

A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 

Of rav’ning vultures,—while the dell 
Re-echoes with each horrid yell. 


Those sounds—the last, to vengeance 
dear, 

That e’er shall ring in HAFED’s ear, — 

Now reach’d him, as aloft, alone, 

Upon the steep way breathless thrown, 

He lay beside his reeking blade, 

Resigned, as if life’s task were o’er, 
Its last blood-offering amply paid, 

And IrAy’s self could claim no more. 
One only thought, one ling’ring beam 
Now broke across his dizzy dream 
Of pain and weariness—’twas she, 

His heart’s pure planet, shining yet 
Above the waste of memory, 

When all life’s other lights were set. 
And never to his mind before 
Her image such enchantment wore. 

It seem’d as if each thought that stain’d, 

Each fear that chill’d their loves was 

past, 
And not one cloud of earth remain’d 

Between him and her radiance cast ;— 
As if to charms, before so bright, 

New grace from other worlds was giv’n, 
And his soul saw her by the light 

Now breaking o’er itself from heay’n ! 


A voice spoke near him— twas the tone 
Of a loved friend, the only one 
Of all his warriors, left with life 
From that short night’s tremendous 
strife.— [ποτοῦ 
“And must we then, my Chief, die 
‘“‘Foes round us, and the Shrine so 
near !” {mains 
These words have roused the last re- 
Of life within him—‘‘ What ! not yet 
‘* Beyond the reach of Moslem chains !” 
The thought could make ev’n Death 
forget 
His icy bondage—with a bound 


| Hesprings, all bleeding, from the ground, 
ΚΜ Τα this thicket upen the banks of the | 
wild beasts are wont | river, gave occasion to that allusion of Jere- 


to harbor themselves, whose being washed out | miah, he shall come up like @ lion from the 


of the covert by the overflowings of the 


" ἵ 
i ek 


swelling of Jordan.""—Maundrell’s Aleppo. 


462 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And grasps his comrade’s arm, now 
grown 

Τὴν feebler, heavier than his own, 

And up the painful pathway leads, 

Death gaining on each step he treads. 

Speed them, thou God, who heardst 
their vow! [them now— 

They mount—they bleed—oh save 

The crags are red they’ve clamber’d o’er, 

The rock-weed’s dripping with their 


ore ;--- 
Thy lade too, HAFED, false at length, 
Now breaks beneath thy tott’ring 
strength! 
Haste, haste—the voices of the Foe 
Come near and nearer from below— 
One eifort more—thank Heay’n! ’tis 
past, 

They’ve gain’d the topmoststeep at last. 
And now they touch the temple’s walls, 
Now HAFEp sees the Fire divine— 
When, lo !—his weak, worn comrade 

falls 
Dead on the threshold of the Shrine. 
*“ Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 
“And must I leave thee with’ring 
here, 
““The sport of every ruffian’s tread, 
««The mark for every coward’s spear ? 
““No, by yon altar’s sacred beams !” 
He cries, and with a strength that 
seems 
Not of this world, uplifts the frame 
Of the fall’n Chief, and tow’rds the 
flame {hand 
Bears him along;—with death-damp 
The corpse upon the pyre he lays, 
Then lights the consecrated brand, 
And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze 


Like lightning bursts o’er OMAN’s 
Sea.— [Thee,” 
“Now, Freedom’s God! I come to 


The youth exclaims, and with a smile 
Of triumph vaulting on the pile, 

In that last effort, ere the fires 

Have harm’d one glorious lim), expires ! 


What shriek was that on OMAN’s tide ? 
It came from yonder drifting bark, 
That just hath caught upon her side 
The death-light—and again is dark. 
It is the boat—ah, why delay’d ?— 
That bears the wretched Moslem maid ; 
Confided to the watchful care 
Of a small veteran band, with whom 
Their gen’rous Chieftain would not share 
The secret of his final doom, 


But hoped when Hinpa, safe and free, 
‘Was render'd to her father’s eyes, 
Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 
The ransom of so dear a prize.— 
Unconscious, thus, of HArED’s fate, 
And proud to guard their beauteous 
freight, 
Scarce had they clear’d the surfy waves 
That foam around those frightful caves, 
When the cursed war-whoops, known so 
well, 
Came echoing from the distant dell— 
Sudden each oar, upheld and still, 
Hung dripping o’er the vessel’s side, 
And, driving at the current’s will, 
They rock’d along the whisp’ring tide ; 
While every eye, in mute dismay, 
Was tow’rd that fatal mountain turn’d, 
Where the dim altar’s quiv’ring ray 
As yet all lone and tranquil burn’d. 


Oh! ’tis not, HinpaA, in the pow’r 
Of Fancy’s most terrific touch 
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour— 
Thy silent agony—'twas such 
As those who feel could paint too well, 
But none e’er felt and lived to tell ! 
*Twas not alone the dreary state 
Of a lorn spirit, crush’d by fate, 
When, though no more remains to dread, 
The panie chill will not depart ;— 
When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 
Her ghost still haunts the mould’ring 
heart. 
No—pleasures, hopes, affections gone, 
The wretch may bear, and yet live on, 
Like things, within the cold rock found 
Alive, when all’s congeal’d around. 
But there’s a blank repose in this, 
A calm stagnation, that were bliss 
To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, 
Now felt through all thy breast and 
brain ;— 
That spasm of terror, mute, intense, 
That breathless, agonized suspense, 
From whose hot throb, whose deadly 


aching, 
The heart hath no relief but breaking! 
Calm is the wave—heay’n’s brilliant 
lights 


Reflected dance beneath the prow ; 
Time was when, on such lovely nights, 
She who is there, so desolate now, 

Could sit all cheerful, though alone, 
And ask no happier joy than seeing 
That starlight o’er the waters thrown— 

No joy but that, to make her blest, 


LALLA ROOKH. 463 


And the fresh, buoyant sense of | Deep, deep,—where never care or pain 


Being, Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 
Which bounds in youth’s yet careless 

breast,— , 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, Farewell—farewell to thee, ARABY’s 
But in its own glad essence bright. daughter! : (dark sea, ) 
How different now !—but, bark, again (Thus warbled a Pert beneath the 


The yell of havoc rings—brave men ! No pearl ever lay, under OMAN’s green 
In yain, with beating hearts, ye stand | water, {in thee. 
On the bark’s edge—in vain each hand | More pure in its shell than thy Spirit 
Half draws the falchion from its sheath; | Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee 


All’s o’er—in rust your blades may growing, [ witchery came, 
lie :— How light was thy heart till Loye’s 

He, at whose word they’ve scatter’d | Like the wind of the south* o’er a sum- 
death, mer lute blowing, [its frame! 


Ly’nnow, this night, himselfmust die! 6 Απᾷ hush’d all its music, and wither’d 
Well may ye look to yon dim tower, 
And ask, and wond’ring guess what | But long, upon ARABY’S green sunny 
means highlands, [ber the doom 

The battle-crv at this dead hour— Shall maids and their lovers remem- 
Ah! she could tell you—she who leans , Of her, who lies sleeping among the 
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, _ Pearl Islands, (up her tomb. 
With brow against the dew-cold mast ;— | With naught but the sea-start to light 
Too well she knows—her more than : ᾿ 
Her soul’s first idol and its last, [Π|Ὁ, And ἀπὸ ἐρέω ΘΕΟΣ Bea py 
Ap See te Fert ΔΕΝὸ, τὰ § } , 
Lies bleeding in that murd’rous strife. anaes Ai palm-groves the 
The happiest there, from their pastime 


But see—what moves upon the height ? returnin [is told. 
Some signal !—'tis a torch’s light. siete cals 3 ὸ 
What bodes its solitary glare? ee REE ve bes Ἂς hea wert 
Tn gasping silence tow’rd the Shrine The young village-maid, when with 
All eyes are turn’d—thine, Hrnpa, thine flow’rs she dresses [day, 


Fix their last fading life-beams there. |__Her dark flowing hair for some festival 
"Twas but a moment—fierce and high | Will think of thy fate till, neglecting 


The death-pile blazed into the sky, . her tresses, : 

And far away, o’er rock and floo She mournfully turns from the mir- 
[ts melancholy radiance sent ; ror away. 

While Harep, like a vision stood Nor shall Iran, beloved of her Hero! » 

Reveal d before the burning pyre, forget thee— [as they start, 

Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire Though tyrants watch over her tears 

_ Dhrined in its own grand element ! Close, close by the side of that Hero 

‘°Tis he!’—the shudd’ring maid ex- she’ll set thee, [her heart. 

claims, — {more;| }mbalm’d in the innermost shrine of 

But, while she speaks, he’s seen no 

High burst in air the funeral flames, Farewell—be it ours to embellish thy 
And IRrAn’s hopes and hers are o’er! pillow [in the deep; 


L : With ev’ry thing beauteous that grows 
One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave; | Bach flow’r of the rock and each gem of 


Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze, the billow 
Where still she fix’d her dying gaze, Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine 
And, gazing, sunk into the wave,— thy sleep. 


luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded 
* “This wind, (the Samoor) so softens the | by rays."—Mirza Abu Taleb. 

strings of lutes, that they can never be tuned | ΠΣ For a description of the merriment of the 

while it lasts.” —Stephen's Persia. date-time, of their work, their dances, and their 
i‘ One of the greatest curiosities found in | return home from the palm-groyes at the end 

the Persian Gulf is a fish which the English | of autumn with the fruit, see Kempfer. 

enll Star-fish. Itis cireular, and at night very | Amanitat. Exot, 


404 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Around thee shall glisten the loveliest 
amber [wept ;* 

That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has 
With many a shell, in whose hollow- 
wreathed chamber, [have slept. 

We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight 


We'll dive where the gardens of coral 
lie darkling, [head ; 

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy 
Well seek where the sands of the Cas- 
piant are sparkling, [thy bed. 

And gather their gold to strew over 


Farewell—farewell—until Pity’s sweet 
fountain [brave, 
Ts lost in the hearts of the fairand the 
They’ll weep for the Chieftain who died 
on that mountain, 
They'll weep for the Maiden who 
sleeps in this wave. 


THE singular placidity with which 
FADLADEEN had listened, during the lat- 
ter part of this obnoxious story, sur- 
prised the Princess and FERAMORZ ex- 
ceedingly; and even inclined towards 
him the hearts of these unsuspicious 
young persons, who little knew the 
source of a complacency so marvellous. 
The truth was, he had been organizing, 
for the last few days, amost notable plan 
of persecution against the poet, in con- 
sequence of some passages that had 
fallen from him on the second evening 
of recital,—which appeared to this wor- 
thy Chamberlainto containlanguage and 
principles, for which nothing short of 
the summary criticism of the Chabukt 
would be advisable. It was his inten- 
tion, therefore, immediately on their arri- 
val at Cashmere, to give information to 
the King of Bucharia of the very dan- 
gerous sentiments of his minstrel; and 
if, unfortunately, that monarch did not 
act with suitable vigor on the occasion, 
(that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to 
FrERAMORZ, and a place to FADLADEEN), 

* Some naturalists have imagined that amber 
is a coneretion of the tears of birds.—See 
Trevoux, Chambers. 

1 ‘©The bay Kieselarke, which is otherwise 
ealled the Golden Bay, the sand whereof shines 
as fire.” —Striy. 


{ “The application of whips or rods.”—Du- 
bois. - 

§ Kempfer mentions such an officer among 
the attendantsof the King of Persia, and calls 
him ‘* forme corporis estimator.” His business 
was, at stated periods, to measure the ladies of 


there would be an end, he feared, of all 
legitimate governmentin Bucharia. He 
could not help, however, auguring bet- 
ter both for himself and the cause of 
potentates in general; and it was the 
pleasure arising from these mingled an- 
ticipations that diffused such unusual 
satisfaction through his features, and 
made his eyes shine out like poppies of 
the desert, over the wide and lifeless. 
wilderness of that countenance. 

Having decided upon the Poet’s chas-- 
tisement in this manner, he theught it 
but humanity to spare him the minor 
tortures of criticism. Accordingly, when 
they assembled the following evening 
in the pavilion, and LALLA Rook# was 
expecting to see all the beauties of her 
bard melt away, one by one, in the acid- 
ity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of 
the Egyptian queen,—he agreeably dis- 
appointed her, by merely saying, with 
an ironicalsinile, that the merits of such 
a poem deserved to be tried at a much 
higher tribunal; and then suddenly 
passed off into a panegyric upon all Mus- 
sulman sovereigns, more particularly 
his august and Imperial master, Au- 
rungzebe,—the wisest and best of the 
descendants of Timur—who, among 
other great things he had done for man- 
kind, had given to him, FADLADEEN, 
the very profitable posts of Betel-carrier, 
and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, 
Chief Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful 
Forms,§ and Grand Nazir, or Chamber- 
lain of the Haram. 

They were now not far from that For- 
bidden River,|| beyond which no pure 
Hindoo can pass; and were reposing for 
a time in the rich valley of Hussun Ab- 
daul, which had always been a favorite 
resting-place of the Emperors in their 
annual migrations to Cashmere. Here 
often had the Light of the Faith, Jehan- 
Guire, been known to wander with his 
beloved and beautiful Nourmahal; and 
the Haram by a sort of regulation-girdle, whose 
limits it was not thought graceful to exceed, 
Tf any of them outgrew this standard of shape, 
they were reduced by abstinence till they came 
within proper bounds. 

|| Lhe Attock. 

* Akbar on his way ordered a fort to be built, 
upon the Nilab, which he ealled Atteek, which 
means in the Indian language Forbidden; for, 
by the superstition of the Hindoos, it was held 


unlawful to cross that uiver.”—Dow’s Hindo- 
stan. 


ha Sia: ἡ ἐδ Ψ ἘΠῚ 5 -. > μ 
ae 
ες -- 
- LALLA ROOKH. 465 


here would Lanna Rooxi have been 
happy to remain forever, giving up the 
throne of Bucharia and the world, for 
Frramonrz and love in this sweet lonely 
valley. Dut the time was now fast ap- 
roaching when she must see him no 
onger,—or, What was still worse, be- 
hold him with eyes whose every look 
belonged to another; and there was a 
inclancholy preciousness in these last 
moments, which made her heart cling 
to them as it would to life. During the 
latter part of the journey, indeed, she 
had sunk into a deep sadness, from 
which nothing but the presence of the 
young minstrel could awake her. Like 
those lamps in tombs, which only light 
up when the air is admitted, it was only 
at his approach that her eyes became 
smiling and animated. But, here, in 
this dear valley, every moment appear- 
ed an age of pleasure ; she saw him all 
day, and was, therefore, allday happy,— 
resembling, she often thought, that peo- 
ple of Zinge,* who attribute the unfad- 
mg cheertulness they enjoy to one 
genial star that rises nightly over their 
heads. Ὁ 

The whole party, indeed, seemed in 
their liveliest mood during the few days 
they passed in this delightful solitude. 
The young attendants of the Princess, 


range than they could safely be indulged 
with in a less sequestered place, ran wild 
among the gardens and bounded through 
the meadows lightly as young roes over 
the aromatie plains of Tibet. While 
TFADLADEEN, in addition to the spiritual 


*“The inhabitants of this country (Zinge) 
are never afflicted with sadness or melancholy; 
on this subject the Sheikh Abu-al-Kheir-Azhari 
has the following distich :— 

“* Who is the man without care or sorrow, 
(tell) that I may rub my hand to him. 


“Ὁ (Behold), the Zingians, without care or sor- | 


row, frolicsome with tipsiness and mirth.’ 
“The philosophers have discovered that the 

cause of this cheerfulness proceeds from the in- 

fluence of the star Soheil, or Canopus, which 


rises over them every night.”—Pxtract froma | 


Geographical Persian Manuscript called Heft 
Aklin, or the Seven Climates, translated by W. 
Ouseley, Esq. 

t The star Soheil, or Canopns. 

t’ The lizard Stellio. The Arabs call it 
Hardun. The Turks kill it, for they imacine 


that by declinine the head it mimies them when 


they say their prayers." —Hasselquist. 
For these particulars respecting Hussun 
Abdaul I am indebted to the very interesting 


| Isane Walton: 


comfort derived by him from a pilgrim- 
age tothe tomb of the saint from whom 
the valley is named, had also opportu- 
nities of indulging, in a small way, his 
taste for victims, by putting to death 
some hundreds of those unfortunate lit- 
tle lizards,t which all pious Mussulmans 
make it a point to kill;—taking for 


| granted, that the manner in which the 


creature hangs its head is meant as a 
mimicry of the attitude in which the 
Faithful say their prayers. 

About two miles from Hussun Abdaul 
were those Royal Gardens,§ which had 
erown beautiful under the care of so 
many lovely eyes, and were beautiful 
still, though those eyes could see them 
no longer. This place, with its flowers 
and its holy silence, interrupted only by 
the dipping of the wings of birds in its 
marble basins filled with the pure water 
of those hills, was to LALLA Rooke all 
that her heart could fancy of fragrance, 
coolness, and almost heavenly tranquil- 
lity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, 
“it was too delicious ;”||—and here, in 
listening to the sweet voice of Frra- 
MORZ, or reading in his eyes what yet 
he never dared to tell her, the most ex- 
quisite moments of her whole life were 
passed, One evening, when they had 


been talking of the Sultana Nourmahal, 
who were here allowed a much freer | 


the Light of the Haram,{[ who had so 
often wandered among these flowers, and 
fed with her own hands, in those marble 
basins, the small shining fishes of which 
she was so fond,** the youth, in order to 
delay the moment of separation, pro- 


posed to recite a short story, or rather 


Introduction of Mr. Elphinstone’s work upon 
Caubul. 

||‘ As you enter at that Bazar, without the 
gate of Damascus, you see the Green Mosque, 
so called because it hath a steeple faced with 
green glazed bricks, which render it very re- 
splendent; it is covered at top with a pavilion 
of the same stuff. The Turks say this mosque 


| was made in that place, because Mahomet be- 


ing come so far, would not enter the town, say- 
ing it was too delicious."'—Thevenot. This re- 
minds one of the following pretty passage in 
‘When sat last on this prim- 
rose bank, and looked down these meadows, I 


| thought ofthem as Charles the Emperor did of 


the city of Florence, ‘that they were too pleas- 
ant to be looked on, but only on holidays.’ ἢ 

4“ Nourmahal signifies Light of the Haram. 
She was afterwards called Nourjehan, or the 
Light of the World. 

** See note |! p. 450. 


466 


rhapsody, of which this adored Sultana 
was the heroine. It related, he said, 
to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers’ 
quarrel which took place between her 
and the Emperor during a Feast of Roses 
at Cashmere; and would remind the 
Princess of that difference between 
Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress 
Marida,* which was so happily made 
up by the soft strains of the musician, 
Moussali. As the story was chiefly to 
be told in song, and FERAMORz had un- 
luckily forgotten his own lute in the val- 
ley, he borrowed the vina of LALLA 
Rooxn’s little Persian slave, and thus 
began :— 


Wuo has not heard of the Vale of Casu- 
MERE, [ever gave,t 

With its roses the brightest that earth 
Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains 
as clear Lover their wave? 

As the love-lighted eyes that hang 


Oh! to see it at sunset,—when warm 
o’er the Lake [ throws, 
Its splendor at parting a summer eve 
Like a bride, full of blushes, when lin- 
g’ring to take [she goes !— 
A last look of her mirror at night ere 
When the shrines through the foliage 
are gleaming half shown, 
And each hallows the hour by some rites 
of its own. [swells, 
Here the music of pray’r from a minaret 
Here the Magian his um, full of per- 
fume, is swinging, 
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet 
bells {dancer is ringing.t 
Round the waist of some fair Indian 
Or to see it by moonlight,—when mel- 
lowly shines [shrines ; 
The light o’er its palaces, gardens, and 


* “Waroun Al Raschid, cinquiéme Khalife 
des Abassides, s’étant un jour brouillé, avec 
une de ses maitresses nommée Maridah, quwil 
aimoit cependant jusqu’a l’exeés, et cette més- 
intelligence ayant deja durée quelque tems, 
commenga ἣν s’ennuyer. Giafar Barmaki, son 
favori, qui.s’en apperefit, commanda & Abbas 
ben Alnaf, excellent poéte de ce tems Ja, de 
composer quelques vers sur le sujet de cette 
brouillerie. Ce poéte exécuta l'ordre de Gia- 
far, qui fit chanter ces vers par Moussali en 
présence du Khalife, et ce prince fut tellement 
touché dela tendresse des vers du poéte, et de 
la doneeur de la voix du musicien, qu'il alla 
anssitot trouver Maridah, et fit sa paix avee 
elle.”’— D’ Herbelot. 

* The rose of Kashmire for its brilliancy 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


When the water-falls gleam, like a quick 
fall of stars, [Isle of Chenars 

And the nightingale’s hymn from the 
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of 
feet [young people meet.— 

From the cool, shining walks where the 
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight 
awakes [it breaks, 

A new wonder each minute, as slowly 
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call’d forth 
every one [the Sun. 

Out of darkness, as if but just born of 
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with 
the day, [ing away ; 

From his Haram of night-flowers steal- 
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos 
like a lover [ble all over. 

The young aspen-trees,§ till they trem- 
When the East is as warm as the light 
of first hopes, [unfurl’d, 

And Day, with his banner of radiance 
Shines in through the mountainous por- 
tall] that opes, {the world ! 
Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to 


But never yet, by night or day, 

In dew of spring or summev’s ray, 

Did the sweet Valley shine so gay 

As now it shines—all love and light, 

Visions by day and feasts by night ! 

A happier smile illumes each brow, 
With quicker spread each heart un- 

And allis eestasy,—for now __ [closes, 
The Valley holds its Feast of Roses ;1 

The joyous time, when pleasures pour 

Profusely round, and, in their shower, 

Hearts open, like the Season’s Rose,— 
The flow’ret of a hundred leayes,** 

Expanding while the dew-fall flows, 
And every leaf its balm receives. 


’Twas when the hour of evening came 
Upon the Lake, serene and cool, 
When Day had hid his sultry flame ] 


and delieaey of odor has long been proyerbia 
in the East.’”—Forster. : 

+“ Tied round her waist the zone of bells, 
that sounded with ravishing melody.’”’—Song 
of Jayadeva. : i : 

§ ‘*The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire 
are set with arbors and large-leayed aspen- 
trees, slender and tall.” —Bernier. 

|The Tuckt Suliman, the name bestowed 
by the Mahommetans on this hill, forms one 
side of a grand portal to the Lake.”’— Forster. 

4] ‘The Feast of Roses continues the whole 
time of their remaining in bloom.” —See Pietro 
dela Valle. 

»* “Gut sad berk, the Rose of a hundred 
leaves. I believe a particular species.—Ouse- 
ley. 


- μὰν 


LALLA ROOKH. 


407 


Behind the palins of BARAMOULE,* 
When maids began to lift their heads 
Refresh’d from their embroider’d beds, 
Where they had slept the sun away, 
And waked to moonlight and to play. 


All were abroad—the busiest hive 

On BELA’st hills is less alive, 

When saffron-beds are full in flow’r, 
Than look’d the Valley in that hour; 
A thousand restless torches play’d 
Through every grove and island shade, 
A thousand sparkling lamps were set 
On every dome and minaret; 

And fields and pathways, far and near, 
Were lighted by a blaze so clear, 

That you could see, in wand’ring round, 
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. 
Yet did the maids and matrons leave 


Their veils at home, that brilliant eve ; 


And there were glancing eyes about, 


And cheeks, that would not dare shine | 


out 

In open day, but thought they might 
Look lovely then, because ’twas night. 
And all were free, and wandering, 

And all exclaim’d to all they met, 
That never did the summer bring 

So gay a Feast of Roses yet ;— 
The moon had never shed a light 


So clear as that which bless’d them | 


there ; 
The roses ne’er shone half so bright, 
Nor they themselves look’d half so fair. 


And what a wilderness of flow’rs ! 

It seem’d as though from all the bow’rs 

And fairest fields of all the year, 

The mingled spoil were scatter’d here. 

The Lake, too, like a garden breathes, 
With the rich buds that o’er it lie,— 

As if a shower of fairy wreaths 


* Bernier. 

1A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehan- 
geery, or Memoirs of Jehun-Guire, where there 
is an account of the beds of saffron-flowers 
about Cashmere. 

‘ It is the custom among the women to 
employ the Maazeen to chant from the gallery 
of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion 
is illuminated, and the women assembled at 
the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or 
joyous chorus." — Russel. 

§ ‘The swing is a favorite pastime in the 
East, as promoting a circulation of air, ex- 
tremely refreshing in those sultry climates.” — 
Richardson. 

“The swings are adorned with festoons. This 
pastime is accompanied with music of voices 
and of instruments, hired by the masters of the 
swings.’ —Thevenot. 


Had fall’n upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy,—the beat 
Of tabors and of dancing feet ; 
| The minaret-crier’s chant of glee 
Sung from his lighted gallery,t{ 
And answer'd by aziraleet [sweet ;— 
From neighboring Haram, wild and 
| The merry laughter, echoing 
| From gardens, where the silken swing§ 
| Wafts some delighted girl above 
The top leaves of the orange-grove ; 
Or, from those infant groups at play 
Among the tents|| that line the way, 
| Flnging, unawed by slave or mother, 
᾿ς Handfuls of roses at each other.— 
| Then, the sounds from the Lake,—the 
low whisp’ring in boats, 
As they shoot through the moonlight;— 
the dipping of oars, 
And the wild, airy warbling that ev’ry- 
where floats, 
Through the groves, round the islands, 
as if all the shores, [and gave 
| Like those of Katuay, utter’d music, 
| An answer in song to the kiss of each 
wave.{] [full of feeling, 
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, 
That soft from the lute of some lover are 
stealing, — 
/Some lover, who knows all the heart- 
touching power 
Of a lute and asigh in this magical hour. 
Oh! best of delights as it ey’rywhere is 
To be near the loved One,—what a rap- 
ture is his [ly may glide 
Who in moonlight and music thus sweet- 
O’er the Lake of CASHMERE, with that 
One by his side! [dear, 
If woman can make the worst wilderness 
| Think, think what a Heav’n she must 
make of CASHMERE! 


|| ‘‘ At the keeping of the Feast of Roses we 
beheld an infinite number of tents pitched, with 
such a crowd of men, women, boys, and girls, 
with music, dances,” &c., &¢.— Herbert. 


4] ‘‘An old commentator of the Chou-King 
says, the ancients having remarked that a cur- 
rent of water made some of the stones near its 
banks send forth a sound, they detached some 
of them, and being charmed with the delightful 
sound they emitted, constructed King or musi- 
cal instruments of them.''—Grosier. 

This miraculous quality has been attributed 
also to the shore of Attica. ‘‘ Hujus littus, ait 
ἔαροῖ, concentum musicum illisis terre undis 
reddere, quod propter tantam ernditionis yim 
puto dictum.”—Ludov. Vives in Augustin. de 
Civitat. Dei, lib. xviii. ¢. 8. 


408 


So felt the magnificent Son of ACBAR,* 

‘When from pow’r and pomp and the tro- 
phies of war [all 

He flew to that valley, forgetting them 


With the Light of the Haram, his | 


young NOURMAHAL. 
When free and uncrown’d, as the Con- 
queror roved [beloved, 
By the banks of that lake, with his only 
He saw, in the wreaths she would play- 
fully snatch [could not match, 
From the hedges, a glory his crown 
And preferr’d in his heart the least ring- 
let that curl’d 
Down her exquisite neck to the throne 


There’s a beauty, forever unchangingly 
bright, [day’s light, 
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer- 
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow 
made tender, [ splendor. 
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of 
This was not the beauty—oh, nothing 
like this, [magic of bliss ! 
That to young NOURMAHAL gave such 
But the loveliness, ever in motion, which 
lays 
Like the light upon autumn’s soft 
shadowy days, 
Now here and now there, giving warmth 
as it flies, [cheek to the eyes ; 
From the lip to the cheek, from the 
Now melting in mist and now breaking 
in gleams, {in his dreams. 
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav’n 
When pensive, it seem’d as if that very 
grace, [her face ! 
That charm of all others, was born with 
And when angry,—for ev’n in the tran- 
quillest climes [sometimes— 
Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms 
The short, passing anger but seem’d to 
awaken [est when shaken. 
New beauty, like flow’rs that are sweet- 
If tenderness touch’d her, the dark of 
her eye 
At once took a darker, a heay’nlier dye, 
From the depth of whose shadow, like 
holy reyealings [of her feelings. 
From innermost shrines, came the light 
Then her mirth—oh ! ’twas sportive as 
ever took wing 
* Jehan-Guire was the son of the Great 
Acbar. 
+ In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, 
whenever the former took the latter prisoners, 


[of the world. | 
Such. such were the peerless enchant- 


‘they shut them up in iron cages, and hung | 


them on the highest trees. Here they were 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


From the heart with a burst, like the 
wild bird in spring ; [sages, 
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate 
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from 
their cages.t [control 
While her laugh, full of life, without any 


| But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung 


from her soul; [could discover, 
And where it most sparkled no glance 
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten’d 
all over,— [ upon, 
Like any fair lake that the breeze is 
When it breaks into dimples and laughs 
in the sun. [ments, that gave 


NouRMAHAL the proud Lord of the 
East for her slave : 


_And though bright was his Haram,—a 


living parterre 
Of the flow’rst of this planet—though 
treasures were there, 
For which Souman’s self might have 
giv’n all the store [to his shore, 
That the navy from OPHIR e’er wing’d 
Yet dim before her were the smiles of 
them all, { NouRMAHAL! 
And the Light of his Haram was young 


But where is she now, this night of joy, 

When bliss is every heart’s employ ?— 

When all around her is so bright, 

So like the visions of a trance, [chance 

That one might think, who came by 

Into the vale this happy night, 

He saw that City of Delight§ 

In Fairy-land, whose streets and tow’rs 

Are made of gems, and light, and 
flow’rs ! 

Where is the loved Sultana? where, 

When mirth brings out the young and 
fair, ὶ 

Does she, the fairest, hide her brow, 

In melancholy stillness now ? 


Alas !—how light a cause may move 
Dissension between hearts that love ! 
Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
And sorrow but more closely tied ; 
That stood the storm, when waves were 
Yet in a sunny hour fell off, [rough, 
Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
When heaven was all tranquillity ! 
visited by their companions, who brought them 
the choicest odors.” — Richardson. c 

- In the Malay language the same word sig- 
nifles women and flowers. _ 

§ The capital of Shadukiam. 
432 


See note j p- 


LALLA 


ROOKH. 469 


A something, light as air—a look, 
A word unkind or wrongly taken— 
Oh! love, that tempests never shook, 


A breath, a touch like this hath sha- | 


And ruder words will soon rush in [| ken, 

To spread the breach that words begin ; 

And eyes forget the gentle ray 

They wore in courtship’s smiling day ; 

And voices lose the tone that shed 

A tenderness round all they said ; 

Till fast declining, one by one, 

The sweetnesses of love are gone, 

And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 

Like broken clouds,—or like the stream, 

That smiling left the mountain’s brow 
As though its waters ne’er could sever, 

Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 
Breaks into floods, that part forever. 


Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, 
Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 
As in the Fields of Bliss above 

He sits, with flow’rets 
round ;*— 
Loose not a tie that round him clings, 
Nor ever let him use his wings ; 
For ey’n an hour, ἃ minute’s flight 
Will rob the plumes of half their light. 
Like that celestial bird, —whose nest 
Is found beneath far astern skies, — 
Whose wings, though radiant when at 
rest, 
Lose all their glory when he flies !t 


Some diffrence, of this dang’rous kind,— 

By which, though light, the links that 
bind 

The fondest hearts may soon be riy’n ; 

Some shadow in Love’s summer heav’n, 

Which, though a fleecy speck at first, 

May yet in awful thunder burst ;— 

Such cloud it is that now hangs over 

The heart of the Imperial Lover, 

And far hath banish’d from his sight 

His NourMAHAL, his Haram’s Light! 

Hence is it, on this happy night, 

When Pleasure through the fields and 
groves 


* See the representation of the Eastern Cu. | 


fetter’d | 


Has let loose all her world of loves, 


And every heart has found its own, 
| He wanders, joyless and alone, 
And weary as that bird of Thrace, 
Whose pinion knows no resting-place.t 
In yain the loveliest cheeks and eyes 
This Eden of the Earth supplies [pale, 
Come crowding round—the cheeks are 
|The eyes are dim: - though rich the spot 
| With every flow’r this earth has got, 
What is it to the nightingale, 
If there his darling rose is not ?§ 
In vain the Valley’s smiling throng 
Worship him, as he moves along ; 
He heeds them not— one smile of hers 
Is worth a world of worshippers. 
| They but the Star’s adorers are, 
She is the Heav’n that lights the Star! 


Hence is it, too, that NouRMAHAL, 

Amid the luxuries of this hour, 

Far from the joyous festival, 

Sits in her own sequester’d bow’r, 
With no one near, to soothe or aid, 
But that inspired and wondrous maid, 
NAMOUNA, the Enchantress ;—one, 
O’er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember’d years has run, 
Yet never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than ’tis now. 
| Nay, rather,—as the west wind’s sigh 
Freshens the flow’r it passes by,— 
Time’s wing but seem’d, in stealing o’er, 
ΤῸ leave her lovelier than before. 

Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, 
_And when, as oft, she spoke or sung 

| Of other worlds, there came a light 
*From her dark eyes so strangely bright, 
| That all believed nor man nor earth 
Were conscious of NamounA’s birth! 


All spells and talismans she knew, 
| From the great Mantra, || which around 
|The Air’s sublimer Spirits drew, 

To the gold gems% of Arric, bound 
Upon the wand’ring Arab’s arm, 


§* You may place a hundred handfuls of 


pid, pinioned closely round with wreaths of | fragrant herbs and flowers before the ry eh 


owers, in Picart's Cérémonies Religicuses. 

1“ Among the birds of Tonquin is a species 
of goldfinch, which sings so mielodioualy that it 
is called the Celestial Bird. 
it 15 perched, appear variegated with beautiful 
colors, but when it flies they lose all their splen- 
dor.” —Grosier. 

t “As these birds on the Bosphorus are never 
known to rest, they are one by the French 
“les imes damnées.’ ’—Dolloway. 


Be _ 


Its wings, when | 


| gale, yet he wishes not, in his constant heart. 
| for more than the sweet breath of his beloved 
| rose.”'—Jami. 
| || ‘*Heis said to have found the great Man- 
tra, spell or talisman, through which he ruled 
| over the elements and spirits of all denomina- 
tions.’ — Wilford. 
q " The gold jewels of Jinnie, which are called 
by the Arabs El Herrez, from the supposed 
| charm they contain.”"—Jackson. 


470 


To keep him from the Siltim’s* harm. 
And she had pledged her powerful art, — 
Pledged it with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though high her 
sphere, 

What ’twas to lose a love so dear, — 
To find some spell that should recall 
Her Selim’sf smile to NOURMAHAL! 


’Twas midnight,—through the lattice, 
wreath’d {ed 
With woodbine, many a perfume breath- 
From plants that wake when others 
sleep, 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
Their odor to themselves all day, 
But, when the sunlight dies away, 
Let the delicious secret out 
To every breeze that roams about ;— 
When thus NAmMounaA :—‘‘’Tis the hour 
“«That scatters spells on herb and flow’r, 
“ And garlands might be gather’d now, 
“That, twined around the sleeper’s 
brow, [lights, 
“Would make him dream of such de- 
“Such miracles and dazzling sights, 
“ As Genii of the Sun behold, 
‘At evening, from their tents of gold 
“‘ Upon th’ horizon—where they play 
“Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray, 
“Their sunny mansions melt away. 
“ΝΟΥ, too, a chaplet might be wreath’d 
“Of buds o’er which the moon has 
breathed, [stray’d, 
“Which worn by her, whose love has 
“« Might bring some Peri from the skies, 
“Some sprite, whose very soul is made 
‘« Of flow’rets’ breaths and lovers’ sighs, 
“ And who might tell——” 
“Wor me, for me,” 
Cried NOURMAHAL impatiently, — 


* ‘A demon, supposed to haunt woods, &c., 
in a human shape.’—Richardson. 

+} The name of Jehan-Guire before his acces- 
sion to the throne. 

1" Hemasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with 
flowers of the brightest gold color.’—Sir W. 
Jones. 

§ ‘* This tree (the Nagacesara) is one of the 
most delightful on earth, and the delicious odor 
of its blossoms justly gives them a place in the 
quiver of Camadeya, or the God of Love.” —Sir 
W. Jones. 

ll ‘The Malayans style the tube-rose (Poli- 
anthes tuberosa) Sandal Malam, or the Mistress 
of the Night.”—Pennant. 

Ἵ The people of the Batta country in Suma- 
tra, (of which Zamara is one of the ancient 
names,) “when not engaged in war, lead an 
idle, inactive life, passing the day in playing on 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Oh! twine that wreath for me to- 
night.” 

Then, rapidly, with foot as light 

As the young musk-roe’s, out she flew, 

To cull each shining leaf that grew 

Beneath the moonlight’s hallowing 
beams, 

For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 

Anemones and Seas of Gold,t 

And new-blown lilies of the river, 
And those sweet flow’rets that unfold 

Their buds on CAMADEVA’S qui- 

ver ;—§ 
The tube-rose, with her silv’ry light, 

That in the Gardens of Malay 
Is call’d the Mistress of the Night, |] 

So like a bride, scented and bright, 

She comes out when the sun’s away;— 
Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through ZAMARA’S 

shades ;—¥] 

And the white moon-flow’r, as it shows, 
On SERENDIB’s high crags, to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail, 
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale ; 
In short, all flow’rets and all plants, 

From the divine Amrita tree, ** 
That blesses heaven’s mhabitants 

With fruits of immortality, 

Down to the basil tuft,tt that waves 
Its fragrant blossom over graves, 

And to the humble rosemary, 

Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 

To scent the desertt} and the dead:— 

Allin that garden bloom, and all 

Are gather’d by young NOURMAHAL, 

Who heaps her baskets with the flow’rs 
And leaves, till they can hold no 

more; 

Then to NAmouNnA flies, and show’rs 

Upon her lap the shining store. 


a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flow- 
ers, among which the globe-amaranthus, a na- 
tive of the country, mostly prevails.”—Mars- 
den. 

κα The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu, 
or rose-apple) is called Amrita, or immortal, 
and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same 
word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial 
fruit.’"—Sir W. Jones. 

ἡ] Sweet basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and 
generally found in churehyards. 

“The women in Egypt go, at least two days 
in the week, to pray and weep at the sepulchres 
of the dead; and the custom then is to throw 
upon the tombs a sort of herb which the Arabs 
call rihan, and which is our sweet basil.”— 
Maillet, Lett. 10. 

tt “In the Great Desert are found many 
stalks of lavender and rosemary.’’—Asiat. [es. 


LALLA ROOKH. 


471 


—_——_——$—$— eee 


With what delight th’ Enchantress views | The, phantom shapes—oh touch not 


So many buds, bathed with the dews 


And beams of that bless’d hour !—her 


glance pares 
.  §$poke something past all mortal plea- 
As, in a kind of holy trance, [sures, 


She hung above those fragrant trea- 
Bending to drink their balmy airs, 
As if she mix’d her soul with theirs. 
And ’twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flow’rs and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life—for none had e’er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
Nor ever in aught earthly dip, 
But the morn’s dew, her roseate lip. 
Fill’d with the cool, inspirin on 
Th’ Enchantress now begins her spell, 
Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittering leaves:— 


I know where the winged visions dwell 
That around the night-bed play ; 
I know each herb and flow’ret’s bell, 
Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, [fade. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will 


The image of love, that nightly flies 
To visit the bashful maid, 
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 
Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The dream of a future, happier hour, 
That alights on misery’s brow, 
Springs out of the silv’ry almond-flow’r, 
That blooms on a leafless bough.* 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, ({ fade. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will 


The visions, that oft to worldly eyes 
The glitter of mines unfold, 

Inhabit the mountain-herb,t that dyes 
The tooth of the fawn like gold. 


* “The almond tree, with white flowers, blos- 
soms on the bare branches.’'— Hasselquist. 

t+ An herb on Mount Libanus, which is said 
to communicate a yellow golden hue to the 
teeth of the goats and other animals that graze 
upon it. 

Niebuhr thinks this may be the herb which 


‘the Eastern alchymists look to as a means of 


making gold. ‘‘ Most of those alchemical en- 
thusiasts think themselves sure of success, if 
they could but find out the herb which gilds the 
teeth and givesa yellow color to the flesh of the 
sheep that eat it. Even the oil of this plant 
must be of a golden color. It is called Haseh- 
ischat ed dab.” 

Father Jerome Dandini, however, asserts 
that the teeth of the goats at Mount Libanus' 


them— 
That appal the murd’rer’s sight, 
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake’s stem, 
That shrieks, when pluck’d at night! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, [ fade. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will 


The dream of the injured, patient mind, 
That smiles with the wrongs of men, 
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind 

Of the cinnamon, sweetest then. 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, [fade. 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will 


No sooner was the flow’ry crown 

Placed on her head, than sleep came 

Gently as nights of summer fall, [down, 

Upon the lids of NoURMAHAL ;— 

And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze, 

As full of small, rich harmonies 

As ever wind, that o’er the tents 

Of AzaBt blew, was full of scents, 

Steals on her ear, and floats and swells 
Like the first air of morning creeping 

Into those wreathy, Red Sea shells, 
Where οὐ himself, of old, lay sleep- 

Ing ; 

And now a Spirit form’d, ’twould seem, 
Of music and of light,—so fair, 

So brilliantly his features beam, 
And such a sound is in the air 

Of sweetness when he waves his wings, — 

Hovers around her, and thus sings : 


From Crmnpara’s|| warbling fount I 
come, Tiere : 
Call’d by that moonlight garland’s 
From CuinpARra’s fount, my fairy home, 
Where in music, morn and night, [ 
dwell. 
Where lutes in the air are heard about, 


are of a silver color; and adds, ‘this confirms 
to me that which Lobserved in Candia: to wit, 
that the animals that live on Mount Ida eat a 
certain herb, which renders their teeth of agold- 
en color; which, uccording te my judgment, 
cannot otherwise proceed than from the mines 
which are under ground.”—Dandini, Voyage 
to Mount Lebanus. 

: The myrrh country. 

§ “This idea (of deities living in shells) was 
not unknown to the Greeks, who represent the 
young Nerites, one of the Cupids, as living in 
shells on the shores of the Red Sea, ᾿- Wilford. 

i ‘* A fabulous fountain, where instruments 
are said to be constantly playing.’ —Richard- 
son. 


472 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


And voices are singing the whole day 

long, δ 
And every sigh the heart breathes out 

Ts turn’d, as it leaves the lips, tosong, 
Hither I come 
From my fairy home, 

And if there’s a magic in Music’s strain, 
Τ swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath, 

Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 


For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 
And mine are the murm’ring, dying 
notes, 
That fall as soft as snow on the sea, 
And melt in the heart as instantly :— 
And the passionate strain that, deeply 
going, 
Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
As the musk-wind, over the water 
blowing, 
RufHles the wave, but sweetens it too. 


Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 
The spirits of past Delight obey ;— 
Let but the tuneful talisman sound, 
And they come, like Genii, hov’ring 
round, 
And inine is the gentle song that bears 
From soul to soul, the wishes of love, 
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs 
The cinnamon-seed from grove to 
grove.* 


Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 
The past, the present, and future of 
pleasure ;t [ gone 
When Memory links the tone that is 
With the blissful tone that’s still in 
the ear ; 
*“The Pompadour pigeon is the species, 
which, by carrying the fruit of the cinnamon to 


different places, is a great disseminator of this 
valuable tree.’—See Brown’s Ilustr., Tab. 19. 


cession of sounds, it is a perception of a com- | 


plicated nature, made up of a sensation of the 
resent sound or note, and an idea or remem- 
prance of the foregoing, while their mixture and 
coneurrence produce such a mysterious delight, 
as neither could have produced alone. And it 
is often heightened by an anticipation of the 
succeeding notes. 
Imagination, are conjunctively employed.”’— 
Gerrard on ‘Taste. 

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Plea- 
sure, as explained by Cicero:—‘* Quocirea cor 
pus gaudere tamdiu, dum presentem sentiret 
voluptatem: animum et praesentem percipere 
pariter cum corpore et prospicere yenientem, 
nee prieteritam prieterfluere sinere.” 

Madame de Staél accounts upon the same 
principle for the gratification we derive from 


-π--- 


And Hope from a heavenly note flies on 
To a note more heavenly still that is 
near. 


The warrior’s heart, when touch’d by me, 
Can as downy soft and as yielding be 


As his own white plume, that high amid 


death [with a breath! 
Through the field has shone—yet moves 
And, oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten, 
When oe has reach’d her inward 
soul, Ἷ 
Like the silent stars that wink and listen 
While Heaven’s eternal melodies roll. 
So, hither I come 
From my fairy home, 
And if there’s a magic in Music’s 


I swear by the breath  [strain,- 


Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 


Tis dawn—at least that earlier dawn, 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn, ἢ 
As if the morn had waked, and then 
Shut close her lids of light again, 
And NoURMAHAL is up, and trying 
The wonders of her lute, whose 
strings— {ing 


Oh, bliss !—now murmur like the sigh- 


From that ambrosial Spirit’s wings. 
And then, her voice—'tis more than hu- 

man - 

Never, till now, had it been given 
To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs, 

When angel sighs are most divine.— 
“Oh! let it last till night,” she eries, 

“ And he is more than ever mine.” 
rhyme :—“ Elle est Vimage de l espérance et du 
souvenir. Un son nous fait désirer celui qui 
doit lui répondre, et quand le second retentit 


: il nous rappelle celui qui vient de nous échap- 
| ‘‘ Whenever our pleasure arises from a suc- 


Thus Sense, Memory, and | 


| 
| 
{ 
| 


| 
| 


per,” 
+The Persians have two mornings, the 
Soobhi Kazim and the Soobhi Sadig, the false 
and the real daybreak. They account for this 
phenomenon in a most whimsical manner. 
They say, that as the sun rises from behind the 
Kohi Qaf, (Mount Caucasus,) it passes a hole 
yerforated through that mountain, and that 
darting its rays through it, itis the cause of the 
Soobhi Kazim, or this temporary appearance of 
daybreak. As it ascends, the earth is again 
veiled in darkness, until the sun rises above the 
mountain, and brings with it the Soobhi Sadig, 
or real morning.”’—Scott Waring. He thinks 
Milton may allude to this when he says,— 
«Ere the blabbing Eastern scout, 
The nice morn on the Indian stee 
From her ecabin'd loop-hole pee» ” 


LALLA 


ROOKH. 473 


And hourly she renews the lay, 
So fearful lest its heav’nly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening, fade away,— 
For things so heay’nly have such 
fleetness ! 
But, far from fading, it but grows 
Richer, diviner as it flows ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string, 
And pours again each sound along, 
Like ca, lost and languishing, 
In love with her own wondrous song. 


That evening, (trusting that his soul 
Might be Pan haunting love released 
By mirth, by music, and the bow], ) 
Th’ Imperial Seti held a feast 
Tn his magnificent Shalimar :—* 
In whose saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o’er the waters trembled, 
The Valley’s loveliest all assembled ; 
All the bright creatures that, like 
dreams, [beams 
Glide through its foliage, and drink 
Of beauty from its founts and streams ; 
And all those wand’ring minstrel-maids, 
Who leavye—how can they leaye?—the 
shades 
Of that dear Valley, and are found 
Singing in gardens of the Southt 
Those songs, that ne’er so sweetly sound 


As from a young Cashmerian’s mouth. | 


There, too, the Haram’s inmates smile ;— 
Maids from the West, with sun-bright 
hair, 


*Tn the centre of the plain, as it ap- | 


roaches the Lake, one of the Delhi Emperors, 
i believe Shah Jehun, constructed a spacious 
garden called the Shalimar, which is abun- 
danily stored with fruit-trees and flowering 
shrubs. Some of the rivulets which intersect 
the plain are led into a canal at the back of the 
garden, and flowing through its centre, or oc- 
ecasionally thrown into a yariety of water- 
works, compose the chief beauty of the Shali- 
mar. ‘To decorate this spot the Mogul Princes 
of India have displayed an equal magniticence 
and taste; especially Jehan Gheer, who, with 
the enchanting Noor Mahl. nade Kashmire his 
usual residence during the summer months. 
On arches thrown over the canal are erected, 
at equal distances, four or five suites of apart- 
ments, each consisting of a saloon, with four 
rooms at the angles, where the followers of the 
court attend, and the servants prepare sher- 
bets, coffee, and the hookah. The frame of the 
doors of the principal saloon is composed of 
pieces of a stone of a black color, ἜΠΙΝΕΝ with 
yellow lines, and of a closer grain and higher 
polish than porphyry. They were taken, it is 


_ said, from a Hindoo temple, by one of the Mo- 


gul princes, and are esteemed of great value.” 
—Forster. 


Ἔ 


And from the garden of the NILE, 
Delicate as the roses there ;—§ 
| Daughters of love from Cyprus’ rocks, 
With Paphian diamonds in _ their 
locks ;—|| 
Light Pert forms, such as they are 
On the gold meads of CANDAHAR ;J 
And they, before whose sleepy eyes, 
In their own bright Kathaian bow’rs, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies, 
That they might fancy the rich flow’rs, 
That round them in the sun lay sigh- 
ing, 
Had been by magic all set flying.** 


Every thing young, every thing fair 
From Hast and West is blushing there, 
_Except—except—oh, NOURMAHAL! 
| Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
| The one whose smile shone out alone, 
_Amidst a world the only one; 
| Whose light, among so many lights, 
Was like that star on starry nights, 
The seaman singles from the sky, 
To steer his bark forever by! 
Thou wert not there—so SELIM thought, 
Aud every thing seem’d drear without 
thee ; 
But, ah! thou wert, thou wert,—and 
brought 
Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. 
| Mingling unnoticed with a band 
Of lutanists from many a land, 
| And veil’d by such a mask as shades 


t ‘The waters of Cachemir are the more re- 
nowned from its being supposed that the Cache- 
mirians are indebted for their beauty to them.” 
|} —Ali Yezdi. 

¢ ‘From him I received the fo'lowing litre 
Gazzel, or Love Song, the notes of which he 
committed to paper trom the yoice of one of 
| those singing girls of Cashmere, who wander 
| from that delightful valley over the various 

parts of India.” —Persian Miscellanies. — 

§ “The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden 
of the Nile (attached to the Emperor of Moroe- 
co's palace), are unequalled, and mattresses are 
}inmade of their leaves for the men of rank to re- 
cline upon.''—Jackson. 

| ‘On the side of a mountain near Paphos 
there is a cavern which produces the most 
beautiful rock-crystal. On account of its bril- 
lianey it has been called the Paphian dia- 
mond.""—Mariti. 

q ‘There is a part of Candahar, called Pe- 
ria, or Fairy Land.”"—Thevenot. In some of 
those countries to the north of India, vegetable 
gold is supposed to be produced, 

** « These are the butterflies which are called 
in the Chinese language Flying Leaves. Some 
(of them have such shining colors, and are so 
| variegated, that they may be called flying flow- 


474 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


—< 


The features of young Arab maids,—* 

A mask that leaves but one eye free, 

To do its best in witchery,— 

She roved, with beating heart, around, 
And waited, trembling, for the minute, 

When she might try if still the sound 
Of her loved lute had magic in it. 


The board was spread with fruits and 
wine; 

With grapes of gold, like those that shine 

On CaAsBin’s hills ;t—pomegranates full 

Of melting sweetness, and the pears, 
And sunniest apples} that CAUBUL 

In all its thousand gardens§ bears ;— 
Plantains, the golden and the green, 
MALAYa’s nectar’d mangusteen ;|| 
Prunes of BoOKHARA, and sweet nuts 

From the far groves of SAMARCAND, 
And Basra dates, and apricots, 

Seed of the Sun, 1 from Iran’s land ;— 
With rich conserve of Visna cherries,** 
Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
Feed on in Erac’s rocky dells.tt 
All these in richest vases smile, 

In baskets of pure sandal-wood, 

And urns of porcelain from that islett 

Sunk underneath the Indian flood, 
Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
Vases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wines, too, of every clime and hue, 
Around their liquid lustre threw ; 
Amber Rosolli,§§—the bright dew 
From vineyards of the Green-Sea gush- 

ing 5 Ill 
And SuirAz wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, large and rare, 

The ruby for which KuBLAI-KHAN 


ers, and indeed they are always produced in 
the finest flower-gardens.”— Dunn: 

*“The Arabian women wear black masks 
with little clasps prettily ordered.’’—Carreri. 
Niebuhr mentions their showing but one eye in 
conversation. 

Τ “ The golden grapes of Casbin.”—Descrip- 
tion of Persia. 

} “The fruits exported from Cabul are ap- 
ples, pears, pomegranates,” &¢e.—Elphinstone. 

§ “ We sat down under a tree, listened to 
the birds, and talked with the son of our Meh- 
maundar about our country and Caubul, of 
which he gave an enchanting account: that 
city and its 100,000 gardens,” &¢c.—Ib. 

|‘ The mangusteen, the most delicate fruit 
in the world; the pride of the Malay islands.’’— 
Marsden. 

§] ‘A delicious kind of apricot called by the 
Persians tokmek-shems, signifying sun’s seed.” 
—Description of Persia. 

** ““Sweetmeats, in a erystal cup, consisting 
of rose-leaves in conserve, with lemonof Visna 


Offer’d a city’s wealth, 1% was blushing, © 
Melted within the goblets there ! 


And amply SELIM quaffs of each, 
And seems resolved the flood shall reach 
His inward heart, —shedding around 
A genial deluge, as they run, 
That soon shall leave no spot undrown’d, 
For Love to rest his wings upon. 
He little knew how well the boy 
Can float upon a goblet’s streams, 
Lighting them with his smile of joy :— 
As bards have seen him in their dreams, 
Down the blue GANGEs laughing glide 
Upon a rosy lotus wreath,*** 
Catching new lustre from the tide 
That with his image shone beneath. 


But what are cups, without the aid 
Of song to speed them as they flow ? 
And see—a lovely Georgian maid, 
With all the bloom, the freshen’d glow 
Of her own country maidens’ looks, 
When warm they rise from TEFLIs’ 
brooks ; tft 
And with an eye, whose restless ray, 
Full, floating, dark—oh, he, who knows 
His heart is weak, of Heav’n should pray 
To guard him from such eyes as. 
those !— 
With a voluptuous wildness flings 
Her snowy hand across the strings 
Of a syrinda,tt} and thus sings :— 


Come hither, come hither—by night and 

by day, [gone ; 

We linger in pleasures that never are 

Like the waves of the summer, as one. 
dies away, 


cherry, orange flowers,’’ &e.—Russel. 

Ht ‘‘Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of 
Erae.’’—The Moallakat, Poem of Tarafa. 

εἰ “ Mauri-ga-Sima, an island near Formosa, 
supposed to have been sunk in the sea for the 
erimes of its inhabitants. The vessels which 
the fishermen and divers bring up from it are 
sold at an immense price in China and Japan.” 
—See Kempfer. 

δᾷ Persian Tales. 

|| Lhe white wine of Kishma. 

W ‘The king of Zeilan is said to have the 
very finest ruby that was ever seen. Kublai- 
Khan sent and offered the value of a city for it, 
but the King answered he would not give it for 
the treasure of the world.”—Marco Polo. 

*“* The Indians feign that Cupid was first seem 
floating down the Ganges on the Nympheza Ne- 
lumbo.—See Pennant. 

ttt Teflis is celebrated for its natural warm. 
baths.—See νη, Haukal. 

ttt “The Indian Syrinda, or guitar.”—Sy- 
mez. 


ὌΝ 


LALLA ROOKH. 


475 


Another as sweet and as shining comes 
on. 
And the love that is o’er, in expiring, 
gives birth [in bliss ; 
To anew one as warm, as unequal’d 
And, oh! if there be an Wlysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this.* 


Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant 
their sigh [by a bee ;t 

As the flow’r of the Amra just oped 
And precious their tears as that rain 
from the sky, [the sea. 
Which turns into pearls as it falls in 
Oh! think what the kiss and the smile 
must be worth [perfect in bliss, 
When the sigh and the tear are so 
And own if there be an Elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this. 

Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallow’d 
by love, [from their sphere, 

Could draw down those angels of old 
Who for wine of this earth§ left the 
fountains above, [we have here. 

And forgot heav’n’s stars for the eyes 
And, bless’d with the odor our goblet 
gives forth, [would miss? 

What Spirit the sweets of his Eden 
For, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this. 


The Georgian’s song was scarcely mute, 
When the same measure, sound for 
Was caught up by another lute, [sound, 
And so divinely breathed around, 
‘That all stood hush’d and wondering, 
And turn’d and look’d into the air, 
As if they thought to see the wing, 
Of IsRAFIL,|| the Angel, there ;— 
So pow’rfully on ev’ry soul 
That new, enchanted measure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 
Of the charm’d lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 
Its sounds with theirs, that none knew 
whether 
The voice or lute was most divine, 
So wondrously they went together :— 


There’s a bliss beyond all that the min- 
strel has told, { heav’nly tie, 
When two, that are link’d in one 


*“ Around the exterior of the Dewan Khafs 
{a building of Shah Allum’s) in the cornice are 
the following lines in letters of gold upon a 
ground of white marble--‘ 1 there be a paradise 
upon earth, it is this, it is this.’ ""—Franceklin. 

1 ‘Delightful are the flowers of the Amra 
trees on the mountain-tops, while the murmur- 


With heart never changing, and brow 

never cold, [till they die! 

Love on through all ills, and love on 

One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wander- 
ing bliss ; 

And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, 

It is this, it is this. 


’Twas not the air, ’twas not the words, 

But that deep magic in the chords 

And in the lips, that gave such pow’r 

As Music knew not till that hour. 

At once a hundred voices said, 

“ΤῸ is the mask’d Arabian maid !” 

While Sretim, who had felt the strain 

Deepest of any, and had Jain 

Some minutes rapt, as in a trance, 
After the fairy sounds were o’er, 

Tooinly touch’d for utterance, { more :— 
Now motion’d with his hand for 


Fly to the desert, fly with me, 

Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 

But, oh! the choice what heart can 
doubt, 

Of tents with love, or thrones without? 


Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th’ acacia waves her yellow hair, 
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flow’ring in a wilderness. 


Our sands are bare, but down their slopo 
The silv’ry-footed antelope 
As gracefully and gayly springs 

As o’er the marble courts of kings. 


Then come—thy Arab maid will be 
The loved and lone acacia-tree, 

The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 


Oh! there are looks and tones that dart 
Aninstant sunshine through the heart,— 
As if the soul that minute caught 4 
Some treasure it through life had sought; 


As if the very lips and eyes, 
Predestined to have all our sighs, 
And never be forgot again, 
Sparkled and spoke before us then! 


ing bees pursue their voluptuous toil.” —Song of 
Jayadeva. / 

ΤΟ Nisan or drops of spring rain 
which they believe to produce pearls if they full 
into shells."—ichardson. 

§ For an account of the share which wine 
had in the fall of the angels, see Mariti. 

| The Angel of Music. See note ft p. 450. 


470 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


So came thy ev’ry glance and tone 

When first on me they breathed and 
shone ; 

New, as if brought from other spheres, 

Yet welcome as if loved for years. 


Then fly with me,—if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 

A gem away, that thou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart be worn. 


Come, if the love thou hast for me, 

Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,— 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, 
When first ’tis by the lapwing found.* 


But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshipp’d image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin’d place ;— 


Then, fare thee well—I’d rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 

When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine! 


There was a pathos in this lay, 
That, ev’n without enchantment’s art, 
Would instantly have found its way 
Deep into SELIM’s burning heart ; 
But, breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and lips unknown ; 
With every chord fresh from the touch 
Of Musie’s Spirit, —’twas too much ! 
Starting, he dash’d away the cup,— 
Which, all the time of this sweet air, 
His hand had held, untasted, up, 
As if ’twere fix’d by magic there, — 
And naming her, so long unnamed, 
So long unseen, wildly exclaim’d, 
“Oh NouRMAHAL! oh NOURMAHAL! 
“Hadst thou but sung this witching 
strain, 
“1 could forget —forgive thee all, 
“ And never leave those eyes again.” 


The mask is off—the charm is 
wrought — 
And SELIM to his heart has caught, 
In blushes more than ever bright, 
His NouRMAHAL, his Haram’s Light! 
And well do vanish’d frowns enhance 
The charm of every brighten’d glance ; 
And dearer seems each dawning smile 
*The Hudhud, or Lapwing, is supposed to 
have the power of discovering water under 
ground. 
t See p. 449. 
t«*The Chinese had formerly the art of 
painting on the sides of porcelain vessels fish 
and other animals, which were ouly perceptible 


For having lost its light awhile : 

And, happier now, for all her sighs, 
As on his arm her head reposes, 

She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 
“Remember, love, the Feast of Roses.” 


FADLADEEN, at the conclusion of this 
light rhapsody, took occasion to sum up 
his opinion of the young Cashmerian’s 
poetry, —of which, he trusted, they had 
that evening heard the last. Having 
recapitulated the epithets, ‘‘ frivolous” 
—‘nharmonious ”—‘“‘ nonsensical,” he 
proceeded to say that, viewing it in the 
most favorable light, it resembled one 
of those Maldivian boats, to which the 


| Princess had alluded in the-relation of 


her dream, t—aslight, gilded thing, sent 
adrift without rudder or ballast, and 
with nothing but vapid sweets and 
faded flowers on board. The profusion, 
indeed, of flowers and birds, which this 
poet had ready on all oceasions,—not to 
mention dews, gems, &c.—was a most 
oppressive kind of opulence to his hear- 
ers: and had the unlucky effect of giy- 
ing to his style all the glitter of the 
flower-garden without its method, and 
all the flutter of the aviary without its 
song. In addition to this, he chose bis 
subjects badly, and was always most 


inspired by the worst parts of them. 


The charms of paganism, the merits of 
rebellion, —these were the themes hon- 
ored with his particular enthusiasm ; 
and, in the poem just recited, one of his 


/most palatable passages was in praise 


of that beverage of the Unfaithful, 
wine ;— ‘being, perhaps,” said he, re-. 


| laxing into a smile, as conscious of his 
own character in 


the Haram on this 
point, ‘one of those bards whose faney 
owes all its illumination to the grape, 
like that painted porcelain,t so curious 
and so rare, whose images are only visi- 


ble when liquor is poured into it.” Upon 


the whole, it was his opinion, from the 
specimens which they had heard, and 
which, he begged to say, were the most 
tiresome part of the journey, that— 
whatever other merits this well-dressed 


when the vessel was full of some liquor. They 
call this species Kia-tsin, that is, azure is put 
in press, on account of the manner in which the 
azure is laid on.”—‘ They are every now and 
then trying to recover the art of this magical 
painting, but to no purpose.”—Dunn. 


a . LALLA ROOKH. 


= Υ 


477 


young gentleman might possess—poetry Love had fled,—to hide himself in her 
was by no means his proper ayocation: heart ? 


‘‘and indeed,” concluded the critic, 
‘from his fondness for flowers and for 
birds, I would venture to suggest that 
a florist or a bird-catcher is a much 
more suitable calling for him than a 
oet.” 

They had now begun to ascend those 
barren mountains, which separate Cash- 
mere from the rest of India; and, as the 
heats were intolerable, and the time of 
their encampments limited to the few 
hours necessary for refreshment and re- 

ose, there was an end to all their de- 
Fight fal evenings,and LALLA RookH saw 
no more of FERAMORZ. She now felt that 
her short dream of happiness was over, 
and that she had nothing but the recol- 
lection of its few blissful hours, like the 
one draught of sweet water that serves 
the camel across the wilderness, to be 
her heart’s refreshment during the dreary 
waste of life that was before her. The 
blight that had fallen upon her spirits 
soon found its way to her cheek, and 
her ladies saw with regret— though not 
without some suspicion of the cause— 
that the beauty of their mistress, of 
which they were almost as proud as of 
their own, was fast vanishing away at 
the very moment of all when she had 
most need of it. What must the King 
of Bucharia feel, when, instead of the 
lively and beautiful Lanta Rooxn, 
whom the poets of Delhi had described 
as more perfect than the divinest im- 
ages in the house of Azor,* he should 
receive a pale and inanimate victim, 
upon whose cheek neither health nor 
pleasure bloomed, and from whose eyes 

"An eminent carver of idols, said in the 
Koran to be father to Abraham. “I have sueh 
a lovely idol as is not to be met with in the 
house of Azor "—Hafiz. 

t Kachmire be Nazeer.—Forster. 


|The pardonable superstition of the se- 
questered inhabitants has multiplied the places 


of worship of Mahadeo, of Beschan, and of | 


Brama. All Cashmere is holy land, and mirae- 
nlous fountains abound.”—Major Rennel’s Me- 
moirs of a Map of Hindostan. 

Jehan-Guire mentions “a fountain in Cash- 
mere called Tirnagh, which signifies a snake; 
robably because some Jarge snake had former- 
y been seen there.”—* During the lifetime of 
my father, I went twice to this fountain, which 
is about twenty coss from the city of Cashmere. 
The vestiges of places of worship and sanctity 
are to be traced without number amongst the 
Tnins and the caves which are interspersed in 


/young King. 


If anything could have charmed away 


the melancholy of her spirits, it would 


have been the fresh airs and enchanting 
scenery of that Valley, which the Per- 
sians so justly called the Unequalled.t 
But neither the coolness of its atmos- 
phere, so luxurious after toiling up those 
bare and burning mountains, —neither 
the splendor of the minarets and pago- 
das, that shone out from the depth of 
its woods, nor the grotioes, hermitages, 
and miraculous fountains,} which make 
every spot of that region holy ground,— 
neither the countless waterfalls, that. 
rush into the Valley from all those high 
and romantic mountains that encircle it, 
nor the fair city on the Lake, whose 
houses, roofed with flowers, appeared 
at a distance like one vast and variegat- 
ed parterre ;—not all these wonders and 
glories of the most lovely country under 
the sun could steal her heart for a min- 
ute from those sad thoughts, which but 
darkened, and grew bitterer eyery step 
she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that 
met her upon her entrance into the Val- 
ley, and the magnificence with which 
the roads all along were decorated, did 
honor to the taste and gallantry of the 
It was night when they 
approached the city, and, for the last. 


two miles, they had passed under arches, 


thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned 
with only those rarest roses from which 
the Attar Gul, more precious than gold, 
is distilled, and illuminated in rich and 
fanciful forms with lanterns of the triple 
colored tortoise-shell of Pegu.|| Some- 


its neighborhood.”"—Toozek Jehangeery.—V ide 
Asiat. Mise., vol. ii. 

There is another account of Cashmere by 
Abul-Fazil, the author of the Ayin-Acbaree, 
“who,” says Major Rennel, * appears to have 
caught some of the enthusiasm of the valley, by 
his deseription of the holy places in it.” 

§ “On astanding roof of wood is laid a cov- 
ering of fine earth, which shelters the building 
from the great quantity of snow that falls in 
the wiuter season. This fence communicates. 
an equal warmth in winter, as a refreshing 
coolness in the summer season, when the tops 
of the houses, which are planted with a variety 
of flowers, exhibit at a distance the spacious 
view of a beautifully checkered parterre."— 
Forster. 

|| °° Two hundred slaves there are, who have 
no other office than to hunt the woods and 
marshes for triple-colored tortoises for the 


478 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


\ 


times, from a dark wood by the side of 
the road, a display of fireworks would 
break out, so sudden and so brilliant, 
that a Brahmin might fancy he beheld 
that grove, in whose purple shade the 
God of Battles was born, bursting into a 
flame at the moment of his birth ;— 
while, at other times, a quick and play- 
ful irradiation continued to brighten all 
the fields and gardens by which they 
passed, forming a line of dancing lights 
along the horizon; like the meteors of 
the north as they are seen by those hun- 
. ters* who pursue the white and blue 
foxes on the confines of the Icey Sea. 
These arches and fireworks delighted 
the Ladies of the Princess exceedingly; 
and with their usual good logic, they 
deduced from his taste for illuminations, 
that the King of Bucharia would make 
the most exemplary husband imagina- 
ble. Nor, indeed, could Latta Rooxn 
herself help feeling the kindness and 
splendor with which the young bride- 
groom welcomed her;—but she also felt 
how painful is the gratitude, which kind- 
ness from those we cannot love excites; 
and that their best blandishments come 
over the heart with all that chilling and 
deadly sweetness, which we can fancy 
in the cold, odoriferous windf that is to 
blow over this earth in the last days. 
The marriage was fixed for the morn- 
ing after her arrival, when she was, for 
the first time, to be presented to the 
monarch in that Imperial Palace beyond 
the lake, called the Shalimar. Though 
never before had a night of more wake- 
ful and anxious thought been passed in 
the Happy Valley, yet, when she rose 
in the morning, and her Ladies came 
around her, to assist in the adjustment 
of the bridal ornaments, they thought 
they had never seen her look half so 
beautiful. What she had lost of the 
bloom and radianey of her charms was 
more than made up by that intellectual 
expression, that soul beaming forth from 
the eyes, which is worth all the rest of 
loveliness. When they had tinged her 
fingers with the Henna leaf, and placed 
upon her brow a small coronet of jewels 


King’s Vivary. Ot the shells ot these also lan- 
terns are made.”— Vincent le Blanc’s Travels. 
_ ™“ For a deseription of the Aurora Borealis as 
it appears to these hunters, vide Hneyclopedia. 

| This wind, which is to blow from Syria 


of the shape worn by the ancient Queens 
of Bucharia, they flung over her head 
the rose-colored bridal veil, and she pro- 
ceeded to the barge that was to convey 
her across the lake ;—first kissing, with 
a mournful look, the little amulet of 
cornelian which her father at parting 
had hung about her neck. 

The morning was as fresh and fair as 
the maid on whose nuptials it rose, and 
the shining lake all covered with boats, 
the minstrels playing upon the shores of 
the islands, and the crowded summer- 
houses on the green hills around, with 
shawls and banners waving from their 
roofs, presented such a picture of ani- 
mated rejoicing, as only she who was 
the object of it all, did not feel with 
transport. To LALLA ROoKH alone it 
was a melancholy pageant; nor could she 
have ever borne to look upon the scene, 
were it not for a hope that, among the 
crowds around, she might once more 
perhaps catch a glimpse of FERAMORzZ. 
So much was her imagination haunted 


_by this thought, that there was scarcely 


an islet or boat she passed on the way, 
at which her heart did not flutter with 
the momentary fancy that he was there. 


| Happy, in her eyes, the humblest slave 
| upon whom the light of his dear looks 


fell! —Jn the barge immediately after the 
princess sat FADLADEEN, with his silken 
curtains thrown widely apart, that all 
might have the benefit of his august 
presence, and with his head full of the 
speech he was to deliver to the King, 
‘*concerning FERAMORZ, and literature, 


‘and the Chabuk, as connected there- 


with.” 

They now had entered the canal which 
leads from the Lake to the splendid 
domes and saloons of the Shalimar, and 
went gliding on through the gardens that 
ascended from each bank, full of flow- 
ering shrubs that made the air all per- 
fume; while from the middle of the canal 
rose jets of water, smooth and unbrok- 
en, to such a dazzling height that they 
stood like tall pillars of diamond in the 
sunshine. After sailing under the arches 
of various saloons, they at length arrived 
Damascena, is, according to the Mahometans, 
one of the signs of the Last Day's approach. 

Another of the sings is, “Great distress in 
the world, so that a man when he passes by an- 
other’s grave shall say, Would to God I were 
in his place!"'—Sale’s Preliminary Discourse. 


POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 479 


at the last and most magnificent, where} The consternationofFapLADFENatthis 
the monarch awaited the coming of his | discovery was, for the moment, almost 
bride; and such was the agitation of her | pitiable. But change of opinion is a re- 
heart and frame, that it was with diffi- | source too convenient in courts for this 
culty she could walk up the marble steps | experienced courtier not to have learned 
which were covered with cloth of gold|to avail himself of it. His criticisms 
for her ascent from the barge. At the) were all, of course, recanted instantly: 
end of the hall stood two thrones, as | he was seized with an admiration of the 
recious as the Cerulean Tbrone of Cool-| King’s verses, as unbounded as, be beg- 
urga,* on one of which sat Axrris, the | ged him to believe, it was disinterested; 
youthful King of Bucharia, and on the | and the following week saw him in pos- 
other was, in a few minutes, to be placed | session of an additional place, swearing 
the most beautiful Princess in the world. | by all the Saints of Islam that never had 
Immediately upon the entrance of LALLA | there existed so great a poet as the Mon- 
Rooku into the saloon, the monarch de- | arch ALiris, and, moreover, ready to 
scended from his throne to meet her; but | prescribe his favorite regimen of the Cha- 
scarcely had he time to take her hand in| buk for every man, woman, and child 
his, when she screamed with surprise, and | that dared to think otherwise. 
fainted at his feet. It was Feramorz|) Of the happiness of the King and 
himself that stood before her!—FrErA-| Queen of Bucharia, after such a begin- 
MORZ was, himself, the Sovereign of| ning, there can be but little doubt: and, 
Bucharia, who in this disguise bad ac-| among the lesser symptoms, it is re- 
companied his young bride from Delhi, corded of LALLA Rooku, that, to the 
and, haying won her love as an humble | day of her death, in memory of their de- 
minstrel, now amply deserved to enjoy | lightfuljourney,she never called the King 
it as a King. by any other name than FERAMoRz. 


POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 


LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. | Oh, proud was the meed his integrity 
P—RO—_V—_L. | won, ; 
ΙΝ the dirge we sungo’er him no cen- | And gen'rous indeed were the tears 


that we shed 
sure was heard, [drop descend ; A a ag i aad 9 at 3 
Unembitter’d and free did the toate When, in grief, we forgot all the ill he 


: ὃ ane ail had done, 
We rorgot, epi ee ee rear And, though wrong’d by him, living, 


And wept for the husband, the father, bewail'd him, when dead. 


stones of immensé value. Every prince of the 
*“On Mahommed Shaw's return to Kool- house of Bhamenee, who possessed this throne, 
burga, (the capital of Dekkan,) he made a made a point of adding to it some rich stones; 
great festival, and mounted this throne with so that when, in the reign of Sultan Mamood, it 
much pomp and magnificence, calling it Firoe- was taken to pieces, to remove some of the 
zeh, or Cerulean. I have heard some old per- jewels to be set in vases and cups, the jewellers 
sons, who saw the throne Firozeh in the reign | valued it at one corore of oons, (nearly four mil- 
of Sultan Mamood Bhamenee, describe it. lions sterling.) Ilearned also that it was called 
They say that it was in length nine feet, and | Firozeh from beirg partly enamelled of a sky- 
three in breadth; made of ebony, covered with blue color, which was in time totally concealed 
plates of pure gold, and set with precious by the number of jewels.’"—Ferishta. 


\ 


480 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


τ ee Eee ee 


Even now, if one harsher emotion in- 
trude, 
’Tis to wish he had chosen some 
lowlier state, 
Had known what he was—and, content 
to be good, 
Had ne’er, for our ruin, aspired to be 
great. 


So, left through their own little orbit to 
move, 
His years might have roll’d inoffensive 
away ; 
His children might still have been 
bless’d with his love, 
And England would ne’er have been 
cursed with his sway. 


To the Editor of the Morning Chronicle. 


Siz, 

In order to explain the following 
Fragment, it is necessary to refer your 
readers to a late florid description of the 
Pavilion at Brighton, in the apartments 
of which, we are told, ‘‘Fum, The Chi- 
nese Bird of Royalty,’’ is a principal or- 
nament. 

T am, Sir, yours, &e., 
Mum. 


FUM AND HUM, THE TWO BIRDS 
OF ROYALTY. 


One day the Chinese Bird of Royalty, 
Fu, [Hvum, 
‘Thus accosted our own Bird of Royalty, 
In that Palace or China-shop (Brighton, 
which is 107) [a short visit. — 
Where Fum had just come to pay Hum 
Near akin are these Birds, though they 
differ in nation, [ation ;) 
(The breed of the Hums is as old as cre- 
Both, full-craw’d Legitimates—both, 
birds of prey, {half way 
Both, cackling and ravenous creatures, 
'Twixt the goose and the vulture, like 
Lord C—sTL GH. [ Bohea, 
While Fum deals in Mandarins, Bronzes, 
Peers, Bishops and Punch, Hum, are 
sacred to thee ! 
So congenial their tastes, that, when 
lum first did light on 
The floor of that grand China-ware- 
house at Brighton, 
The lanterns, and dragons, and things 
round the dome 


* In consequence of an old promise, that he 
should be allowed to wear his own hair, when- 


Were so like what he left, ‘‘ Gad,” says 
Fum, ‘“ I’mat home.”— 

And when, turning, he saw Bishop 

GE, ‘‘ Zooks, it is,” 

Quoth the Bird, ‘‘ Yes—I know him—a 
Bonze, by his phiz— 

“‘ And that jolly old idol he kneels to so 
low {head, fat Fo!” 

‘Can be none but our roundabout god- 

It chanced at this moment, th’ Episco- 
pal Prig {with his wig,* 

Was imploring the P——E to dispense 

Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high 
o’er his head, [ronage shed, 

Andsome TositT-like marks of his pat- 

Which so dimm’d the poor Dandy’s idol- 
atrous eye 

That, while Fum cried ‘‘ Oh, Fo!” all 
the court cried ‘“ Oh fie !” 


But, a truce to digression :—these Birds 
of a feather 

Thus talk’d, t’other night, on State mat- 
ters together ; 

(The P—— just in bed, or about to de- 
part for’t, [οὗ H—RTF—D,) 

His legs full of gout, and his arms full 

“T say, Hum,” says Fum—Foum, of 
course, spoke Chinese, 


But, bless you, that’s nothing—at 
. Brighton one sees 


Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated 
with ease— 
“T say, Hum, how fares it with Royalty 
now ? Lor how ¥” 
“Ts it up? is it prime? is it spooney— 
(The bird had just taken a flash-man’s 
degree [young Master L——t, ) 
Under B—RR—M—RE, Y TH, and 
“As for us in Pekin’?——here, a devil 
of a din [that long Mandarin, 
From the bedchamber came, where 
C—stTL Gu (whom ΕὟΜ calls the Con- 
fucius of Prose) [repose 
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe’s 
ΤῸ the deep, double bass of the fat Idol’s 
nose. 


(Nota bene—his Lordship and L—vy— π- 
p—L come, { Hum, 
In collateral lines, from the old Mother 
C—sTL cH a Hum-bug—L—v—Rr- 
p—La Hum-drum. ) [C—stTL—6@n, 
The speech being finish’d, out rush’d, 
Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, 
spur, away, 
ever he might be elevated to a Bishoprie by 
his R——1 HH 58. 


POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. 


41 


π -----ο---ς-----------------ε----------ο--. 
Through the regions of air, like a Snip | When the pittance, which shame had 


on his hobby, 
Ne’er paused, till he lighted in St. 
tephen’s lobby. 

* . * 


LINES ON THE DEATH OF 
SH—R—D—N. 


Principibus placuisse viris !—Horat. 


Yes, grief will have way—but the fast | 
falling tear [tions on those, | 

Shall be mingled with deep execra- 
Who could bask in that Spirit’s meridian 
career, Pat its close :— 

And yet leave it thus lonely and dark 


Whose vanity flew round him only 
ee while ted [time gave ;— 
: By the odor his fame in its summer- 
Whose vanity now, with quick scent for 
the dead, [10 feed at his grave. 

Like the Ghole of the Hast, comes 


Oh! it sickens the heart to see bosoms 
so hollow, [high-born 

And spirits so mean in the great and 
To think what a long line of titles may | 
follow {less and Jorn! 

The relics of him who died—friend- 


How proud they can press to the fun’ral 
array _ [sickness and sorrow :— | 

_ Of one, whom they shunn’d in his 

How baliffs may seize his last blanket 


to-day, [to-morrow ! 
Whose pall shall be held up by nobles 


And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epi- 
cure’s dream, {had pass’d, 
Incoherent and gross, even grosser 
Were it not for that cordial and soul- 
giving beam, [nothingness cast :— 
Which his friendship and wit o’er thy 
No, not for the wealth of the land that 
supplies thee [shrine ;— 

With millions to beap upon Foppery’s 
No, not for the riches of all who despise 
thee, [whole opulence mine ;— 
Though this would make Etrope’s 


Would I suffer what—evy’n in the heart 
that thou hast— [sciously burn’d, 

All mean as it is—must have con- 

~ The sum was two hundred pounds—ofered 
when Sh—r—d—n could no longer take any 


sustenance, and declined, for him, by his 
ends. 


f 
,, 
ἥ 
> 
~ 


1 
5 
n 


wrung from thee at last, 
And which found all his wants at an 
end, was return’d ;* 


“ Was this then the fate,’—future ages 
will say, [history’s curse ; 
When some names shall live bat in 
When Truth will be heard, and these 
Lords of a day [as worse ;— 

Be forgotten as fools, or remember’d 


‘Was this then the fate of that high- 
gifted man, {and the hall, 

‘“The pride of the palace, the bow’r 
“The orator,—dramatist,—minstrel,— 
who ran [was master of all ;— 
“Through each mode of the lyre, and 


“Whose mind was an essence, com- 
pounded with art [men’s seh rs:— 
‘From the finest and best of all other 
Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of 
the heart, 
‘©And could call up its sunshine, or 
bring down its show’rs ;— 


oe 


‘¢ Whose humor, as gay as the fire-fly’s 
light, {as it play’d ;— 
‘Play’ droundevery subject, and shone 
‘‘ Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as 
bright, 
“ Ne’er carried a heart-stain away on its 
blade ;— , 


‘Whose eloquence—bright’ning what- 
ever it tried, {the grave,— 
“Whether reason or fancy, the gay or 
Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilhant 
a tide, [wave "Ὁ 
‘As ever bore Freedom aloft on its 


“a 


Yes—such was the man, and so wretched 
his fate ;— {to grieve, 

And thus, sooner or later, shall all have 
Who waste their morn’s dew in the beams 
of the Great, (them at eve. 

And expect ‘twill return to refresh 


In the woods of the North there are in- 
sects that prey [last sigh ;¢ 

On the brain of the elk till his very 
Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than 
they, [thee to die! 

First feed on thy brains, and then leave 


t Naturalists have observed that, upon dis- 
secting an elk, there were found in its head 


| some large flies, with its brain almost eaten 


away by them.— History of Poland, 


482 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


EPISTLE FROM TOM CRIB TO BIG 
BEN,* 
CONCERNING SOME FOUL PLAY IN A LATE TRANS- 
ACTION. 
“ Ahi, mio BEN!””—METASTASIO ἢ 
Wuat! Ben, my old hero, is this your 
renown? [he’s down ! 
Is this the new go ?—kick a man when 
When the foe has knock’d under, to tread 
on him then— [Ben ! 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, 
“Poul! foul!” all the lads of the Fancy 
exclaim— {spits flame— 
CHARLEY SHOCK is electrified BELCHER 
And MonynEuxX—ay, even BLAckys 
cries ‘‘ shame !” [ence spied 
Time was when Joun Butt little differ- 
’Twixt the foe at his feet, and the friend 
at his side : [ing and eating) 
When he found (such his humor in fight- 
His foe, like his beef-steak, the sweeter 
for beating. 
But this comes, Master Ben, of your 
cursed foreign notions, 
Your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold- 
lace and lotions ; [knows what— 
Your Noyeaus, Curacoas, and the Devil 
(One swig of Blue Ruin|| is worth the 
whole lot !) [what a brood ! 
Your great and small crosses—(my eyes, 
A cross-buttock from me would do some 
of them good !) 


ὩΣ A nickname given, at this time, to the Pr—ce 
—e—t. 

+ Written soon after Bonaparte’s transporta- 
tion to St. Helena. 

* Tom, I suppose, was “‘assisted”’ to this 
Motto by Mr. Jackson, who, it is well known, 
keeps the most learned company going. 


Which have spoil’d you, tillhardly a drop, 
my old porpoise, 
Of pure English claret is left in your cor- 
pus; [or had, 
And (as Jr says) the only one trick, good , 
Of the Fancy you're up to, is fibbing, my 
lad. [thy page !— 
Hence it comes, —BoxIAna, disgrace to 
Having floor’d, by good luck, the first 
swell of the age, 
Having conquer’d the prime one, that 
mill’d us all round, 
Youkick’d him, old BEN, ashe gasp’d on 
the ground! [you’d got any— 
Ay—just at the time to show spunk, if 
Kick’d him, and jaw’d him, and lagg’d¥ 
him to Botany ! [who, alas, 
Oh! shade of the cheesemonger /** you 
Doubled up, by the dozen, those Moun- 
seers in brass, [lay in lakes, 
On that great day of milling, when blood 
When Kings held the bottle, and Europe 
the stakes, [all o’er, 
Look down upon Ben—see him, dunghill 
Insult the fall’n foe, that can harm him 
no more ! ἢ 
Out, cowardly spooney !--again and again, 
By the fist of my father, I blush for thee, 
BEN. 
To show the white feather ismany men’s 
doom, 
But, what of one feather ?—BEN shows ἃ 
whole Plume. 


§ Names and nicknames of celebrated pugil- 
ists atthat time. 

|| Gin. 

“ Transported. 

** A Life Guardsman, one of the Fancy, who 
distinguished himself, and was killed in the 
memorable set to at Waterloo, 


fence to certain we 
_ the manuscript was sent back to Paris 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


453 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


Le Leggi della Maschera richiedono che una 


persona mascherata non sia salutata per nome 


da uno che la conosce malgrado il suo travestimento.—CASTIGLIONE. 


PREFACE. 


ΙΝ what manner the following Epis- 
tles came into my hands, it is not neces- 
sary for the public to know. It will be 
seen by Mr. FupGr’s Second Letter, 
that he is one of those gentlemen whose 
Secret Services in Jreland, under the 
mild ministry of my Lord C GH, 
have been so amply and gratefully re- 
munerated. Like his friend and asso- 
ciate, THOMAS REYNOLDs, Bsq., he had 
retired upon the reward of his honest in- 
dustry; but has lately been induced to 


appear again inactive life, and superin- | 


tend the training of that Delatorian Co- 


hort, which Lord S—pm—rtu, in his 


wisdom and benevolence, has organ- 
ized. 
Whether Mr. FupGer, himself, has yet 


- made any discoveries, does not appear. 


from the following pages. But much 
may be expected from a person of his 


zealand sagacity, and, indeed, to him, | 


Lord S—pm—tTn, and the Greenland- 


bound ships, the eyes of all lovers of | 
discoveries are now most anxiously di- | 


rected, 
I regret much that I have been 


obliged to omit Mr. Bos FupGe’s Third 
Letter, concluding the adventures οἵ" 


his Day with the Dinner, Opera, &c., 
«το. ; but, in consequence of some re- 
marks upon Marinette’s thin drapery, 
which, it was phous t, might give of- 

ll-meaning persons, 


for his revision, and had not returned 
when the last sheet was put to press. 

* It will not, I hope, be thought pre- 
sumptuous, if I take this opportunity of 


| complaining of a very serious injustice I 
have suffered from the public. Dr. 
KinG wrote a treatise to prove that 
BENTLEY “was not the author of his own 
book,” and a similar absurdity has been 
asserted of me, in almost all the best in- 
formed literary circles. With the name 
of the real author staring them in the 
face, they have yet persisted in attribut- 
ing my works to other people; and the 
fame of the Twopenny Post-Bag—such 
as it is—having hovered doubtfully over 
various persons, has at last settled 
upon the head of a certain little gentle- 
man, who wears it, I understand, as 
complacently as if it actually belonged 
to him; without even the honesty of 
avowing, with his own favorite author, 
(he will excuse the pun, ) 
Eyw δ᾽ “Ὁ ΜΩΡΟΣ apas 
Ἐδησαμὴν μετωπω. 

I can only add, that if any lady or gen- 
tleman, curious in such matters, will 
take the trouble of calling at my lodg- 
ings, 245 Piccadilly, I shall have the 
honor of assuring them, in propria per- 
sona, that I am—his, or her, 

Very obedient 
And very humble Servant, 
THoMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. 
April 17, 1818. 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS, 
LETTER I. 


FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY 
» OF CLONKILTY, IN IRKLAND, 
Amiens. 
DEAR ΠΟΙ, while the tails of our horses 
are plaiting, { door, 
The trunks tying on, and Papa, at the 


484 


Into very bad French is, as usual, trans- 
lating [ more, 
His English resolve not to give a sou 
I sit down to write you a line—only 
think !— [and French ink, 
A letter from France, with French pens 
How delightful! though, would you be- 
lieve it, my dear? [here; 
I have seen nothing yet very wonderful 
No adventure, no sentiment, far as 
we’ve come, 
But the corn-fields and trees quite 
as dullas at home ; 
And but for the post-boy, his boots, and 
his queue, [with you! 
I might just as well be at Clonkilty 
In yain, at DEssErn’s, did I take from my 
trunk {reading ‘‘'The Monk ;” 
That divine fellow, STERNE, and fall 
In vain did I think of his charming 
Dead Ass, [let—alas ! 
And remember the crust and the wal- 
No monks can be had now for love or 
for money, [Boney ;) 
(All owing, Pa says, to that infidel 
And, though one little Neddy we saw 
in our drive [alive ! 
Out of classical Nampont, the beast was 


By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had 
a touch [me much. 
Of romance on the pier, which affected 
At the sight of that spot where our dar- 
ling DixHuIT [ feet, * 
Set the first of hisown dear legitimate 
(Modell’d out so exactly, and—God 
bless the mark! [a Monarque.) 
"Tis a foot, DoLuy, worthy so Grand 
He exclaim’d, ‘‘Oh, mon Roi!” and, 
with tear-dropping eye, 
Stood to gaze on the spot—while some 
Jacobin, nigh, {solent thing !) 
Mutter’d out with a shrug, (what an in- 
“Ma foi, he be right—’tisde English- 
man’s King ; [me vil say 
And dat gros pied de cochon—begar, 
Dat de foot look mosh better if turn’d 
toder way.” [nearly forgot— 
There’s the pillar, too—Lord! I had 
What a charming idea !—raised close to 
the spot; [I suppose, ) 
The mode being now, (as you’ve heard, 
To build tombs over legs,t and raise pil- 
lars to toes. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


This is all that’s occurr’d sentimental as 
yet; [we've met, 
Except,indeed,some little flow’r-nymphs 
Who disturb one’s romance with pecu- 
niary views, [bawling for sous ! 
Flinging flow’rs in your path, and then— 
And some picturesque beggars, whose 
multitudes seem Lrégime, 
To recall the good days of the ancien 
Allas ragged and brisk, you'll be happy 
to learn, [οἵ dear STERNE. 
And as thin as they were in the time 


Our party consists (in a neat Calais job) 
Of Papa and myself, Mr. Connor and 
Bos. [at Kilrandy, 
You remember how sheepish Bos look’d 
But, Lord! he’s quite alter’>d—they’ve 
made him a Dandy! 
A thing, you know, whisker’d, great- 
coated, and laced, [the waist : 
Like an hour-glass, exceedingly small in 
Quite a new sort of creatures, unknown 
yet to scholars, [collars, 
With heads, so immovably stuck in shirt- 
That seats, like our music-stools, soon 
must be found them, 
To twirl, when the creatures may wish 
to look round them: 
In short, dear, “ἃ Dandy” describes 
what I mean, [I’ve seen : 
And Bos’s far the best of the genus 
An improving young man, fond of 
learning, ambitious, [dishes, 
And goes now to Paris to study French 
Whose names—think, how quick! he 
already knows pat, [call that. 
A la braise, petits pités, and—what d’ye 
They inflict on potatoes ?—oh ! maitre 
Vhitel— [them as well 
I assure you, dear Doniy, he knows 
As if nothing else all his life he had eat, 
Though a bit of them Bossy has never 
touch’d yet; [dishes and cooks, 
But just knows the names of French 
As dear Pa knows the titles of authors 
and books. 


As to Pa, what d’ye think? mind, its all 
entre nous, [from you— 

But you know, love, I never keep secrets 

Why, he’s writing a book—what! a 
tale? a romance ? 

No, ye Gods, would it were !—but_ his. 
Travels in France ; 


* To commemorate the landing of Louis le | pillar with an inscription raised opposite to the 
Désiré from England, the impression of his | spot. 


foot is marked out on the pier at Calais and a 


t Ci-cit la jambe de, &e., &e. 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 485 


= At the special desire (he let out t’other | A third cousin of ours, by the way—poor 
is da 


y) as Job ; 

Of his great friend and patron, my Lord} (‘Though of royal descent by the side 
} C—sTL—R—GH, of Mamma, ) Bob ;— 
_ Who said, “My dear Fupee’”——I| And for charity made private tutor to 
δι forget the exact words, Entre nous, too, a Papist—how lib’ral 
And it’s strange no one ever remembers of Pa! 
' my Lord’s ; {must allow | wy, Ὁ wie 
-But’twas something * say alias as all This κτλ τυ στερεοί me μὰν τὸ 
ΠΑ good orthodox work is much wanting ΤΕ ΤΈΞΩ ᾿ 88. 
just now,- [gummie—science, But Bos’s déjetiner’s done, and Papa's in 
To expound to the world the new thin- Kise, B. F. 
4 Found out by the—what’s-its-name—|__ P. 5. 5 ue ; 

4 Holy Alliance, [are but folly, How provoking of Pa! he will not let me 
And prove to mankind that their rights | Stop — [ner's pl 
Their freedom a joke, (which it is, you | Just to run in and rummage some uli 

know, Do.ty, ) "| And my début in Paris, I blush to think 
“There’s none,” said his Lordship, ‘‘if on it, [low bonnet. 
a I may be judge, [Fupcr !” Must now, Dou, be made in a hideous 
“Thalf so fit for this great undertaking as | But Fay, dear ser ae eee will 
: ye Joy, adame Le Roi! 
= The coats soon idan πο, ἘῈΒ i‘ And romance, and high bonnets, and 
te Row ally go, 
(The first stage your tourists now usu- | LETTER II. 
dettles all for his quarto—advertise- | _ 
ments praises- 7 FROM PHIL, FUDGE, E=Q., TO THE LORD VI8s- 
Starts post from the door, with his tab-| COUR Ss wae 
ets—French phrases— Paris. 


“Scorr’s Visit,” of course—in short, | At length, my Lord, I have the bliss 
ev'ry thing hehas [and ideas ;— | To date to you a line from this 
_ An author can want, except words | ‘‘ Demoralized ” metropolis; 
And lo! the first thing, in the spring of | Where, by plebeians low and scurvy, 
the year, [my dear! | The throne was turn’d quite topsy-turvy, 
Is Pain. FupGx at the front of a Quarto, | And Kingship, tumbled from its seat, 


‘cs τ ” ᾿ ee Ν᾿ 
But, bless me, my paper’s near out, so Stood Pull to. at the people’s feet ; 


. na hettdr [long letter pinged still to use your Lordship’s 
Draw fast to a close :—this exceeding ropes) 


You owe to a déjetiner ἃ la fourchette, ae ne Ns oa peeiet ig 
Which ΒΟΒΡῪ twould have, and is hard | VPW4rd and downward, as the stream 
at it yet [the party, | Of hydra faction kicks the beam 1} 
e 5 pasa - v3 7 ye , > eo ag “4 
What’s next? oh, the tutor, the last of | ν Gui here ἜΝ pre τος nA 
. ΕΠ ΟΝΝΟΝ i-—they say be's).0 Hike | And Lovts is roll’d out on castors, [in :— 
ae APARTE [rather dreads L 
NAS 2) reads, Thi a= Ἢ 5 a 
His nose and his chin—which Papa | While Bonry’s borne on shoulders 


As the Bourbons, you know, are sup- | But where, in every change, no doubt, 


pressing all heads One special good yotr Lordship 
ὮΣ ΒΞ aus “ἼρρΩ οἱ 
That resemble old Nap’s, and who) ,, _traces,— 
knows but their honors | That ’tis the ings alone turn out, 


May think, in their fright, of suppressing _ The Ministers still keep their places. 
poor Connor’s? — [well enough, | How oft, dear Viscount C GH, 

_ «lw reste, (as we say,) the young lad’s | I’ve thought of thee upon the way, 
_ Only talks much of Athens, Rome, vir-| As in my job (what place could be 

tue, and stuff; | More apt to wake a thought of thee ?)— 

I £ 

* A celebrated mantua-maker in Paris. 
t This excellent imitation of the noble Lord’s | Thus the eloquent Counsellor PB . in de+ 
_ Style shows how deeply Mr. Fudge must have | scribing some 1ypocritical pretender to charity, 


studied his preat original. Irish oratory, in-| said, ‘‘ He put his hand in his breeches-pocket, 
deed, abounds with such startling peculiarities. | like a eroeodile, and,” &e., &e. 


480 


ΜΟΟΒΝΕΒ WORKS. 


Or, oftener far, when gravely sitting 
Upon my dicky, (as is fitting 
For him who writes a Tour, that he 
May more of men and manners see,) 
I’ve thought of thee and of thy glories, 
Thou guest of Kings, and King of 
Tories! 
Reflecting how thy fame has grown 
And spread, beyond man’susual share, 
At home, abroad, till thou art known, 
Like Major SEMPLE, everywhere ! 
And marv’ling with what power of 
breath 
Your Lordship, 
death 
Some hundreds of your fellow-men, 
Next speech’d to Sov’reigns’ ears,—and 
when 
All Sov’reigns else were dozed, at last 
Speech’d down the Sov’reign* of Belfast. 
Oh! mid the praises and the trophies 
Thou gain’st from Merosophs and 
Sophis ; 
Mid all the tributes to thy fame, 
There’s one thou shouldst be chiefly 


having speech’d to 


pleased at— 
That Ireland gives her snuff thy name, 
And C——cGn’s the thing now 


sneezed at! 


But hold, my pen!—a truce to prais- 
ing— 

Though ey’n your Lordship will allow 
The theme’s temptations are amazing ; 

But time and ink run short, and now, 
(As thou wouldst say, my guide andteach- 

In these gay metaphoric fringes, [er 
ft must embark into the feature 

On which this letter chiefly hinges; )—t 
My Book, the Book that is to prove— 
And will, (so help ye Sprites above, 
That sit on clouds, as grave as judges, 
Watching the labors of the FupGEs !) 
Will prove that all the world, at present, 
Is in a state extremely pleasant ; 
That Murope—thanks to royal swords 


* The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast 
before whom his Lordship (with the ‘studium 
immane loquendi’’ attributed by Ovid to that 
chattering and rapacious class of birds, the 
pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory 
orations, on his return from the Continent. 
It was at one of these Trish dinners that his 
gallant brother, Lord S., proposed the health 
of “The best cavalry officer in Europe—the 
Regent!” 


+ Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount’s 
Speeches—'‘ And now, Sir, I must embark into 


Ϊ 


And bay’nets, and the Duke com- 
manding— 
Enjoys a peace which, like the Lord’s, 
Passeth all human understanding : 
That France prefers her go-cart King 
To such a coward scamp as BONEY ; 
Though round, with each a leading- 
string, 
There standeth many a Royal crony, 
For fear the chubby, tott’ring thing 
Should fall, ifleft there loney poney— 
That England, too, the more her debts, 
The more she spends, the richer gets ; 
And that the Irish, grateful nation ! 
Remember when by thee reign’d over 
And bless thee for their flagellation 
As HEuotsa did her lover !— 
That Poland, left for Russia’s lunch 
Upon the sideboard, snug reposes, 
While Saxony’s as pleased as Punch, 
And Norway “on a bed of roses !” 
That, as for some few million souls, 
Transferr’d by contract, bless the 
clods! 
If half were strangled—Spaniards, Poles, 
And Frenchmen—twouldn’t ᾿ make 
much odds, 


| So Europe’s goodly Royal ones 


Sit easy on their sacred thrones ; 

So FERDINAND embroiders gayly,$ 

And Τοῦτ eats his salmi,|| daily; 

So time is left to Emperor Sanpy 

To be half Cesar and half Dandy ; 

And G——GE the R—G—r (who'd forget 

That doughtiest chieftain of the set ?) 

Hath wherewithal for trinkets new, 
For dragons, after Chinese models, 

And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo 
Might come and nine times knock 

their noddles !— 

Allthis my Quarto’ll prove—much more 

Than Quarto ever proved before : 

In reas’ning with the Post 11] vie, 

My facts the Cowrier shall supply, 

My jokes V—ns—tT, P—LE my sense, 

And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence ! 


the features on which this question chiefly 
hinges.” 

t See her Letters. 

δ it would be an edifying thing to write a 
history of the private amusements of soyer- 
cigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking 
of Domitian, the mole-catching of Artabanus, 


‘the hog-mimicking of Parmenides, the horse- 


eurrying of Aretas, to the petticoat-embroider- 
ing of Ierdinand, and the patience-playing of 
the P——-e R t. 
|| Owa τε, ota edovar διοτρεφεες βασιληες. 
Homer, Odys:. 3. 


My Journal, penn’d by fits and starts, 
On Bippy’s back or Bossy’s shoulder, 
(My son, my Lord, a youth of parts, 
Who longs to be a small place-hold- 
er,) 
TIs—though J say’t, that shouldn’t say—- 
Extremely good; and, by the way, 
One extract from it—only one— 
To show its spirit, and I’ve done. 
Jul. thirty-first.—W ent, after snack, 
“To the Cathedral of St. Denny; 
“« Sigh’d o’er the Kings of ages back, 
“ And—gave the old Concierge a pen- 
ny. 


““(Mem. — Must see Rheims, much | 


famed, ‘tis said, 
“Por making Kings and gingerbread.) 
“Was shown the tomb where lay, so 
stately, 
“4 little Bourbon, buried lately, 
“Thrice high and puissant, we were told, 
“Though only twenty-four hours old !* 
“Hear this, thought I, ye Jacobins: 
‘“«Ye Burdetts, tremble in your skins! 
“Tf Royalty, but aged a day, 
‘«Can boastsuch high and puissant sway, 
“What impious hand its pow’r would 


x 
“ Pull fledged and wigg’dt at fifty- 
six !” 


The argument’s quite new, you see, 
And proves exactly Q. E. Ὁ. 
So now, with duty to the R—G—t, 
T am, dear Lord, 
Your most obedient, 
P.F. 


Hotel Bretuil, Rue Rivoli. 

Neat lodgings—rather dear for me ; 

But Bippy said she thought ’twould 

Genteeler thus to datemy Book; [look 

And Brppy’s right—besides, it curries 

Some favor with our friends at Mur- 
RAY’S, 

Who scorn what any man can say, 

That dates from Rue St.-Honoré.t 


* So described on the coffin: ‘‘trés-hante et 
puissante Princesse, agée d'un jour.” 

t There is a fulness and breadth in this por- 
trait of Royalty, which reminds us of what 
Pliny says, in speaking hag a great quali- 
ties :--- nonne longd Yatequss *rinerperm osten- 
tant?" 

tSee the Quarterly Review for May, 1816, 
where Mr. Hobhouse is accused of having 
written his book “in a back street of the 
French capital.” 

§ The Bill of Fare. —Véry, a well-known Res- 


 taurateur. 


“a 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


487 


LETTER IIT. 


FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD , ESQ. 
| On Dick! you may talk of your writing 
and reading, 
| Your Logic and Greek, but there’s noth- 
ing like feeding ; 
And this is the place for it, Dicky, you 
dog, [ters of Prog! 
| Of all places on earth—the head-quar- 
Talk of England—her famed Magna 
Charta, I swear, is [VERY’s; 
A humbug, ἃ flam, to the Carte§ at old 
And as for your Juries—who would not 
set o’er ’em [fore ’em ? 
A Jury of Tasters,|| with woodcocks be- 
Give CARTWRIGHT his Parliaments, 
fresh every year ; 
But those friends of short Commons 
would never do here ; 
And, let RomILLy speak as he will on 
the question, [gestion! 
No Digest of Law’s like the laws of di- 


By the by, Dick, I fatten—but w’im- 
porte for that, { get fat. 

’Tis the mode—your Legitimates always 

There’s the R—-G—t, there’s Lovis— 

and Boney tried too, 

though somewhat imperial in 

paunch, *twouldn’t do:— 

| He improved, indeed, much in this point, 
when he wed, [ the head. 

But he ne’er grew right royally fat in 


But, 


Dick, Dick, what a place is this Paris! 
—but stay— 

_As my raptures may bore you, 1] just 
sketch a day, [I’ve got, 

As we pass it, myself and some comrades 

All thorough-bred Gnostics, who know 
what is what. 


After dreaming some hours of the land 
of Cocaigne, { [nice, 
That Elysium of all thatis friand and 


|| Mr. Bob alludes particularly, T presume, to 
the famous Jury Dégustateur, which used to 
assemble at the Hétel of M. Grimod de la Rey- 
niere, and of which this modern Archestratus 
|has given an account in his Almanach des 
Gourmands, cinquiéme année, p. 78. 


{ The fairy-land of cookery and gourman- 
dise; ‘‘ Pays o¥ 16 ciel offre les viandes toutes 
cuites, et ot, comme on parle, les alouettes 
tombent toutes rotics. Du Latin, coquére.”— 
Duchat. 


488 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Where for hail they have bon-bons, and 

claret for rain, [eream-ice ; 

And the skaiters in winter show off on 

’ Where so ready all nature its cookery 

yields, [fields ; 

Macaroni au parmesan grow in the 

Little birds fly about with the true pheas- 

ant taint, [complaint !* 

And the geese are all born with a liver 

I rise—put on neckcloth—stiff, tight, as 

can be— [ Dick, like me, 

For a lad who goes into the. world, 

Should have his neck tied up, you know 
—there’s no doubt of it— 

Almost as tight as some lads who go 


out of it. 
With whiskers well oil’d, and with boots 
that ‘‘ hold up [could sup 


“The mirror to nature’’—so bright you 
Off the leather like china ; with coat, too, 
that draws [applause ! 
On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr’s 
With head bridled up, like a four-in- 
hand leader, [for a feeder, 
And stays—devil’s in them—tvoo tight 
I strut to the old Café Hardy, which 
yet [ chetie. 
Beats the field at a déjetiner a la four- 
There, Dick, what a breakfast! oh, not 
like your ghost [tea and toast ;t 
Of a breakfast in England, your cursed 
But a sideboard, you dog, where one’s 
eye roves about, [singles out 
Like a Turk’s in the Haram, and thence 
One pité of larks, just to tune up the 
throat, [papillote, 
One’s small limbs of chickens, done en 


* The process by which the liver of the un- 
fortunate goose is enlarged, in order to produce 
that richest of all dainties, the foie gras, of which 
such renowned pdtes aremade at Strasbourg and 
Toulouse, is thus described in the Cowrs Gas- 
tronomique :-—‘ On déplume l’estomac des oies; 
on attache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets 
dune cheminée, et on les nourrit devant le feu. 
La captivité et la chaleur donnent a ces vola- 
tiles une maladie hépatique, qui fait gonfler 
leur foie,” &e., p. 206. 

118 Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea 
renders him liable to a charge of atheism? 
Such, at least, is the opinion cited in Christian. 
Falster. Amenitat. Philog.—‘‘ Atheum inter- 

retabatur hominem ad herba The aversum.” 

{e would not, I think, have been so irreverent 
to this beverage of scholars, if he had read 
Peter Petit’s Poem in praise of Tea, addressed 
to the learned Huet—or the Epigraphe which 
Pechlinus wrote for an altar he meant to dedi- 
cate to this herb—or the Anacreontics of Peter 
Francius, in which he calls Tea 


Θεαν, denv, deacvay, 


One’s erudite cutlets, dress’d all ways 
but plain, [with champagne ! 
Or one’s kidneys—imagine, Dick—done 
Then, some glasses of Beaune, to dilute 
—or, mayhap, [tipple of Nap, 
Chambertin,{ which you know’s the pet 
And which Dad, by the by, that legiti- 
mate stickler, [partic’lar.— 
Much scruples to taste, but 7m not so 
Your coffee comes next, by prescription : 
and then, Dick, ’s [appendix, 
The coffee’s ne’er-failing and glorious 
(If books had but such, my old Grecian, 
depend on’t, [οὐ the end on’t,) 
ΤᾺ swallow evn W—tTK—ns’, for sake 
A neat glass of parfait-amour, which 
one sips [ one’s lips. 
Just as if bottled velvet$ tipp’d over 
This repast being ended, and paid for— 
(how odd! 
Till a man’s used to paying, there’s 
something so queer in’t !)— 
The sun now well out, and the girls all 
abroad, [Nobs, to appear in’t, 
And the worid enough air’d for us, 
We lounge up the Boulevards, where— 
oh, Dick, the phyzzes, [quizzes! 
The turn-outs, we meet—what a nation of 
Here toddles along some old figure οὗ 
fun, [Domini 1.; 
With a coat you might date Anno 
A laced hat, worsted stockings, and— 
noble old soul! [ ton-hole ; 
A fine riband and cross in his best but- 
Just such as our Pr cr, who nor 
reasonnorfun dreads, [hundreds. || 
Inflicts, without ev’n a court-martial, on 


The following passage from one of these 
Anacreonties will, I have no doubt, be gratify- 
ing to all true Theists. 


Θεοις, δεων Te πατρι, 
Ev χρυσεοις σκυφοισι 
Διδοι To νεκταρ Ἥβη 
Se μοι διακονοιντο 
Σκυφοις ev μυρῤῥινοισι, 
Tw καλλεὶ πρεπουσαι 
Καλαις χερεσσι κουραι. 


Which may be thus translated :— 
Yes, let Hebe, ever young, 
High in heav’n her nectar hold, 
And to Jove’simmortal throng 
Pour the tide in cups of gold — 
ΤῚ not envy heayen’s Princes, 
While, with snowy hands, for me, 
KATE the china tea-cup rinses, 
And pours out her best Bohea! 


t The favorite wine of Napoleon. 
; Velours en bouteille. 
| It was said by Wicquefort, more than a 


ΡΤ ΥΥ he ννων Se. 


“τὰ eS OO 


re ee eee 


rr 


Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish 
eye, [by the by ;) 
(Rather eatable things these grisettes 
And there an old demoiselle, almost as 
fond, {of the Fronde. 
In a silk that has stood since the time 
There goes a French Dandy—ah, Dick! 
unlike some ones 
We've seen about Wirre’s—the Moun- 
seers are but rum ones; 
Such hats !—fit for monkeys—I’d back 
Mrs. DRAPER [brown paper : 
To cut neater weather-boards 
And coats—how I wish, if it wouldn’t 
distress ’em,[ Calais, to dress ’em ! 
They’d club for old Bk—mm—t, from 


The collar sticks out from the neck such | 


a space, [head-lopping nation, 

That you'd swear twas the plan of this 
To leave there behind them a snug little 
place [tion. 

For the head to drop into, on decapita- 
In short, what with mountebanks, 


counts, and friseurs, [amateurs— | 


Some mummers by trade, and the rest 
What with captains in new jockey-boots 
and silk breeches, [opera-hats, 


Old dustmen with swinging great | 


And shoeblacks reclining by statues in 
niches, [Jack Sprats ! 
There never was seen such a race of 


From the Boulevyards—but hearken !— 
yes—as I’m a sinner, [to dinner: 
The clock is just striking the half-hour 


So no more at present—short time for 


adorning— {fine morning. 
My Day must be finish’d some other 
Now, hey for old BEAuVILLIERS’* lar- 
der, my boy! [Beauty and Joy 
And, once there, if the Goddess of 
Were to write ‘‘Come and kiss me, dear 
Bos!” I'd not budge— 
Not a step, Dick, as sure as my name is 
R. Fupee. 


LETTER IV. 


FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO 


“RETURN!” —no, never, while the with’r- 
ing hand 

Of bigot power is on that hapless land : 

hundred years ago, ‘Le Roi d’ Angleterre fait 


seul plus de chevaliers que tons les autres Rois | 


de la Chrétienté ensemble.”"—What would be 
gay now! 

A celebrated restaurateur. 
+ They used to leave a yard square of the 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


out of 


489 


| 


| While, for the faith my fathers held to 
God, [fathers trod, 
_Ev’n in the fields where free those 
Iam proscribed, and—like the spot left 
bare [fair 
In Israel’s halls, to tell the proud and 
Amidst their mirth, that Slav’ry had 
been there—t I trace 
On all I love, home, parents, friends, 
|The mournful mark of bondage and dis- 
grace ! [try’s pangs 
No! let them stay, who in their coun- 
See naught but food for factions and 
harangues ; [ doors, 
Who yearly kneel before their masters’ 
_And hawk their wrongs as beggars do 
their sores : 
|Stilllet yourt * ij " 
᾿ “" ., * 


Still hope and suffer, all who can !—but I, 
Who durst not hope, and cannot bear, 
must fly. 


| But whither !—everywhere the scourge 
pursues— (d’rer views, 
/Turn where he will, the wretched wan- 
|In the bright, broken hopes of all his 
race, [face. 
Countless reflections of th’ Oppressor’s 
Everywhere gallant hearts, and spirits 
true, few: 
| Are served up victims to the vile and 
While E—gl—d, everywhere—the gen- 
eral foe [they glow— 
Of Truth and Freedom, wheresoe’er 
Is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the 
blow. 
' Oh, E—gl—1! could such poor revenge 
atone { deadliest one ; 
| For wrongs that well might claim the 
| Were it a vengeance, sweet enough to 
| sate [ant hate, 
The wretch who flies from thy intoler- 
To hear his curses on such barb’rous 
sway [less way ; 
Echoed where’er he bends his cheer- 
Could this content him, every lip he 
meets 


| wall of the house unplastered, on which they 
| wrote, in large letters, either the fore-men- 
| tioned verse of the Psalmist (‘If I forget thee, 
O Jerusalem,’ &c.) or the words—‘ The memo- 
| ry of the desolation.’ ''—Leo of Modena. 
tI have thought it prudent to omit some 
| parts of Mr. Phelim Connor's letter. He is 
| evidently an intemperate young man. and has 
associated with his cousins,*the Fudges, to 
very little purpose. 


490 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Teems for his vengeance with such 
poisonous sweets ; 
Were this his lux’ry, never is thy name 
Pronounced, but he doth banquet on 
thy shame ; 
Hears maledictions ring from every side 
Upon that grasping power, that selfish 
pride, [rights beside ; 
Which yaunts its own, and scorns all 
That low and desp’rate envy, which to 
blast [thou hast ; — 
A neighbor’s blessings, risks the few 
That monster, Self, too gross to be con- 
ceal’d, [{ shield ;— 
Which ever lurks behind thy profter’d 
That faithless craft, which, in thy hour 
of need, [be freed, 
Can court the slave, can swear he shall 
Yet basely spurns him, when thy point 
is gain’d, [ chain’d, 
Back to his masters, ready gage’d and 
Worthy associate of that band of Kings, 
That royal, rav’ning flock, whose vam- 
pire wings [ brood, 
O’er sleeping Europe  treacherously 
And fan her into dreams of promised 
good, [blood ! 
Of hope, of freedom—but to drain her 
If thus to hear thee branded be a bliss 
That Vengeance loves, there’s yet more 
sweet than this, 
That’twas an Irish head, an Irish heart, 
Made thee the fall’n and tarnish’d thing 
thou art ; [vest 
That, as the centaur* gave th’ infected 
In which he died, to rack his conquw’ror’s 
breast, [dead 
We sent thee © GH: as heaps of 
Have slain their slayers by the pest they 
spread, {to dim, 
So hath our land breathed out, thy fame 
Thy strength to waste, and rot thee, 
soul and limb, 
Her worst infections all condensed in 
* * * * * * * 


When will the world shake off such 
yokes ? oh, when [men, 
Will that redeeming day shine out on 
That shall behold them rise, erect and 
free 
As Heay’n and Nature meant mankind 
When Reason shall no Jonger blindly 
bow [ brow, 
To the vile pagod things, that o’er her 
Like him of Jaghernaut, drive trampling 
now; [earth, 
Nor Conquest dare to desolate God's 


him! | 
Pham ‘Instead of themes that touch the lyre 


[should be ! | 


Nor drunken Vict’ry, with a NeERo’s 
mirth groans, 

Strike her lewd harp amidst a people’s 

But, built on love, the world’s exalted 
thrones [given— 

Shall to the virtuous and the wise be 

Those bright, those sole Legitimates of 
Heayen ! 


When will this be? or, oh! is it, in 
truth, [dreams of youth, 
But one of those sweet day-break 
In which the Soul, as round her morning 
springs, [ling things ! 
’Tywixt sleep and waking, sees such dazz- 
And must the hope, as vain as it is 
bright, [right, 
Be all resign’d ?—and are they only 
Who say this world of thinking souls 
was made [and weigh’d 
To be by Kings partition’d, truck’d, 
In scales that, ever since the world be- 
gun, [one ? 
Have counted millions but as dust to 
Are they the only wise, who laugh to 
scorn 
The rights, the freedom to which man 


was born? 
* 


* 


* * 


* 


* 
* 


* 
* 


Who 
* * 
Who, proud to kiss each sep’rate rod of 
pow’r, [the hour ; 

Bless, while he reigns, the minion of 
Worship each would-be God, that o’er 
them moves, [Jovr’s! 

And take the thund’ring of his brass for 
If this be wisdom, then farewell, my 
books, [brooks, 


| Farewell, ye shrines of old, ye classic 


Which fed my soul with currents, pure 
and fair, [there !— 
Of living Truth, that now must stagnate 


with light, [fight 
Instead of Greece, and her immortal 
For Liberty, which once awaked my 
strings, 


| Welcome the Grand Conspiracy of Kings, 


The High Legitimates, the Holy Band, 
Who, bolder ev’n than He of Sparta’s 

land, [ free, 
Against whole millions, panting to be 


᾿ Membra et Herculeos toros 
Uritlues Nessea. ἡ . 
Tile, ille victor yincitur. 
Sunec. Hereul. Gt 


anny. 
Instead of him, th’ Athenian bard, 
Had stood the onset which his pen por- 
tray’d, 


Welcome " “7 
* * * * * * 


* * * 


And, stead of ArIstTipes—wo the day 
Such names should mingle !—welcome 
C——-gh ! 


Here break we off, at this unhallow’d 
name,* {omen’d came. 


Like priests of old, when words ill- | 
My next shall tell thee, bitterly shall tell, 
" * * 


Thoughts that Ν ; 
ΕΣ * , * * * 
Thoughts that—could patience hold— 
*twere wiser far [they are. 
To leave still hid and burning where 


LETTER V. 
FROM MISS KIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DORO- 
THY 


Wuart atime since I wrote !—I’m asad, 
naughty girl— 

For, δ υυμῖν like ἃ tee-totum, I’m all in 
a twirl ;— 

Yet οὐ Ἦ (as you wittily say) a tee-totum 

Between all its twirls gives a letter to 

note’em. [DouLy, my dresses, 

- But, Lord, such a place! and then, 

My gowns, so divine !—there’s no lan- 

guage expresses, [‘* magnifique,” 

Except just the tivo words ‘ superbe,” 

The trimmings of that which I had home 

last week ! { which sounded 

It is call’d—I forget—a la something 

Like alicampane—but, in truth, I’m 

confounded [blesome boy’s 


And bother’d, my dear, ’twixt that trou- | 
So bad, too, you’d swear that the God 


(Bop’s) cookery language, and Madame 
LE Ror’s: [veal, 


What with fillets of roses, and fillets of | 


Things garni with lace, and things garni 
with eel, [papillote, 
One’s hair and one’s cutlets both en 


* The late Lord C. of Treland had a curious 
theory about names,—he held that every man 
with three names was a jacobin. 
in Ireland were numerous :—viz., Archibald 
Hamilton Rowan, Theobald Wolfe 
James Napper Tandy, John Philpot Curran, 
&e., &e.; and in England he produced as ex- 
amples Charles James Fox, Richard Brinsley 
Sheridan, John Horne Tooke, Francis Burdett 
Jones, &¢., &e, 


δ 5 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


_ Would guard the pass of right-line tyr-| And a thousand more things I shall ne’er 


[whose blade | 


His instances | 


Tone, | 


491. 


have by rote, 

| I can scarce tell the diffrence, at least 

as to phrase, [ braise,-— 

| Between beef ἃ la Psyché and curls ἃ la 

But, in short, dear, I’m trick’d out 
quite ἃ Ja Francaise, 

With my bonnet—so beautiful !—high 
up and poking, 

Like things that are put to keep echim- 
neys from smoking. 


Where shall I begin with the endless 
delights 
Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys, and 
sights— : 
This dear busy place, where there’s 
nothing transacting 
| But dressing and dinnering, dancing and 
acting? 
Imprimis, the Opera—mercy, my ears! 
Brother Bossy’s remark, t’other night, 
was atrue one;— _ [the spears, 
‘°This must be the music,” said he, “ of 
“Por I’m cursed if each note of it 
doesn't run through one!” 
Pa says (and you know, love, his Book’s 
to make out 
’Twas the Jacobins brought ev’ry mis- 
chief about) 
That this passion for roaring has come 
in of late, — [the State.— 
| Since the rabble all tried for a voice in 
What a frightful idea, one’s mind to 
o’erwhelm ! 
What a chorus, dear DoLiy, would 
soon be let loose of it, 
If, when of age, every man in the realm 
Had a voice like old Lats,+ and chose 
to make use of it ! 
No—never was known in this riotous 
sphere [singing, my dear ; 
Such a breach of the peace as their 


of both arts, [frolic 

Of Music and Physic, had taken a 

For setting a loud fit of asthma in parts, 

And composing a fine rumbling bass 
to a colic! 


The Romans called a thief “ home trium lit- 


| erarum.’: 


Tum’ trium literarnm homo 


Me vituperas? Fur.* 
Piavtus, Aulular. Act ii. Seene 4. 
+ The oldest, most celebrated, and most 


noisy of the singers at the French Opera. 

* Pissoldeuws supposes this word to be & .o/oesema:— 
that Is, he thinks “Fur has made his escape from 
the margin into the text, 


492 


MOOREH’S WORKS. 


But, the dancing —ah ! parlez-moi, Dou- | And, doubtless, so fond they’re of serip- 


LY, de ca— [but Papa. 


tural facts, 


There, indeed, is a treat that charms all They will soon get the Pentateuch up in 
Such beauty—such grace—oh ye sylphs | 


of romance ! {has 
Fly, fly to ΤΊΤΑΝΙΑ, and ask her it she 


can dance [ny Bras! 
Like divine BIGoTTINI and sweet FAN- 
Fanny ΒΙΑΒ in FLoRA—dear creature ! 
—you'd swear, 
When her delicate feet in the dance 
twinkle round, [15 the air, 
That her steps are of light, thather home 
And she only par complaisance touch- 
es the ground. 
And when ΒΙΟΟΤΤΙΝῚ in PsycHe dish- 
Her black flowing hair, and by 
demons is driven, [devils, 
Oh! who does not envy those rude little 
That hold her and hug her, and keep 
her from heaven? 
Then, the music—so softly its cadences 
die, "and I, 
So divinely—oh, Dotty! between you 
It’s as well for my peace that there’s 
nobody nigh 
To make love to me then—yowve a 
soul, and can judge 
What a crisis ’twould be for your friend 
Bippy ΕὟΡΟΕ ! 


The next place (which Bossy has near 
lost his heart in) 

They call it the Play-house—I think— 
of St. Martin ;* [ what folly 

Quite charming—and very religious— 

To say that the French are not pious, 
dear DOLLY, Land rightly, 

When here one beholds, so correctly 


Levels | 


The Testament turn’d into melo-drames | 


nightly ;t 

* The Théatre dela Porte St.-Martin, which 
was built when the Opera House in the Palais 
Royal was burnt down, in 1781.—A. few days 
after this dreadful fire, which lasted more than 
a week, and in which several persons perished, 
the Parisian élégantes displayed flame-colored 
dresses, ‘‘ couleur de feu d’Opéra !’--Dulaare 
Curiosites de Paris. 

ἐ “ The Old Testament,” says the theatrical 
Critie in the 
gold forthe managers of our small play-houses. 
A multitude erowd round the Théatre de la 
Gaieté every evening to see the Passage of the 
Red Sea.” 

In the play-bill of one of these sacred melo- 
drames at Vienna, we find, ‘‘The Voice of 
G—d, by M. Sehwartz.” 

: A piece very popular last year, called 
*Daniek ou La Fosse aux Lions.” ‘The fol- 


yazette de France, ‘ is amine of | 


[bold defiance 
in pantomime,t{ bids 


five acts. 
Here DANIEL, 


| ‘lo NEBUCHADNEZZAR and all his βία ἃ 
One light-footed nymph in her train that | 


lions ; [round the Prophet, 

While pretty young Israelites dance 

In very thin clothing, and but little of 

it ;— [scriptural path, 

Here BrGranp,§ who shines in this 

As the lovely SuZANNA, without ον ἢ 

a relic [bath 

Of drapery round her, comes out of the 

In a manner that, BoB says, is quite 

Eve-angelic/ — [month to recite 

But in short, dear, ’twould take me a 

All the exquisite places we’re at, day 

and night ; [be glad 

And, besides, ere I finish, I think you’ll 

Just to hear one delightful adventure ’ve 
had. 


Last night, at the Beaujon,|| a place 
where—I doubt [that set out 
If its charms I can paint—there are cars, 
From a lighted pavilion, high up in the 
air, 
And rattle you down, Dott—you hardly 
know where. 
These vehicles, mind me, in which you 
go through [hold two. 
This delightfully dangerous journey, 
Some cavalier asks, with humility, 
whether 
Yowll venture down with him—you 
smile—tis a match ; 
Tn an instant you’re seated, and down 
both together {old seratch !1 
Go thund’ring, as if you went post to 
Well, it was but last night, as I stood 
and remark’d 


| lowing scene will give an ideaof the daring 


sublimity of these Scriptural pantomimes. 
“ Sedne 20.--La fournaise devient un berceau 
de nuages azurés, au fond duquel est un groupe 


| de nuages plus lumineux, et au milieu ‘Jeho- 


yah’ au centre d'un eercle de rayons brillans, 
qui annonce la présence de ]'Eternel.” 

§ Madame Bégrand, a finely-formed woman, 
who acts in ‘Susanna and the Elders,’— 
‘““T) Amour et la Folie,” &¢e., ὅτ. 

|The Promenades Aériennes, or French 
Mountains.—See a description of this singular 
and fantastic place of amusement in a pam- 
yhlet, truly worthy of it, by “Εἰς I. Cotterel, 

{édecin. Docteur de la Faculté de Paris,” 
&e., &e. 

Ἵ According to Dr. Cotterel the cars go at 

the rate of forty-eight miles an hour. 


On the looks and odd ways of the girls 


who embark’d, (flight, 
‘The impatience of some for the perilous 
The forced gig le of others, ’twixt pleas- 
ure and fright, — 
That there came up—imagine, dear 
ΤΟΙ, if you can [faced man, 
A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werter- 
With mustachios that gave (what we 
read of so oft) 
The dear Corsair expression, half say- 


age, half soft, [or | 


As hyenasin love may be fancied tolook, 


‘A something between ABELARD and old 


Buiucuer! [ring his head, 
Up he came, Dott, to me, and, uncoy’- 
(Rather bald, but so warlike!) in bad 
English said, 


** Ah! my dear—if Ma’mselle vil be so | 
[scarce understood | 


very good— 
Just for von littel course”—though I 


What he wish’d me to do, I said, thank | 


him, I wouid. 
Off we set—and, though faith, dear, I 
hardly knew whether [most then, 
My head or my heels were the upper- 
For ’twas like heav’n and earth, DOLLy, 
coming together, — [aguin. 
Yet, spite of the danger, we dared it 


And oh! as I gazed on the features and | 


air defied, 
Of the man, who for me all this peril 
T could fancy almost he and I were a 


pair [side by side, | 


Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, 


Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or | 


dagger, a [ara! 
Desperate dash down the Falls of Niag- 


This achieved, through the gardens* we 
saunter’d about, 
Saw the fireworks, exclaim’d ‘ mag- 
nifique !” at each cracker, 
And, when ’twas all o’er, the dear man 
saw us out 
With the air, I will say, of a Prince, 


Now, hear me—this stranger—it may be 

mere folly— [DoLLy? 

But who do you think we all think it is, 

Why, bless you, no less than the 
great King of Prussia, 

* In the Café attached to these gardens there 


are to be (as Dr. Cotterel informs us) “ douze 
négres, trés-alertes, qui contrasteront par 


Vébénoe de leur peau avec le teint de lis et de | 


roses de nos belles. Les glaces et les sorbets, 
servis par une main bien noire, fera davantage 


[to our fiacre, | 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 493 


Who’s here now incog.t—he, who made 
such a fuss, you [and PLATOFF, 
Remember, in London, with BLUCHER 
When SAu was near kissing old Biv- 
CHER’S cravat off! {[money, 

Pa says he’s come here to look after his 
| (Not taking things now as he used under 
ΒΟΝΕΥ,) [saw him, he swore, 
Which suits with our friend, for Bos 
Looking sharp to the silver received at 
the door. [his Queen 
Besides, too, they say that his grief for 
(Which was plain in this sweet fellow’s 
face to be seen) [ear is, 
Requires such a stimulant dose as this 
Used three times a day with young 
ladies in Paris. [such grief 

_Some Doctor, indeed, has declared that 
Should—unless *twould to utter de- 

spairing its folly push— 
Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief 
By rattling, as Bos says, “like shot 
through a holly-bush.” 


1 must now bid adieu;—only think, 
Doty, think 
If this should be the King—I have 
scarce slept a wink [papers 
| With imagining Higa it will sound in the 
And how all the Misses my good luck 
will grudge, [drive away vapors, 
When they read that Count Ruppty, to 
Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss 
Bippy FupGeE. . 


Nota Bene.—Papa’'s almost certain ’tis 

he— [could see, 
For he knows the Legitimate cut, and 
In the way he went poising and man- 
aged to tower [of Power. 
So erect in the car, the true Balance 


LETTHR VI. 


| FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO HIS BROTHER TIM 
FUDGE, F5Q., BARRISTER AT LAW. 


Yours of the 12th received just now — 
Thanks for the hint, my ‘trusty 

Tis truly pleasing to see how [brother ! 
We, Funes, stand by one another. 

But never fear— [ know my chap, 

And he knows me too—verbum sap. 


| ressortir l’albiétre des bras arrondis de celles- 
ci.” —p. 22, 


+ His Majesty, who was at Paris under the 
travelling name of Count Ruppin, is known to 
have gone down the Beaujon very frequently. 


494 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


My Lord and I are kindred spirits, 

Like in our ways as two young ferrets ; 
Both fashion’d, as that supple race is, 
No twist into all sorts of places ;— 
Creatures lengthy, lean, and hungering, 
Fond of blood and burrow-mongering. 


As to my Book in 91, 
Call’d ‘‘ Down with Kings, or Who’d 
have thought it ?” 
Bless you, the Book’s long dead and 
gone— 

Not ev’n th’ Attorney-General bought 
And, though some few seditious tricks [it. 
1 play’d in 95 and 6, 

As you remind me in your letter, 
His Lordship likes me all the better ;— 
We proselytes, that come with news full, 
Are, as he says, so vastly useful ! 


REYNOLDS and I (you know Tom Rey- 
NOLDS— 

Drinks his claret, keeps his chaise— 

Lucky the dog that first unkennels 
*Traitors and Luddites now-a-days ; 
Or who can help to bag a few, — [two;) 
When S—p——TH wants a death or 

ReEyNoups and I, and some few more 

All men, like us, of information, 
Friends, whom his Lordship keeps in 

store, 

As under-saviours of the nation*— 
Have form’d a Club this season, where 
His Lordship sometimes takes the chair, 
And gives us many a bright oration 
In praise of our sublime vocation ; 
Tracing it up to great King ΜΡ ΑΒ, 
Who, though in fable typitied as 
A royal Ass, by grace divine 
And right of ears, most assinine, 

Was yet no more, in fact historical, 

Than an exceeding well-bred tyrant ; 
And these, his ears, but allegorical, 


* Lord C©.’s tribute to the character of his 
friend, Mr. Reynolds, will long be remembered 
With equal eredit to both. 

1 This interpretation of the fable of Midas’s 
ears seems the most probable of any, and is 
thus stated in Hoffmann:—‘' Hae allegoria 
significatum, Midam, utpote tyrannum, sub- 
auscultatores dimittere solitum, per quos, 
queeeunque per omnem regionem vel fierent, 
vel dicerentur, cognosceret, nimirum illis utens 
“urium vice.” 

t Byossette, in a note on this line of Boileau, 

“Midas, le Roi Midas, a des ore Iles d’Ane, 


tells us, that ‘‘ M. Perrault le Médecin vyoulut 
faire ἃ notre auteur un erime d'état de ce vers, 
comme d'une maligne allusion au Roi.” I 


” 


Meaning Informers, kept at high 
rentt— [glist’ners, 
Gem'men, who touch’d the Treasury 
Like us, for being trusty list’ners ; 
And picking up each tale and fragment, 
For Royal Mipas’s Green Bag meant. 
«« And wherefore,” said this best of Peers, 
‘“¢ Should not the R--G—rT too haryeears,t 
“To reach as far, as long and wide as 
“Those of his model, good King Μι- 
DAS ?” 
speech was thought extremely 
good, 
And (rare for him) was understood— 
Instant we drank ‘The R—G—rT’s: 
Fars,” 
With three times three illustrious cheers, 
Which made the room resound like 
thunder, [ne’er 
“The R—c—tT’s Ears, and may he 
“From foolish shame, like MIpAs, wear 
“Old paltry wigs to keep them un- 
der "ὁ 
This touch at our old friends, the Whigs, 
Made us as merry all as grigs. 
In short, (Tl thank you not to mention 
These things again, ) we get on gayly ; 
And, thanks to pension and Suspension, 
Our little Club inereases daily. 
CASTLES, and OLIVER, and such, 
Who don’t as yet full salary touch, 
Nor keep their chaise and pair, nor buy 
Houses and lands, like Tom and I, 
Of course don’t rank with us, salvators, || 
But merely serve the Club as waiters. 
Like Knights, too, we’ve our collar days, 
(For us 1 own, an awkward phrase, ) 
When in our new costume adorn’d,— 
The R—G—t’s buff and blue coats 
turn’d— 
We have the honor to give dinners 
To the chief Rats in upper stations ;{ 


This 


trust, however, that no one will suspect the line 
in the text of any such indecorous allusion. 

§It was not under wigs, but tiaras, that 
King Midas endeavored to conceal these ap- 
pendages: 
Tempora purpurels tentat velare tiaris.—OvIb. 
The Noble Giver of the toast, however, had 
evidently, with his usual clearness, confounded 
King Midas, Mr. Liston, and the P—e 
R—g--t together. 

|| Mr. Fudge and his friends ought to go by 
this 1iame—as the man, who, some years since, 
saved the late Right Hon. George Rose from 
drowning, was ever after called Salvator Rosa. 

4“ This intimacy between the Rats and In- 
formers is just as it should be—‘‘veré dulce: 
sodalitium.”’ 


ee ee eae ee ee ee ee νυ |S 


a 


"κα 
- 
«, 


+g THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


Pe 
* 


495 


Your W——ys, V——wns,—half-fledged | Consents to take an under voice; 


sinners, 

Who shame us by their imitations ; 
Who turn, ’tis true—but what of that? 
Give me the useful peaching Rat ; 

Not things as mute as Punch, when 

bought, [brought ; 
Whose wooden heads are all they’ve 
Who, false enough to shirk their friends, 

But too faint-hearted to betray, 

Are, after all their twists and bends, 

But souls in Limbo, damn’d half-way. 
No, no, we nobler vermin are 
A genus useful as we're rare ; 

*Midst all the things miraculous 

Of which your natural histories brag, 
‘The rarest must be Rats like us, 

Who let the cat out of the bag. 

Yet still these Tyros in the cause 
Deserve, I own, no small applause ; 
And they’re by us received and treated 
With all due honors—only seated 
Tn th’ inverse scale of their reward, 
The merely promised next my Lord; 
‘Small pensions then, and so on, down, 
Rat after rat they graduate 


“Through job, red ribbon, and silk gown, 


To Chane’Horship and Marquisate. 
‘This serves to nurse the ratting spirit ; 
The less the bribe the more the merit. 


‘Our musie’s good, you may be sure ; 
My Lord, you know, ’s an amateur.—* 
Takes every part with perfect ease, 

Though to the Base by nature suited ; 
And, form’d for all, as best may please, 
For whips and bolts, or chords and keys, 
Turns from his victims to his glees, 

And has them both well executed.t 
H——r——», who, though no Rat him- 

self, 

Delights in all such liberal arts, 
Drinks largely to the House of Guelph, 
And superintends the Corni parts, 
While C—nn—e,}{ who'd be jirst by 

choice, 

*His Lordship, during one of the busiest 
periods of his Ministerial career, took lessons 
three times a week from a celebrated music- 
master, in glee-singing. 

t How amply these two propensities of the 
Noble Lord would have been gratified among 
that ancient peonls of Etruria, who, as Aris- 
totle tells us, used to whip their slaves once a 
year to the sound of flutes! 

t This Right Hon. Gentleman ought to give 
up his present alliance with Lord C., if upon 
no other principle than that which isineuleated 
in the following arrangement between two 
“Ladies of Fashion :— 


And Gr—v—s,§ who well that signal 
Watches the Volti subitos.|| — [knows, 


In short, as I’ve already hinted, 
We take, of late, Bronte 
But as our Club is somewhat stinted 
For Gentlemen, like Tom and me, 
We'll take it kind if you’ll provide 
A few Squireens§ from t’other side ;— 
Some of those loyal, cunning elves, , 
(We often tell the tale with laughter, ) 
Who used to hide the pikes themselves, 
Then hang the fools who found them 
Tdoubt not you could find us, too, [after. 
Some Orange Parsons that might do ; 
Among the rest, we’ve heard of one, 
The Reyerend—something—HAMILTON, 
Who stuff’d a figure of himself [at, 
(Delicious thought!) and had it shot 
To bring some Papists to the shelf, 
That couldn’t otherwise be got at— 
Tf he'll but join th’ Association, 
We'll vote him in by acclamation. 


And now, my brother, guide, and friend, 
This somewhat tedious scrawl must end, 
I’ve gone into this long detail, [shaken 
Because I saw your nerves were 
With anxious fears lest I should fail 
In this new, loyal, course I’ve taken. 
But, bless your heart, you need not 
doubt— 
We, FupGes, know what we’re about. 
Look round, and say if you can see 
A much more thriving family. [day 
There’s JACK, the Doctor—night and 
Hundreds of patients so besiege him, 
You’d swear that all the rich and gay 
Fell sick on purpose to oblige him. 
And while they think, the precious nin- 
nies, [steady, 
He’s counting o’er their pulse so 
The rogue but counts how many guineas 
He’s fobb’d, for that day’s work, 
already. 


Says Clarinda, ‘‘ though tears it may cost, 
tis time we should part, my dear Sue ; 
For your character's totally lost, 
And J have not sufficient for tivo ἢ 


§ The rapidity of this Noble Lord’s trans- 
formation, at the same instant, into a Lord of 
the Bedchamber and an opponent of the Catho- 
lic Claims, was truly miraculous. 


|| Turn instantly—a frequent direction in 
music-books. 


{ The Irish diminutive of Squire, 


490 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ΤΊ] ne’er forget th’ old maid’s alarm, [he 
When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, 
Said, as he dropp’d her shrivell’d arm, 
“Yamn’d bad this morning—only 
thirty !” 


Your dowagers, too, every one, 
So gen’rousare, when they call him in, 
That he might now retire upon 
The rheumatisms of three old women. 
Then, whatsoe’er your ailments are, 
He can so learnedly explain ye ’em— 
Your cold, of course, is a catarrh, 
Your headache is a hemi-cranium : 
His skill, too in young ladies’ lungs, 
The grace with which, most mild of 
men, 
He begs them to put out their tongues, 
Then bids them—put them in again : 
In short, there’s nothing now like 
JACK ! — 
Take all your doctors great and small, 
Of present times and ages back, 
Dear Doctor FUDGE is worth them all. 


So much for physic—then, in law too, 
Counsellor Tru, to thee we bow; 
Not one of us gives more eclat to [thou. 
Th’ immortal name of FupGE than 
Not to expatiate on the art 
With which you play’d the patriot’s part, 
Till something good and snug should 
offer ; 
Like one who, by the way he acts 
Th’ enlightning part of candle-snuffer, 
The manager’s keen eye attracts, 
And is promoted thence by him 
To strut in robes, like thee, my Tim !— 
Who shall describe thy pow’rs of face, 
Thy well-feed zeal in ey’ry case, 
Or wrong or right—but ten times warmer 
(As suits thy calling) in the former— 
Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight 
In puzzling all that’s clear and right, 
Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, 
Improves so with a wig and band on, 
That all thy pride’s to waylay Truth, 
And leave her not a leg to stand on. 
Thy patent, prime, morality,— 
Thy cases, cited from the Bible— 
Thy candor, when it falls to thee 
To help in trouncing for a libel ;— 
“(οὐ knows, I, from my soul, profess 
“To hate all bigots and benighters ! 
“ God knows, I love, to ey’n excess, 
“The sacred I'reedom of the Press, 
“My only aim’sto—crush the writers.” 


These are the virtues, Tim, that draw 
The briefs into thy bag so fast ; 

And these, oh Trm—if Law be Law— 
Will raise thee to the Bench at last. 


I blush to see this letter’s length— 
But ’twas my wish to prove to thee 
How full of hope, and wealth, and 
Are all our precious family.[strength, 
And, should affairs go on as pleasant 
As, thank the Fates, they do at present— 
Should we but still enjoy the sway 
Of S—pmM—H and of C———GuH, 
I hope, ere long, to see the day 
When England’s wisest statesmen, 
judges, 
Lawyers, peers, will all be—FupcEs ! 


Good-by—my paper’s out so nearly, 
T’ve only room for Yours sincerely. 


LETTER VII. 


FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO 


BEFORE we sketch the Present—let us 
= cast 
A few, short, rapid glances to the Past. 


When he, who had defied all Europe’s 
strength, {length ;— 
Beneath his own weak rashness sunk at 
When, loosed, as if by magic, from a 
chain [ free again, 
That seem’d like Fate’s, the world was 
And Europe saw, rejoicing in the sight, 
The cause of Kings, for once, the cause 
of Right ;— [ those 
Then was, indeed, an hour of joy to 
Who sigh’d for justice — liberty — re- 
08e, [ture’s nest 
And hoped the fall of one great vul- 
Would ring its warning round, and 
scare the rest. 
All then was bright with promise ;— 
Kings began [ Man, 
To own a sympathy with suff’ring 
And Man was grateful! Patriots of the 
South [ror’s mouth, 
Caught wisdom from a Cossack Empe- 
And heard, like accents thaw’d in North- 
ern air, [there ! 
Unwonted words of freedom burst forth 


Who did not hope, in that triumphant 
time, [and crime, 

When monarchs, after years of spoil 

Met round the shrine of Peace, and 
Heavy’n look’d on, — 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


Who did not hope the lust of spoil was 
One } [play’d 

That that rapacious spirit, which had 
The game of Pilnitz o’er so oft, was laid; 
And Europe’s Rulers, conscious of the 
past, [last ? 
Would blush, and deviate into right at 
But no—the hearts, that nursed a hope 
so fair, 

Had yet to learn what men on thrones 


[can dare; | 


497 


With voice like that of crashing ice that 

rings 

Hog ees huts, the perfidy of 

ings ; 

And tell the world, when hawks shall 
harmless bear {learn to spare 

|The shrinking dove, when wolves shall 

|The helpless victim for whose blood they 
lusted, [ iste 

Then, and then only, monarchs may be 


Had yet to know, of all earth’s rav’ning | 


things, 
The only quite untameable are Kings! 
Scarce had they met, when, to its nature 
true, 
The instinct of their race broke out anew; 
Promises, treaties,charters, all were vain, 
And ‘“ Rapine! rapine !” was the cry 
again. [and how well, 
How quick they carved their victims, 
Let Saxony, let injured Genoa tell ;— 
Let all the human stock that, day by 
day, [away,— 
Was, at that Royal slave-mart, truck’d 


The million souls that, in the face of 


heaven, 
Were split to fractions,* barter’d, sold, 
To eal some despot Power, too huge 
before, {moth more. 
And weigh down Europe with one Mam- 
How safe the faith of Kings let France 


decide ;— { dried ;— 
Her charter broken ere its ink had 
Her Press enthrall’d — her Reason 
mock’d again [ vain ; 


With all the monkery it had spurn’d in 
Her crown disgraced by one, who dared 
to own 


{or given | 


[bis throne ; | 


It could not last—these horrors could 
not last— [might, to cast 
| France would herself have ris’n, in 
| Th’ insulters off—and oh! that then, as 

now, [brow, 
Chain’d to some distant islet’s rocky 
/NAPOLEON ne’er had come to force, to 
blight, [ bright, — 

Ere half matured, a cause so proudly 

To palsy patriot hearts with doubt and 
shame, [name ;— 
| And write on Freedom’s flag a despot’s 

To rush into the lists, unask’d, alone, 
| And make the stake of all the game of 
one / [what pow’r 
‘Then would the world have seen again 
A people can put forth in Freedom’s 
our ; [more baye blazed ;— 
'Then would the fire of France once 
|For every single sword, reluctant raised 
‘In the stale cause of an oppressive 
| throne, 

Millions would then have leap’d forth in 

her own; 
| And never, never had th’ unholy stain 
ΟΥ̓ Bourbon feet disgraced her shores 
again. 


He thank’d not France but England for | 


Her triumphs cast into the shade by 
those [ foes, 

Who had grown old among her bitterest 

And now return’d, beneath her con- 

wrors’ shields, [fields ; 

Unblushing slaves! to claim her heroes’ 

To tread down every trophy of her fame, 

And curse that glory which to them 
was shame !— 

Let these—let all the damning deeds, 
that then 

Were dared through Europe, cry aloud 
to men, 


*“ While the Congress was reconstructing 
Europe—not according to rights, natural afti- 
ances, language, habits, or laws, but by tables 
of finance, which divided and subdivided her 
population into sovls, demi-souls, and even 


/ But fate decreed not so—th’ Imperial 
Bird, 
That, in his neighboring cage, unfear’d, 
unstirr’d, 
'Had seem’d to sleep with head beneath 
] his wing, [spring ;— 
Yet watch’d the moment for a daring 
Well might he watch, when deeds were 
done, that made {shade ; 
| His own transgressions whiten in their 
Well might he hope a world, thus tram- 
pled o’er {more :— 
By clumsy tyrants, would be his once 


| fractions, according to a scale of the direct 
\‘duties or taxes which could be levied by the 
acquiring state,” &c.—Sketch of the Military 
and Political Power of Russia. The words ou 
the protocol are dmes, denvi-dines, &e. 


498 


MOORHP’S WORKS. 


Forth from his cage the eagle burst to 
light, [ flight, 

from steeple on to steeple* wing’d his 

With calm and easy grandeur, to that 
throne [flown ; 

From which a Royal craven just had 

And resting there, asin his eyry, furl’d 

Those wings, whose very rustling shook 
the world ! 


‘What was your fury then, ye crown’d 
array, [holiday 
Whose feast of spoil, whose plund’ring 
Was thus broke up, in all its greedy 
mirth, [earth ! 
By one bold chieftain’s stamp on Gallic 
Fierce was the ery, and fulminant the 
ban,— [can, 
τ Assassinate, who will—enchain, who 
“«The vile, the faithless, outlaw’d, low- 
born man !” [you, forsooth, 
“ Faithless !’—and this from you—from 
Ye pious Kings, pure paragons of truth, 
Whose honesty all knew, for all had 
tried ; [every side ; 
Whose true Swiss zeal had served on 
‘Whose fame for breaking faith so long 
was known, 
Well might ye claim the craft as all 
your own, 
‘And lash your lordly tails, and fume to 
see 
Such low-born apes of Royal perfidy ! 
Yes—yes—to you alone did it belong 
‘To sin forever, and yet ne’er do wrong.— 
The frauds, the lies of Lords legitimate 
Are but fine policy, deep strokes of 
state ; [high 
But let some upstart dare to soar so 
In ΠΕΡΙ, craft, and “outlaw” is the 
cry 
What, περ long years of mutual 
treachery 
Had peopled full your diplomatic shelves 
With ghosts of treaties, murder’d ’mong 
“yourselves ; {[dupe—what then ? 
Though each by turns was knave and 
A Holy League would set all straight 
again ; 
Like JuNo’s virtue, which a dip or two 
In some bless’d fountain made as good 
as new !t 
Most faithful Russia—faithful to whoe’er 


‘L ‘aigle volera de clocher en clocher, 
juscqu’ aux tours de Notre-Dame.’ '—Napoleon’s 
Proclamation on landing from Elba. 

| Singulis annis in quod: im Attics fonte lota 
ewiginitatem reeuperisse fingitur. 


Could plunder best, and give him am- 
plest share ; 
Who, e’en when vanquish’d, 
gain his ends, 
For want of foes to rob, made free with 
Sriends,t [tions, 
And, deepening still by amiable grada- 
When foes were stripp’d of all, then 
fleeced relations 5 [to th’ ears 
Most mild and saintly Prussia—steep’d 
In persecuted Poland’s blood and tears, 
And now, with all her harpy wings out- 
spread 
O’er sever’d Saxony’s devoted head ! 
Pure Austria too—whose hist’ry naught 
repeats [feats ; 
But broken leagues and subsidized de- 
Whose faith, as Prince, extinguish’d 
Venice shows, [ter knows ! 
Whose faith, as man, a widow’d daugh- 
And thou, oh England—who, though 
once as shy 
As cloister’d maids, of shame or perfidy, 
Art now broke in, and, thanks to 
σ GH [ way! 
In all that’s worst and falsest lead’st the 


Such was the pure divan, whose pens 
and wits 

Th’ escape from Elba frighten’d into 
fits ;— 

Such were the saints, who doomed ΝΑ- 
POLEON’S life, [ knife. 

In virtuous phrensy to th’ assassin’s 

Disgusting crew !—who would not glad- 


sure to 


To open, downright, bold-faced tyranny, 

To honest guilt, that dares do all but 
lie, [like these, 

From the false, juggling craft of men 

Their canting crimes and varnish’d vil- 
lanies : 

These Holy Leaguers, who then loudest 
boast them most; 


| Of faith and honor, when they’ve stain’d 


From whose affection men should shrink 
as loath 

As from their hate, for they'll be fleeced 
by both ; 

Who, ev’n w hile plund’ring, forge Re- 
ligion’s name 

To frank their spoil, and, without fear 
or shame 


t At the peace of Tilsit, where he abandoned 
his ally, Prussia, to France, and received a por- 
tion of her territory. 

§ The seizure of Finland from his relative of 
Sweden. 


ἀφ 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


499 


Call down the Holy Trinity* to bless 
Partition leagues, and deeds of devilish- 
ness ! {swell of rage 
But hold—enough—soon would this 
O’erflow the boundaries of my scanty 
page ;— [day, 
So, here I pause—farewell—another 
Return we to those Lords of pray’r and 
rey, [right divine, 
Whose loathsome cant, whose frauds by 
Deserve a lash—oh ! weightier far than 
mine ! 


LETTER VIII. 


FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD 


» ESQ. 


Dear Dick, while old DONALDSON’st 
mending my stays, — 

Which I knew would go smash with me 
one of these days, [the throttle, 

And, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to 

We lads had begun our dessert with a 
bottle [back 

Of neat old Constantia, on my leaning 

Just to order another, by Jove, I went 
erack !— { phrase, 

Or, as honest Tom said, in his nautical 

“D—n my eyes, Bos, in doubling the 
Cape youve miss'd stays.” 

So, of course, as no gentleman’s seen out 
without them, 

They’re now at the Schneider’s§—and, 
while he’s about them, 

Here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck 
and crop. {did I stop? 

Let us see—in my last I was—where 

Oh, I know—at the Boulevards, as 
motley a road as {upon ; 

Man ever would wish a day’s lounging 

With its cafés and gardens, hotels and 

pagodas, [beer in the sun: 
Its founts, and old Counts sipping 

With its houses of all architectures you 
please, {down by degrees 

From the Grecian and Gothic, DricK, 


* The usual preamble of these flagitious com- 
pacts. In the same spirit, Catherine, after the 
dreadful massacre of Warsaw, ordered a sol- 
emn “thanksgiving to God in all the churches, 
for the blessings conferred upon the Poles ;"' 
and commanded that each of them should 
ὁ swear fidelity and loyalty to her, and to shed 
in her defence the last drop of their blood, as 
they should answer for it to God, and his ter- 


rible judgment, kissing the holy word and eross | 


of their Saviour "ἢ 

+ An English tailor at Paris. 

} A ship is said to miss stays, when she does 
not obey the helm in tacking. 


To the pure Hottentot, or the Brighton 
Chinese ; 
Where in temples antique you may 
breakfast or dinner it, [a minaret. 
Lunch at a mosque, and see Punch from 
Then, Dick, the mixture of bonnets and 
bow’rs, { flow’rs, 
Of foliage and fripp’ry, jiaeres and 
Green-grocers, green-gardens—one hard- 
ly knows whether 
’Tis eountry or town, they’re so mess’d 
up together ! [one sees 
And there, if one loves the romantic, 
Jew clothes-men, like shepherds, re- 
clined under trees ; 
Or Quidnunes, on Sunday, just fresh 
from the barber’s, [those arbors ; 
Enjoying their news, and groseille|| in 
While gayly their wigs, like the tendrils, 
are curling, [them are purling. 
And founts of red currant-juiceY round 


Here, D1icK, arm in arm as we chatter- 
ing stray, [by the way,— 

And receive a few civil ‘ God-dems” 

For, ’tis odd, these mounseers,—though 
we've wasted our wealth, 

And our strength, till we’ve thrown 

ourselves into a phthisie, 

To cram down their throats an old King 
for their health, 

As we whip little children to make 

them take physic ;— 

Yet, spite of our good-natured money 
and slaughter, { water! 

They hate us as Beelzebub hates holy 

But who the deuce cares, Dick, as long 
as they nourish us {ishes— 

Neatly as now, and good cookery flour- 

Long as, by bay’nets protected, we Nat- 
ties 

May have our full fling at their salmis 
and patés? 

And, truly, I always declared "twould 
be pity [feeding city. 

To burn to the ground such a choice- 


§ The dandy term for a tailor. 


|| ‘Lemonade and eau-de-groseille are meas- 
ured out at every corner of every street, from 
fantastic vessels, jingling with bells, to thirsty 
tradesmen or wearied messengers.’"—See Lady 
Morgan's lively description of the streets of 
Paris, in her very amusing work upon France, 
book vi. 


4“ These gay, portable fountains, from which 
the croscille water is administered, are among 
the most characteristic ornaments of the streets 
of Paris. 


500 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Had Dad but his way, he’d have long 
ago blown [ people, I own, 
The whole batch to old Nick—and the 
If for no other cause than their cursed 
monkey looks, _[it, their Cooks! 
Well deserve a blow-up —but then, damn 
As to Marshals, and Statesmen, and all 
their whole lineage, 
For aught that J care, you may knock 
them to spinage ; 
But think, Dick, their Cooks—what a 
loss to mankind ! 
What a void in the world would their 
art leave behind ! 
Their chronometer spits—their intense 
salamanders— {old ganders, 
Their ovens—their pots, that can soften 
_ All yanish’d forever--their miracles 
o’er, [bling no more ! 
And the Marmite Perpétuelle* bub- 
Forbid it, forbid it, ye Holy Allies ! 
Take whatever ye fancy—take sta- 
tues, take money— 
But leave them, oh leave them, their 
Perigueux pies, [pickled tunny !f 
Their glorious goose-livers, and high 
Though many, I own, are the evils 
they’ve brought us, [last legs, 
Though Royalty’s here on her very 
Yet, who can help loving the land that 
has taught us [0 dress eggs ?f 
Six hundred and eighty-five ways 


You see, Dick, in spite of their cries of 
“ God-dam,” [ous I am! 
“ Coquin Anglais,” et caet?ra—how gen’r- 
And now, (to return once again to my 
“‘Day,” [through in this way,) 
Which will take us all night to get 
From the Boulevards we _ saunter 
through many a street, 
Crack jokes on the natives—mine, all 
very neat— [cal fops, 
Leave the Signs of the Times to _politi- 
And find twice as much fun in the 
Signs of the Shops ;— 


* “Oette merveilleuse Marmite Perpétuoelle, 
sur le feu depuis prés d'un siécle; qui a donné 
le jour ἃ plus de 300,000 chapons.”"—Alman. de 
Gourmands, Quatrieme Année, p. 152. 

tLe thon mariné, one of the most favorite 
and indigestible hors-d’@uvres. This fish is 
taken chiefly in the Golfe de Lyon 
et le dessous du ventre sont les parties les plus 
recherchées des gourmets.’’—Cours Gastro- 
nomique, p. 252. 

: The exact number mentioned by M. de la 

teyniére—‘*‘On connoit en France 685 mani- 


éres différentes d’accommoder les ceufs ; sans ! 


“La téte | 


Here, a Louis Dix-huit—there, a Mar- 
tinmas goose, [gone out of use)— 
(Much in vogue since your eagles are 
Henri Quatres in shoals, and of Gods a 
great many, {of any :— 
But Saints are the most on hard duty 
St. Tony, who used all temptations to 
spurn, {tempts in his turn ; 
Here hangs o’er ἃ beer-shop, and 
While there St. VENECTAQ sits hemming 
and frilling her [milliner ;— 
Holy mouchoir o’er the door of some 
Saint AusTIN’s the “‘ outward and visi- 
ble sign [pint of small wine ; 
“Of an inward” cheap dinner, and 
While St. Denys hangs out o’er some 
hatter of ton, [his own, |j 
And possessing, good bishop, no head of 
Takes an int’restin Dandies, who’ve got— 
next tonone!  [ing’s affiches— 
Then we stareinto shops—read the even- 
Or, if some, who’re Lotharios in feeding, 
should wish [bad trick, 
Just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilisii 
As it takes off the bloom of one’s appe- 
tite, DickK,) [des Panoramas} 
To the Passage des—what Vye call’t — 
We quicken our pace, and there heartily 
cram as [cozen 
Seducing young pdatés as ever could 
One out of one’s appetite, down by the 
dozen. Lone day, 
We vary, of course—petits padtés do 
The next we’ve our lunch with the Gau- 
frier Hollandais,** [like Sc—rr, 
That popular artist, who brings out, 
His del 
and hot ; 
Not the worse for the exquisite comment 
that follows,— 
Divine maresquino, which—Lord, how 
one swallows! 


Once more, then, we saunter forth after 
our snack, or [οἵ a fiaere, 
Subscribe a few francs for the price 


compter celles que nos imaginent 
chaque jour.” 

ἀπο the Saint of the Holy Handker- 
chief, is also, under the name of Venisse, or 
Venecia, the tutelary saint of milliners. 

|| St. Denys walked three miles after his head 
was cut off. The mot of a woman of wit upon 
this legend is well known :—"' Je le ecrois bien ; 
en parcil cas, il n’y a que le premier pas qui 
coftite.”’ 

“ Off the Boulevards Italiens. 

κα Inthe Palais Royal; suecessor, I believe, 
to the Flamand, so long celebrated for the 
moélleux of his Gaufres. 


savyans 


ightful productions so quick, hot — 


ἜΣ 


Sy, 


=— 4 


ς THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


And drive far away to the old Mon- 

tagnes Russes, 
Where we find a few twirls in the car 
To regen’rate the hunger and thirst of 

us sinners, [ tion of dinners. 
Who’ye lapsed into snacks—the perdi- 
And here, Dick—in answer to one of 


your queries, [much discussion— | 


- About which we, Gourmands, have had 
T’ve tried all these mountains, Swiss, 
French, and Ruggieri’s, 
And think, for digestion,* there’s 
none like the Russian ; 
So ee the motion—so gentle, though 
ect— 
It, in short, such a light and salubri- 
ous scamper is, 
That take whom you please—take old 
L—s D—x—H—T, 


And stuff him—ay, up to the neck—_ 


with stew’d lampreys,t 

So wholesome these Mounts, such a 
solvent V’ve found them, 

That, let me but rattle the Monarch well 
down them, [away, 


The fiend, Indigestion, would fly far) 


And the regicide lampreyst{ be foil’d of 
their prey ! 


Such, Drex, are the classical sports that 

content us, [momentous,§ 

Till five o’clock brings on that hour so 

That epoch—but woa!—my lad— 
here comes the Schneider, 

And, curse him, has made the stays 

three inches wider— {a Guy ! 

Too wide by an inch and a half—what 

* Doctor Cotterel recommends, for this pur- 

pose, the Beaujon or French Mountains, and 

calls them ‘‘une médecine aérienne, couleur de 


rose; but Lown I prefer the authority of Mr. 
Bob, who seems, from the following note found 


in his own handwriting, to have studied all | 


these mountains very carefully :— 

Memoranda—The Swiss little notice deserves, 

While the fall at Ruggieri’s is death to weak 
nerves ; 

And (whute'er Doctor Cott’rel may write on 
the question) Σ 

‘The turn at the Beaujon’s too sharp for diges- 
tion. 

I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in 

accenting the second syllable of Rugeieri. 

ΤᾺ dish so indigestible, that a late novelist, 
at the end of his book, could imagine no more 
summary mode of getting rid of all his heroes 
and heroines than by a hearty supper of stewed 
lampreys. 

t They killed Henry I. of England :—*“ a food 
(says Hume, gravely) which always agreed 
better with his palate than his constitution.” 

Lampreys, indeed, seem to haye been always 


{of much use | 


501 

| But, no matter —’twill all be set right 
by-and-by. {eat still up, 

As we'veMAssINOT’s|| eloquent carte to 

An inch and a half’s but a trifle to fill 
up. 

So—not to lose time, Dick,—here goes 
for the task ; [but ask, 

Au revoir, my old boy—of the Gods 1 

| That my life, like ‘‘ the Leap of the Ger- 

man,” ] may be, 
“Du lit ἃ Ja table, dela table au o 1» 
R. F. 


LETTER IX. 


FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE LORD VISCOUNT 
C—BsT: GH. 


My Lord, th’ Instructions, brought to- 
day, 
‘‘T shall in all my best obey.” —[sibly! 
| Your Lordship talks and writes so sen- 
And—whatsoe’er some wags ay say— 
Oh! not at all incomprehensibly. 
I feel th’ inquiries in your letter 
About my health and French most 
flattering; [what better, 
Thank ye, my French, though some- 
Is, on the whole, but weak and smat- 
tering :— 
Nothing, of course, that can compare 
With his who made the Congress stare, 
(A certain Lord we need not name, ) 

Who ey’n in French, would haye his 
And talk of ‘‘ bdtir un systéme — [trope, 

“Sur Véquilibre de ’ Europe !”’ 
Sweet metaphor !—and then th’ Epistle 
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle, 
a favorite dish with kings—whether from some 
congeniality between them and that fish, 1 
know not: but Dio Cassius tells us that Pollio 
fattened his lampreys with human blood. St. 
Louis of France was gotestinee fond of them. 
—See the anecdote of Thomas Aquinas eating 
| up his majesty’s lamprey, in a note upon Jtabe- 
lais, liv. ili. chap, 2. 

§ Had Mr. Bob's Dinner Epistle been in- 
serted, I was prepared with an abundance of 
learned matter to illustrate it, for which, as, in- 
deed, for all my ‘‘scientia popin,’* I am in 
debted to a friend in the Dublin University,— 
whose reading formerly lay in the magie line; 
but, in conseqnence of the Provost's enlight- 
ened alarm at such studies, he has taken to the 
authors, ‘de re cibarid” instead; and has left 
Bodin, Remigius, Agrippa and his little dog 
Filiolus, for Apicius, Nonius, and that most 
learned and savory jesuit, Bulengerus. 

A famous Restaurateur—now Dupont. 

« Anold French saying ;—‘* Faire le sant de 
l'Allemand, du lit ἃ la table et de la table au 
lit.” 


* Seneca, 


502 


MOOREH’S WORKS. 


That tender letter to “ Mon Prince,’’* 
Which show’d alike thy French and 
sense ;— 
Oh no, my Lord—there’s none can do 
Or say wn-English things like you; 
And, if the schemes that fill thy breast 
Could but a vent congenial seek, 
And use the tongue that suits them best, 
What charming Turkish wouldst thou 
But as for me, aFrenchless grub, [speax! 
At Congress never born to stammer, 
Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub 
Fall’n Monarchs, out of CHAMBAUD’S 
grammar— 
Bless you, you do not, cannot know 
How far a little French will £0; 
For al. cne’s stock, one need but draw 
On some half dozen words like these— 
Comme ca—par-la—la-bas—ah ha! 
They’ il take you all through France 
with ease. 


Your Lordship’s praises of the scraps 
Τ sent you from my Journal lately, 
(Enveloping a few laced caps 
For Lady C.) delight me greatly. 
Her flatt’ring speech —‘ what ‘pretty 
things 
“One finds in Mr. FupGE’s pages! "ἢ 
Is praise which (as some poet sings) 
Would pay one for the toils of ages, 


Thus flatter’d, I presume to send 
A few more extracts by a friend ; 
And I should hope they’ll be no less 
Approved of than my last MS.— 
The former ones, I fear, were creased, 
As Brppy round the caps would pin 
them ! 
But these will come to hand, at least 
Unrumpled, for there’s nothing in 
them. 


Extracts from Mr. Fudge’s Journal, addressed 
to Lord Ο. 


Aug. 10. 
Went to the Mad-house—saw the man,t 

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while 
Of Discord here full riot ran, [the Fiend 

He, like the rest, was guillotined ;— 
But that when, under BoNnrEy’s reign, 

(A more discreet, though quite as 

strong one, ) 

* The celebrated letter to Prince Harden- 
burgh, (written, however, I believe, originally 
in English,) in which his Lordship, professing 
to see ‘no moral or political ohjection ” to the 
dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the un- 
fortunate King as “ not only the most devoted, 
but the most favored of Bonaparte's vassals.” 

} This extraordinary madman is, I believe, 


The heads were all restored again, 
He, in the scramble, got a wrong one- 
Accordingly, he still cries out 
This strange head fits him most un- 
pleasantly ; 
And always runs, poor devil, about 
Inquiring for his own incessantly ! 


While to his case a tear I dropp’d, 
And saunter’d home, thought I—ye 
Gods! 
How many heads might thus be swopp’d, 
And, after all, not make much odds ! 
Tor instance, there’s Y—s—rTTr—t’s 
head— 
(‘Tam carum’”t it may well be said) 
If by some curious chance it came 
To settle on BILL SoAMES’s§ shoulders, 
Th’ effect would turn out much the same: 
On all respectable cash-holders : 
Except that while, in its new socket, 
The head was planning schemes to win 
A zig-zag Way into one’s pocket, 
The hands would plunge directly in. 


Good Viscount S—pM—H, too, instead 
Of his own grave, respected head, 
Might wear (for aught I see that bars) 
Old lady WILHELMINA FRUMP’s— 
So while the hand sign’d Circulars, 
The head might lisp out, ‘ What is 
trumps ?”’— 
The R—G—t’s brains could we transfer 
To some robust man milliner, 
The shop, the shears, the lace, and riband 
Would go, 1 doubt not, quite as glib on ; 
And, vice versa, take the pains 
To give the P—cr the shopman’s brains, 
One vonly change from thence would flow, 
Ribands would not be wasted so. 


’T was thus I ponder’d on, my Lord; 

And ey’n at night, when laid in bed, 
I found myself, before I snored, 

Thus chopping, swopping head for 

head. 
At length I thought, fantastic elf! 
How such a change would suit myself. 
’T wixt sleep and waking, one by one, 

With various pericraniums saddled, 
At last I tried your Lordship’s on, 

And then I grew completely addled— 
in the Bicétre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. 
Fudge states it, that, when the heads of those 
who had been guillotined were restored, he by 
mistake got some other person’s instead of his 
own. 

1 Tam eari capitis —Horat. 

§ A celebrated pickpocket. 


ρος αύ 
a, 
Baa? » 


a 
, 


Forget all other heads, od rot ’em! 
at slept, and dreamt that I was— 


Borrom. 
Aug. 21. 
Walk’d out with daughter Bron—was 
shown 


The House of Commons, and the Throne, 
Whose velvet cushion’s just the same* 
NAPOLEON sat on—what a shame ! 
Oh, can we wonder, best of speechers, 
When Louts seated thus we see, 
That France’s “fundamental features” 
Are much the same they used to be? 
However,—God preserve the Throne, 
And cushion, too —and keep them free 
From accidents, which have been known 
To happen ev’n to Royalty !t 
Aug. 28. 


Read, at a stall (for oft one pops 
On something at these stalls and shops, 
That does to quote, and gives one’s Book 
A classical and knowing look.— 
Indeed I’ve found, in Latin, lately, 
A course of stalls improves me greatly)— 
’Twas thus I read, that, in the East, 

A monarch’s fafs a serious matter ; 
And once in ev’ry year, at least, 

He’s weighed—to see if he gets fatter; 
Then, if a pound or two he be 
Increased, there’s quite a jubilee !§ 


Suppose, my Lord—and far from me 
To treat such things with levity— 
But just suppose the R—G@—t's weight 
Were made thus an affair of state ; 
And, ev’ry sessions, at the close,— [18 
’Stead of a speech, which, all can see, 
Heavy and dull enough, God knows— 
We were to try how heavy he is. 
Much would it glad all hearts to hear 
That, while the Nation’s Revenue 
Loses so many pounds a year, [few. 
The P. Ε, God bless him! gains ἃ 
* The only change, if I recollect right, is the 
substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon 
the bees is, of course, universal; “‘exitium 
misére apibus,” like the angry nymphs iu 
Virgil: but may not new swarms arise out of 
the victims of Legitimacy yet? 
+ Lam afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to 
a very awkward accident, which is well known 
to have happened to poor L—s le D—s—é, 
some years since, at one of the R—g—t’s Fétes. 


He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the | 


time. 

t‘*The third day of the Feast the King 
causeth himself to be weighed with great care.” 
—F. Bernier’s Voyage to Surat, &c. 

§ “I remember,” says Bernier, “that all 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


503 


With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, 

Τ see the Basterns weigh their Kings ;— 
But, for the R—G—t, my advice is, 

We should throw in much heavier 

things : 
For instance ———’s quarto volumes, 

Which, though not spices, serve to 

wrap them ; 
Dominie St—pDpD—T’s Daily columns, 

“ Prodigious !”’—in, of course, we'd 

clap them— 
Letters that C—rTw T’s|| pen indites, 
| In which, with logical confusion, 
The Major like a Minor writes, 

And never comes to a Conclusion :— 
LordS —M—rs’ pamphlet—or his head— 
(Ah, that were worth its weight in lead !) 
Along with which we in may whip, sly, 
The Speeches of Sir Jonn G—x ἢ —pp- 
That Baronet of many words, [—SLY; 
Who loves so, in the House of Lords, 
To whisper Bishops—and so nigh 

Unto their wigs in whisp’ring Goes, 
That you may always know him by 

A patch of powder on his nose !— 
If this won’t do, we in must cram 
The ‘‘Reasons” of Lord B—cK—Gé- 
H—M ; 

(A Book his Lordship means to write, 

Entitled ‘‘ Reasons for my Ratting :” 
Or, should these prove too small an 

light, 

His r——p’s a host—we’ll bundle that 

in ! 
And, still should all these masses fail 
To turn the R—G—vt’s ponderous scale, 
| Why then, my Lord, in Heaven’s name, 

Pitch in, without reserve or stint, 
The whole of R—GL—y’s beauteous 

Dame— 
If that won't raise him, devil’s in it! 
Aug. 31. 
Consulted MurpnHy’s TACITUS 

About those famous spies at Rome, { 
the Omrahs expressed great joy that the King 
| weighed two pounds more now than the year 

preceding.”—Another author tells us that 
“ Fatness, as well as a very large head, is con- 
sidered, throughout India, as one of the most 
precious gifts of heaven. An enormons skull 
is absolutely revered, and the happy owner is 
looked up to as a superior being. Toa Prince 
a joulter head is invaluable.”"—Oriental Field 
| Sports. 
|| Major Cartwright. 
| 4 The name of the first worthy who set up 
the trade of informer at Rome (to whom om 
Olivers and Castleses ought to erect a statue) 
was Romanus Hispo ;—* qui formam vit iniit, 
quam postea celebrem miseriw temporum ef 


504 MOORE’S WORKS. 


Whom certain Whigs—to make a fuss— 

Describe as much resembling us, * 
Informing gentlemen, at home. [ous, 

But, bless the fools, they can’t be seri- 

To say Lord S-—pmM—tn’s like TrBErtvs! 

What, he, the Peer, that injures no man, 

Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman !— 

*Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to 

All sorts of spies—so doth the Peer, too. 

Tis true my Lord’s Elect tell fibs, 

And deal in perjury—ditto Trp’s. 

’Tis true the Tyrant screen’d and hid 

His rogues from justice t —ditto Srp. 

"Tis true the Peer is grave and glib 

At moral speeches —ditto Tr.t 

’Tis true, the feats the tyrant did 

Were in his dotage—ditto Sip. 


So far, I own, the parallel 
‘Twixt T1B and Srp goes vastly well ; 
But there are points in T1s that strike 
My humble mind as much more like 
Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him, 
Of th’ India Board—that soul of whim! 
Like him, T1BERIUvSs loved his joke, § 
On matters, too, where few can bear 
E. g. aman, cut up, or broke [one ; 
Upon the wheel —a devilish fair one ! 
Yourcommon fractures, wounds and fits, 
Are nothing to such wholesale wits ; 
But, let the suff’rer gasp for life, 
The joke is then worth any money ; 
And, if he writhe beneath a knife,— 
Oh dear, that’s something quite too fun- 
In this respect, my Lord, you see [ny. 
The Roman wag and ours agree : 
Now as to your resemblance—mum— 
This parallel we need not follow ;}} 
Though ’tis in Ireland said by some 
Your Lordship beats TrBerivs hol- 
low ; [too serious 
Whips, chains—but these are things 
Tor me to mention or discuss ; 
Whene’er your Lordship acts TIBERIUS, 
PHIL. FuDGE’s part is Tacitus / 


audacie hominum fecerunt.”—Tacir. Annal. 
i. 74. 

* They certainly possess the same art of insti- 
gating their victims, which the Report of the 
Secret Committee attributesto Lord Sidmouth’s 
agents :—‘‘ socius (says ‘Tacitus of one of them) 
libidinum et necessitatum, guo pluribus indiciis 
inligaret.” 

ft *‘Neque tamen 11 Sereno noxe fuit, quem 
odium publicum tutiorem faciebat. Nam ut 
quis districtior accusator velut sacrosanctus 
erat.” —Annal. lib. ivy. 36.—Or, as it is trans- 
lated by Mr. Fudge’s friend, Murphy :—‘ This 
daring accuser had the curses of the people, and 


Sept. 2. 

Was thinking, had Lord 5 _pM—-TH got 
Any good decent sort of Plot 
Against the winter-time—if not, 
Alas, alas, our ruin’s fated ; 
All done up, and spiflicated / 
Ministers and all their vassals, 
Down from C—tT1L——6H to CASTLES,— 
Unless we can kick up a riot, 
Ne’er can hope for peace or quiet! 
What’s to be done ?—Spa-Fields was 

clever ; [mockings 

But even that brought gibes and 
Upon our heads—so, mem.—must never 

Keep ammunition in old stockings ; 
For fear some wag should in his cursed 

head 
Take it to say our force was worsted. 
Mem. too—when Sip an army raises, 
It must not be ‘‘incog.” like Bayes’s : 
Nor must the General be a hobbling 
Professor of the art of cobbling ; 
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns, 

Should say, with Jacobinic grin, 

He felt, from soleing Wellingtons, § 

A Wellington’s great soul within ! 
Nor must an old apothecary 

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence, 
With (what these wags would call, so 

merry ) 

Physical force and vial-ence ! 
No—no—our Plot, my Lord, must be 
Next time contrived more skilfully. 
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing 
So troublesomely sharp and knowing, 
So wise—in short, so Jacobin— 

"Tis monstrous hard to take him in. 
Sept. 6. 


Heard of the fate of our Ambassador 
In China, and was sorely nettled ; 
But think, my Lord, we should not pass 

it o’er 
Till all this matter’s fairly settled; 
And here’s the mode occurs to me : 
As none of our Nobility, 


the protection of the Emperor. Informers, in 
proportion as they rose in guilt, became sacred 
characters.” 

{ Murphy eyen confers upon one οἱ his 
speeches the epithet ‘‘ constitutional.” Mr. 
Fudge might have added to his parallel, that 
Tiberius was a good private character :— 
“egrerium vita famique quoad privatus.” 

δ“ Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus.” 

i There is one point of resemblance between 
Tiberius and Lord C. which Mr. Fudge might 
have mentioned— suspense semper et obscura 
verba.”’ 

4] Short boots, so called. 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


| 
Though for their own most gracious 
King, 
They would kiss hands, or—any thing, ) | 
an be persuaded to go through 
This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou; 
And as these Mandarins won't bend, 
Without some mumming exhibition, 
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send 
aks to them on a mission : 
As Legate, Jor could play his part, 
And if, in diplomatic art, 
The *‘ volto sciolto ”* ’s meritorious, 
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious! 
A title for him’s easily made ; 
And, by-the-by, one Christmas time, | 
If | remember right, he plauy’d 


Lord Morbtey in some _panto- 

mime ;— { him. 

As Earl of M—ri—y then gazette 
If other Earl of M—riu—y’|I let him. 


(And why should not the world be blest 
With two such stars, for East and | 
West ἢ) 
Then, when before the Yellow Sereen | 
He’s brought —and, sure, the very es- 
sence 
Of etiquette would be that scene 
Of Jog in the Celestial Presence !— 
He thus should say:—‘‘ Duke Ho and 
Soo, 
“Til play what tricks you please for you, 
“Tf youll, in turn, but do for me 
“* A tew small tricks you now shall see. 
“Tf I consult your Emperor’s liking 
“At least you'll do the same for my | 
King.” [grins, | 
He then should give them nine such 
As would astound ev’n Mandarins ; 
And throw such somersets, before 
The yous of King GEORGE (God 
bless him !) 
As, should Duke Ho but try them o’er, 
Set by Conructus, much distress | 
im! 


I start this merely as a hint, 

But think yow'll find some wisdom in’t : 
And, should you follow up the job, 

My son, my Lord, (you know poor Bos,) 
Would in the suite be glad to go 


* The open countenance, recommended by 
Lord Chesterfield. 

+ Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was 
not Grimaldi, but some very inferior performer, 
who played this part of ‘‘ Lord Morley” in the 
pantomime,—so much to the horror of the 
distinguished Earl ot that name. The expos- 
tulary letters of the Noble Earlto Mr. H—rr—s, 
upon this vulgar profanation of his spick-and. | 


505 


And help his Excellency, Jor ;— 
At least, like noble Amu —rst?’s son, 
The lad will do to practise ou. 


LETTER X. 


FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DORO- 
THY 


WELL, it isn’t the King, after all, my 
dear creature ! 
But don’t you go Jaugh, now—there’s 
nothing to quiz in’t— 
For grandeur of air and for grimace of 
feature, [hang him, he isn’t. 
He might be a King, Dou, though, 
At first, I felt hurt, for I wish’d it, 1 
own, (MALONE, — 
If for no other cause but to vex Miss 
(The great heiress, you know, of Shan- 
dangan, who’s here, [ Cashmere,§ 
Showing off with such airs, and a real 
While mine’s but a paltry old rabbit- 
skin, dear!) { thing, 
But Pa says, on oe pl consid’ring the 
“1 am just as well pleased it should not 
be the King; [and jolie, 
“ As I think for my Brppy, so gentille 
““ Whose charms may their price in 
an honest way fetch, 
“That a Brandenburgh”—(what is a 
Brandenburgh, DoLiy ?)— 
‘Would be, after all, no such very 
great catch. {| looking sly — 


| ‘If the R—G—rt indeed,”—added he, 


(You remember that comical squint of 
his eye, )— {can you say so, 

But I stopp’d him with “La, Pa, how 

“When the R—G--T loves none but 
old women, you know !” 


Which is fact, my dear Dotty—we, 


girls of eighteen, [fit to be seen; 
And so slim—Lord, he’d think us not 
And would like us much better as old— 
ay, as old [I’ve been told 
As that Countess of DesmMonpb, of whom 
That she lived to much more than a 
hundred and ten, [tree then ! 
And was kill’d by a fall from a cherry- 
What a frisky old girl! but—to come to 
my lover, 


| span new title, will, 1 trust, some time or other, 


be given to the world. 
{ See Mr. Ellis’s account of the Embassy. 
See Lady Morgan's ** France δ for the an- 


| ecdote, told her by Madame de Genlis, of the 


young gentleman whose love was cured by 
finding that his mistress wore a shawl “ pea» 
de lapin.”’ 


506 


Who, though not a King, is a hero 

ΤΊ] swear,— Π[τ [briefly run over, 

You shall hear all that’s happen’d, just 

Since that happy night, when we 
whisk’d through the air! 


Let me see—’twas on Saturday—yes, 
Do.Lty, yes— [οἵ my bliss, 
From that evening I date the first dawn 
When we both rattled off in that dear 
little carriage, 
Whose journey, Bos says, is so like 
Love and Marriage, 
“Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, 
down-hilly, [Dilly 15 
“And ending as dull as a six-inside 
Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the 
night through ; [ter to you, 
And, next day, having scribbled my let- 
With a heart full of hope this sweet fel- 
low to meet, [HUIT 
T set out with Papa, to see Louis Drx- 
Make his bow to some half dozen wo- 
men and boys, {le Rois— 
Who get up asmall concert of shrill Vive 
And how vastly genteeler, my dear, 
even this is, [hisses ! 
Than vulgar Pall-Mall’s oratorio of 
The gardens seem’d full—so, of course, 
we walk’d o’er ’em, 
’Mong orange-trees, clipp’d into town- 
bred decorum, [ statue, 
And daphnes, and vases, and many a 
There staring, with not ev’n a stitch on 
them, at you! [on the brink 
The ponds, too, we view’d—stood awhile 

* The ears, on the return, are dragged up 
slowly by a chain. 

i Mr. Bob need not be ashamed of his cook- 
ery jokes, when he is kept in countenance by 
such men as Cicero, St. Augustine, and that 
jovial bishop, Venantius Fortunatus. The pun 
of the great orator upon the “jus Verrinum,” 
which he ealls bad hog-broth, from a play upon 
both the words, is well known; and the Saint's 
puns upon the conversion of Lot's wife into 
salt, are equally ingenious:—“ In salem con. 
versa hominibus fidelibus quoddam preestitit 
condimentum, quo sapiant aliquid, unde illud 
caveatur exemplum.”—De Oivitat. Dei, lib. 
xvi., cap. 30.—The jokes of the pious favorite of 
Queen Radagunda, the convivial Bishop Ve- 
nantius, may be found among his poems, in 
some lines against a cook who had robbed him. 
The following is similar to Cicero’s pun :— 

Plus juscella Coci quam mea jura valent. 


See his poems, Corpus Poetar. Latin. tom. 
li., p. 1732.—Of the same kind was Montmaar’s 
joke, when a dish was spilt over him—‘‘sum- 
mum {us summa injuria;”’ and the same cele- 
brated parasite, in ordering a sole to be placed 
before fim, said,— 


MOORD’S WORKS. 
ee 


To contemplate the play of those 
pretty gold fishes— 
“Live bullion,” says merciless Bos, 
___ **which, I think, 
““Would, if coin’d, with a little mint 
sauce, be delicious "Ὁ 


But what, Douuy, what, is the gay er- 
ange grove, [of her love 2 
Or gold fishes, to her that’s in search 
In vain did I wildly explore every chair 
Where a thing like a man was—no lover 
sat there! ; 
In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly cast 
At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs 
that went past, {eurl,— 
To obtain, if I could, but a glance at that 
A glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, 
my girl, {men giv’n, 
As the lock that, Pa says,t is to Mussul- 
For the angel to hold by that ‘lugs 
them to heay’n !” [ quiz,. 
Alas, there went by me full many a 
And mustackios in plenty, but nothing 
like his ! “« well-a-day,” 
Disappointed, I found myself sighing out 
Thought of the words of T—m M—rr’s 
Trish Melody, [light,’’§ 
Something about the ‘ green spot of de- 
(Which, you know, Captain MacK1n- 
TOSH sung to us one day ;) 
Ah ΠΟΙ, my “spot” was that Satur- 
day night, [wither’d by Sunday ! 
And its verdure, how fleeting, had 
We dined at a tavern—La, what do I 
say ? 


Eligi cui dicas, tu mihi sola places. 


The reader may likewise see, among a good 
deal of kitehen erudition, the learned Lipsius's: 
jokes on cutting up a ecapon in his Saturnal. 
Sermon. lib. ii., eap. 2. 


{ For this scrap of knowledge “ Pa” was, 1 
suspect, indebted to a note upon Volney’s: 
ruins; a book which usually forms part of a 
Jacobin’s library, and with which Mr. Fudge 
must have been well acquainted at the time 
when he wrote his “Down with Kings,” &e. 
The note in Volney is as follows:—‘“It is by 
this tuft of hair, (on the crown of the head,) 
worn by the majority of Mussulmans, that the 
Angel of the Tomb is to take the elect and 
carry them to Paradise.” 


§ The young lady, whose memory is not very 
correct, must allude, 1 think, to the following 
lines :-— 


Oh that fairy form is ne’er forgot, 
Which First Love traced ; 

Still it ling’ring haunts the greenest spot: 
On Memory’s waste ! 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 


If Bos was to know !—a Restaura- 
teur’s, dear ; 
Where your properest ladies go dine 
every day, [tumblers, like beer. 
And drink Burgundy out of large 
Fine Bos (for he’s really grown super- 
fine) fot the party ; 
Condescended, for once, to make one 
Of course, though but three, we had 
dinner for nine, [1 ate hearty. 


And in spite of my grief, love, I own | 


Indeed, Dout, I know not how ’tis, but, 
in grief, [relief ; 
T have always found eating a wondrous 
And Bos, who’s in love, said he felt 
the same quite— 
** My sighs,” said he, ‘‘ ceased with the 
first glass I drank you; 
“‘The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs 
made me light, 
“ And—now that all’s o’er—why I'm 
—pretty well, thank you!” 


Ἵ ) 7 ves | A Py 7 
To my great annoyance, we sat rather | And hap vier still, when ’twas fixed, ere 


| That, if the next day should be pasteral 


late ; 
For Bossy and Pa had a furious debate 
About singing and cookery—Bossy, of 
course, [full force ;* 
Standing up for the latter Fine Art in 
And Pa saying, ‘‘God only knows 
which is worst, 
“The French Singers or Cooks, but I 
wish us well over it— 
“What with old Lats and Very, I’m 
“Tf my Lead or my stomach will ever 
recover it !” 


’Twas dark when we got to the Boule- 
vards to stroll, [street Macaronis, 
And in vain did I look ’mong the 
When, sudden it struck me—last hope 
of my soul— 
That some angel might take the dear 
man to TORTONT's !t 
We enterd—and, scarcely had Bos, 
with an air, {the waiters 
For a grappe ἃ la jardiniére call’d to 


When, ob Dott! I saw him—my hero | 


was there, 
(For I knew his white small-clothes 
and brown leather gaiters, ) 


* Cookery has been dignified by the re- 
searches ofa Bacon, (see his Natural History, 
Receipts, &c.,) and takes its station as one of 
the Fine Arts in the following passage of Mr. 
Dugald Stewart :—‘ Agreeable to this view of 
the subject, sweet may be said to be intrinsi- 
cally ae en bitter to be relatively pleas- 
ing; while both are, in many cases, equally 


[eursed | 


507 


A group of fair statues from Greece 

siniling o’er him,t [before him! 

And lots of red currant-juice sparkling 

Oh ΤΟΥ, these heroes —what creatures 

they are : (full of slaughter ! 

In the boudoir the same as in fields 

As cool inthe Beaujon’s precipitous car, 

As when safe at ToRTON(’s, o’er iced 

currant water! [my eestasy— 

He join’d us—imagine, dear creature, 

Join’d by the man I’d have broken ten 

necks to see ! [ glace, 

Bos wish’d to treat him with Punch dla 

But the sweet fellow swore that my 
beauté, my grace, 

And my je-ne-sais-quot (then his whis- 

kers he twirl’d) [in de vorld.”— 

Were, to him, ‘on de top of all Ponch 

How pretty !—though oft (as of course, 

it must be) [Greek, DOLL, to me. 

Both his French and his English are 

But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond 

heart did ; [we parted, 


weather, { together, 
Weall would set off, in French buggies, 
To see Montmorency—that place which, 
you know, [JAcquEs Roussgav. 
Is so famous for cherries and JEAN 
His card then he gave us—the name, 
rather creased— _ [nel at least! 


But ’twas Caticor—somethbing — a Colo- 
After which—surc there never was a 
hero so civil—he [ Rivoli, 


Saw us safe home to our door in Rue 
Where his last words, as, at parting, 

he threw [‘‘ How do you do!”y 
A soft look o’er bis shoulders, were — 


But, Lord,—there’s Papa for the post— 
I’m so vex’d— [for my next. 
Montmorency must now, love, be kept 
That dear Sunday night !—I was charin- 
ingly dress’d, [my best ; 
And—so_ providential!—was looking 
Such a sweet muslin gown, with a 
flounce—and my frills, 
You’ve no notion how rich—(though Pa 
has by the bills) 
essential to those effects, which, in the art of 
cookery, correspond to that composite beauty, 
which it is the object of the painter and of the 
poet to create." —ailosophical Essays. 
ὁ A fashionable café glacier on the Italian 
Boulevards. 
{* You eat your ice at Tortoni’s,” says Mr. 
Scott, “ under a Grecian group.” 
§ Not an unusual mistake with foreigners. 
ὃ) Ε 


508 


And you'd smile had you seen, where 
we sat rather near, [my dear. 

Colonel CaLicoT eyeing the cambric, 

Then the flow’rs in my bonnet—but, la, 
it’s in vain— 

So, good-by, my sweet DoLti—I shall 


soon write again! B. F. 
Nota bene—our love to all neighbors 
about— [gout ? 


Your Papa in particular—how 15 his 


ΡΟ S.—I’ve just open’d my letter to say, 

In your next you must tell me, (now do, 
DOLLY, pray, [quiz, ) 

For Ihate to ask Bos, he’s so ready to 

What sort of a thing, dear, a Branden- 
burgh is. 


LETTER XI. 


FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO 


Yes, ’twas a cause, as noble and as 
great 

As ever hero died to vindicate— 

A Nation’s right to speak a Nation’s 
voice, [choice ! 

And own no power but of the Nation’s 

Such was the grand, the glorious cause 
that now [brow ; 

Hung trembling on NApo.eon’s single 

Such the sublime arbitrament, that 
pour’u, 

In patriot eyes, alight around his sword, 

A hallowing light, which never, since 
the day [way ! 

Of his young victories, had illumed its 


Oh, *twas not then the time for tame de- 
bates, [your gates ; 
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at 
When he, who late had fled your Chief- 
tain’s eye, fly,* 
As geese from eagles on Mount Taurus 
Denounced against the land, that spurn’d 
his chain, 
Myriads of swords to bind it fast again— 
Myriads of fierce invading swords, to 
track [vengeance back ; 
Through your best blood his path of 
When Hurope’s Kings, that never yet 
combined [conjoin’d, 
But (like those upper Stars, that, when 
*See Allian, lib. v. cap. 29,—who tells us 
that these geese, from a consciousness of their 
own loquacity, always cross Mount Taurus 
With stones in their bills, to prevent any un- 
Jucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles 
--διαπετονται σιώπωντες. ᾿ 
} Somebody (Fontenelle, I believe) has said, 


MOORH’S WORKS. 
eS ee στ ΠΌΘΕΝ 


Shed war and pestilence) to scourge 
mankind, 

Gather’d around, with hosts from every 
shore, 

Hating NAPOLEON much, but Freedom 
more, [see 

And, in that coming strife, appall’d to 

The world yet left one chance for lib- 

erty !— [net 

No, ’twas not then the time to weave a 

Of bondage around your Chief; to curb 
and fret [fight, 

Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the 

When every hope was in his speed and 
might— 

To waste the hour of action in dispute, 

And coolly plan how freedom’s boughs 
should shoot, [root / 

When your Invader’s axe was at the 


No, sacred Liberty! that God who 
throws 

Thy light around, like his own sunshine, 
knows 

How well I love thee, and how deeply 
hate 


All tyrants, upstart and Legitimate— 

Yet, in that hour, were France my na- 
tive land, 

I would have follow’d with quick heart 
and hand, 

NAPOLEON, NERO,—ay, 
whom— 

To snatch my country from that dam- 
ning doom, [quer’d waits— 

That deadiiest curse that on the econ- 

A conqueror’s satrap, throned within 
her gates ! 


no matter 


True, he was false—despotic—all you 
please— [ties— 

Had trampled down man’s holiest liber- 

Had, by a genius, form’d for nobler 
things 

Than lie within the grasp of vulgar 
Kings, 

But raised the hopes of men—as eaglets 

With tortoises aloft into the sky— _ | fly 

To dash them down again more shat- 
tringly ! 

All this I own—but stillt * τε 

* * * * 


* ΕΣ 


that if he had his hand full of truths, he would 
open but one finger at a time; and the same 
sort of reserve I find to be necessary with re- 
spect to Mr. Connor’s very plain-spoken letters. 
The remainder of this Epistle is so full of un- 
safe matter-of-fact, that it must, for the present 
at least, be withheld from the public. 


LETTER XII. 


FROM M188 BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY ——. 


AT last, Dotiy,—thanks to a potent 
emetic, (sympathetic, 
Which Bossy and Pa, with grimace 
Have swallow’d this morning to balance 
the bliss [visses — 
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d’écre- 
I’ve a morning at home to myself, and 
sit down [of town. 
To describe you our heavenly at out 
How agog you must be for this letter, 
my dear! {to hear 
Lady ΤΑΝΕ, in the novel, less languish’d 


‘If that elegant cornet she met at Lord 


NEVILLE’S {devils, 

Was actually dying with loye—or blue 

But Love, Dotty, Love is the theme J 

ursue ; {nothing to do— 

With Blue Devils, thank heay’n, I have 

Except, indeed, dear Colonel Caticor 

spies Leyes, 

Any imps of that color in certain blue 

Which he stares at till J, Dou, at his 

do the same; {often exclaim, 

Then he simpers—I blush—and would 

If I knew but the French for it, ‘‘ Lord, 
Sir, for shame !” 


Well, the morning was lovyely—the trees 
in full dress [express— 
For the happy occasion—the sunshine 
Had we order’d it, dear, of the best poet 
going, {and glowing. 
It scarce could be furnish’d more golden 
Though late when we started, the scent 
of the air 
Was like GATTIR’s rose-water,—and, 
bright, here and there, [tering yet, 
On the grass an odd dew-drop was glit- 
Like my aunt’s diamond pin on her 
green tabbinet ! 
While the birds seem’d to warble as 
bless’d on the boughs, [spouse ; 
As if each a plumed Calicot had for her 
And the grapes were all blushing and 
kissing in rows, ever one goes 
And—in short, need I tell you, wher- 
With the creature one loves, ’tis all cou- 
leur de rose ; [long, see 
And, ah, I shall ne’er, lived I ever so 
A day such as that at divine Montmo- 
ΤΌΠΟΥ ! 
* The column in the Place Vendéme. 


1“ Employant pour cela le plus beau papier 
doré, séchant l’écriture avee de la poudre 


5) Fi 


509 

There was but one drawback—at first 

when we started, [ed ; 

The Colonel and I were inhumanly part- 

How cruel—young hearts of such mo- 

ments to rob ! [with Bor ; 

He went in Pa’s buggy, and I went 

And, Lown, I felt spitefully happy to 

know [80-80. 

That Papa and his comrade agreed but 

For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler 
of BONEY’s— 

Served with him of course—nay, I’msure 

they were cronies. {can trace 

So martial his features! dear Dour, you 

Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his 

face [brass, * 

As you do on that pillar of glory and 


| Which the poor Duc ΡῈ B—r1 must hate 


so to pass ! 
It appears, too, he made—as most for- 
eigners do— [or two. 
About Inglish affairs an odd blunder 
For example—misled by the names, I 
dare say— [Lord C GU } 
de confounded JAcK CASTLES with 
And—sure such a blunder no mortal hit 
ever on— [clever one ! 
Fancied the present Lord C—mp --ν the 


But politics ne’er were the sweet fel- 
low’s trade ; [016] was made. 

’Twas for war and the ladies my Col- 

And, oh, had you heard, as together we 
walk’d 

Through that beautiful forest, 
sweetly he talk’d; 

And how perfectly well he appear’d, 
Do.Lu, to know 

All the life and adventures of JEAN 
JACQUES RoussEAu !— 

“Twas there,’ said he—not that his 
words 1 can state ;— 

’Twas agibb’rish that Cupid alone could 
translate ;— [small and remote, 

But ‘‘ there,” said he, (pointing where, 

The dear Hermitage rose,) “there his 
JULIE he wrote,— [ΟΥ̓ erasure ; 

‘Upon paper gilt-edged,t without blot 

‘Then sanded it over with silver and 
azure, {not do ?— 

‘¢ And—oh, what will genius and fancy 

‘*Tied the leaves up together with nom- 
pareille blue !” (of emotions 

What atrait of Rousseau ! what a crowd 


how 


d’azur et d'argent, et cousant mes cahiers avee 
de Ja nompareille bleue.”—Les Confessions, 
part ii. liv. 9. 


510 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


From sand and blue ribands are con- 

jured up here ! [tions 

Alas, that a man of such exquisite* no- 

Should send his poor brats to the 
Foundling, my dear ! 


<°Twas here, too, perhaps,” Colonel 
CALICOT said— {led— 
As down the small garden he pensively 


(Though once I could see his sublime | 


forehead wrinkle [ periwinklef) 
With rage not to find there the loved 
<?Pwas here he received from the fair 
D’Epinay, {every day, ) 
“(Who call’d him so sweetly her Beart 
«That dear flannel petticoat, pull’d off 
to form [warm "ὁ 
<A waistcoat to keep the enthusiast 


Such, Dou, were the sweet recollec- 
tions we ponder’d, 

As, fullof romance, through that val- 
ley we wander’d. {odd it is!) 

The flannel (one’s train of ideas, how 

Led us to talk about other commodities, 

Cambric, and silk, and—I ne’er shall 
forget, [to its set, 

For the sun was then hast’ning in pomp 

And full on the Colonel’s dark whis- 
kers shone down, 

When he ask’d me, with eagerness, — 
who made my gown? 

The question confused me—for, Dot, 
you must know, [friend long ago, 

And I ought to have told my _ best 

That, by Pa’s strict command, I no long- 
er employ] [LE Ror; 

That enchanting couturiére, Madame 

But am forced now to have Vicror- 
INE, who—deuce take her !— 

It seems is, at present, the King’s man- 
tua-maker— [the smartest, 

Imean of his party—and, though much 

LE Roris condemn’d as a rank Bona- 
partist. 1 

*This word, ‘‘exquisite,” is evidently a 
favorite of Miss Fudge’s; and I understand 
she was not a little angry when her brother 
Bob committed a pun on the last two syllables 
of it in the following couplet :— 
ee cL rota praise your Poem—but tell me, how 

is it, 

When 7 ery out “Exquisite,” 2cho cries 

“quiz it ?” 

} The flower which Rousseau brought into 
such fashion among the Parisians, by exclaim- 
ing one day, ‘‘ Ah, voila de la pervenche!” 

} “Mon ours, voila votre asyle—et vous, 
Aye ours, ne viendrez vous pas aussi ?’_—&e., 
OC, 

§ “Un jour, qwil geloit trés-fort, en ouvrant 


Think, ΤΟΙ, how confounded I 
look’d—so well knowing 
The Colonel’s opinion—my cheeks 


were quite glowing ; 
I stammer’d out something— nay, even 
half-named [he exclaim’d, 
The legitimate sempstress, when, loud 
“Yes, yes, by the such Ὁ plain to 
be seen [bh Vicrorine!” 
“Tt was made by that Bourbonite 
What a word for a hero!—but heroes 
will err, [just as they were. 
And I thought, dear, I'd tell you things 
Besides, though the word on good man- 
ners intrench, [French. 
Tassure you ’tis not half so shocking in 


But this cloud, though embarrassing, 
soon pass’d away, [that day, 
And the bliss altogether, the dreams of 
The thoughts that arise, when such dear 
fellows woo us—_ [thing to us— 
The nothings that then, love, are every 
That quick correspondence of glances 
and sighs [post of the Hyes”— 
And what Bos calls the ‘Twopenny- 


Ah, Doxu! though I know you've a 


heart, ’tis in vain {to explain. 
To a heart so unpractised these things 
They can only be felt, in their fulness 
divine, [decline, 


By her who has wander'd, at evening’s 


Through a valley like that, with a Colo- 
nel like mine! 


But here I must finish—for Bos, my 
dear DOLLy, [melancholy, 
Whom physic, I find, always makes 
Is seized with a fancy for churchyard 
reflections ; [lections, 


| And, full of all yesterday’s rich recol- 


je me fisse faire un gilet. 


Is just setting off for Montmartre—“ for 
there is,” 
Said he, looking solemn, ‘the tomb 
of the Virys !** 
un paquet quelle m’envoyoit, je “trouvai un 
petit jupon de flanelle d’ Angleterre, qu’elle me 
marquoit avoir porté, et dont elle vouloit que 
Ce soin, plus qu’ami- 
cal, me parut si tendre, comme si elle se fat 
dépouillée pour me vétir, que, dans mon émo- 
tion, je baisai vingt fois en pleurant le billet et 
le jupon.” 

Ϊ Miss Biddy’s notions of French pronuncia- 
tion may be perceived in the rhymes which 
she always selects for ‘‘ Le Rot.” 

|] Le Rot, who was the Coutwriére of the 
Empress Maria Louisa, is at present, of course, 
out of fashion, and is succeeded in her station 
by the Royalist mantua-maker, VICTORINE. 

** It is the brother of the present excellent 


we 


THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. 51 


“Long, long have I wish'd, as a votary | 


true, {my moans; 

“O'er the grave of such talents to utter 

** And, to-day—as thy stomach is not in 
good cue 

“Por the 7165]. of the 
He insists upon my going with him— 
how teasing ! {shall lie 

This letter, however, dear Douty, 
Unseal’d in my draw’r, that, if anything 
pleasing [ good-by. 
Occurs while I’m out, I may tell you— 

B. F 


Four o'clock. 
Oh, Doxty, dear Doty, I’m ruin’d for- 
ever— [never ! 
ITne’er shall be happy again, Dotty, 
To think of the wretch—what a victim 
was 1! {shall die— 


"Tis too much to endure—I shall die, I | 


My brain’sin a fever—my pulses beat 
uick— [sick ! 
I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly 
Oh, what do you think? after all my ro- 
mancing, (glancing, 
My visions of glory, my sighing, my 
This Colonel—I scarce can commit it to 
paper— [draper !! 
This Colonel’s no more than a vile linen- 
"Tis true as I live —I had coax’d brother 
Bos so 
(You'll hardly make out what I’m writ- 
ing, I sob so,) 
For some little gift on my birth-day— 
September (remember— 
The thirtieth, dear, I’m eighteen, you 
That Bos to a shop kindly order’d the 
coach, 
(Ah, little I thought who the shop- 
To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs 
de poche, 
Which, in papee hours, [ have sigh’d 
for, my love— 
(The most beautiful things—two Na- 
poleons the price— 
And one’s name in the corner embroid- 
er’d so nice !) 
Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter’d 
the shop, 
But—ye Gods, what a phantom ! —I 
thought I should drop— 
There he stood, my dear DoL~ty—no 
room for a doubt— 


Restaurateur who lies entombed so magnifi- 
cently in the Cimetiére Montmartre. The in- 
scription on the column at the head of the 


[man would prove, ) | 


} 
| 


| 


rat their bones /” | 
VERYS—I’ll | 


There, behind the vile counter, these 
eyes saw him stand, 
With a piece of French cambric before 
him roll’d out, 
And that horrid yard-measure up- 
raised in his hand ! 


_Oh—Papa, all along, knew the secret, 


‘tis clear— 


"Twas a shopman he meant by a “ Bran- 


denburgh,” dear! [ἃ King, 
The man, whom I fondly had fancied 
And, when that too delightful delu- 
sion was past, [erous thing— 
As a hero had worshipp’d—vile, treach- 
To turn out but a low linen-draper at 
last ! 
My head swam around—the wretch 
smiled, I believe, 
But his smiling, alas, could no longer de- 
ceive— 
I fell back on BoB—my whole heart. 
seem’d to wither— [hither ! 
And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back 
I only remember that Bos, as I caught 
him, [the Kiddy ! 
With cruel facetiousness said, ‘Curse 
“A stanch Reyolutionist always I’ve 
thought him, {one, Brppy!” 
“But now I find ont he’s a Counter 


Only think, my dear creature, if this 
should be known 
To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss Ma- 
LONE, 
What a story twill be at Shandangan 
forever! 
What laughs and what quizzing she'll 
have with the men! 
It will spread through the country—and 
never, oh, never 
Can Brppy be seen at Kilrandy again ! 
Farewell— I shall do something des- 
yrate, I fear— [ear, 
And, ah ! if my fate ever reaches your 
One tear of compassion my DoLit will 
not grudge [friend, 
To her poor—broken-hearted—young 
Brippy FupeGr. 


Nota bene—I am sure you will hear, 
with delight, [NET to-night, 
That we're going, all three, to see Bru- 
A laugh will revive me—and kind Mr. 
Cox {ernor’s box. 
(Do you know him ?) has got us the Goy- 


tomb concludes with the following words:— 
* Toute sa vic fut consacrée aux arts utiles.” 


512 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


FABLES FOR THE 


Tu Regibus alas 
Eripe. 


Clip the wings 


Of these high-flying, arbitrary Kings. 


TO LORD BYRON. 


DEAR LorpD Byron, 

THOUGH this volume should possess 
no other merit in your eyes, than that 
ofreminding you of the short time we 
passed together at Venice, when some 
of the trifles which it contains were 
written, you will, I am sure, receive the 
dedication of it with pleasure, and be- 
lieve that I am, 

My dear Lord, 
Ever faithfully yours, 
iB 


PREFACE. 


THOUGH it was the wish of the mem- 
bers of the Poco-curante Society (who 
have lately done me the honor of elect- 
ing me their Secretary) that I should 

refix my name to the following Miscel- 
any, it is but fair to them and to my- 
selt to state, that, except in the “ pain- 
ful pre-eminence ” of being employed to 
transcribe their lucubrations, my claim 
to such a distinction in the title-page is 
not greater than that of any other gen- 
tleman, who has contributed his share 
to the contents of the volume. 

I had originally intended to take this 
opportunity of giving some account of 
the origin and objects of our Institution, 
the names and characters of the differ- 
ent members, &ec., &c.—but as I am 
at present preparing for the press the 
First Volume of the ‘Transactions of 
the Poco-curante Society,” I shall re- 
serve for that occasion all further de- 
tails upon the subject ; and content my- 
self here with referring, for a general in- 
sight into our tenets, to a Song whicu 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 


VIRGIL, Georg. lib. iy. 


DRYDEN’s Translation. 


will be found at the end of this work, 
and which is sung to us on the first day 
of every month, by one of our oldest 
members, to the tune of (as far as I can 
recollect, being no musician,) either 
“Nancy Dawson” or “ΗΠ stole away 
the Bacon.” 

It may be well also to state, for the 
information of those critics who attack 
with the hope of being answered, and of 
being, thereby, brought into notice, that 
it is the rule of this Society to return no 
other answer to such assailants, than is 
contained in the three words, ‘*‘ Non cu- 
rat Hippoclides,” (meaning, in English, 
“ Hippoclides does not care a fig,”) 
which were spoken two thousand years 
ago by the first founder of Poco-curant- 
ism, and have ever since been adopted 
as the leading dictum of the sect. 

THOMAS BROWN. 


FABLES FOR THE HOLY 
ALLIANCE. . 


FABLE I. 


THE DISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE, 


A DREAM, 


I’ve had a dream that bodes no gvod 
Unto the Holy Brotherhood. 
I may be wrong, but I confess— 
As far as it is right or lawful 
For one, no conjurer, to guess— 
It seems to me extremely awful, 


Methought, upon the Neva’s flood 
A beautiful Iee Palace stood, 
A dome of frost-work, on the plan 


or that once built by Empress Anne, * 
Which shone by moonlight—as the tale 
Like an Aurora Borealis. Tis— 


Tn this said Palace, furnish’d all 

And lighted as the best on land are, 
I dreamt there was a splendid Ball, 

Given by the Emperor Alexander, 
To entertain with all due zeal 

Those holy gentlemen, who’vye shown a 
Regard so kind for Burope’s weal, 

At Troppau, Laybach, and Verona. 
The thought was happy—and design’d 
To hint how thus the human Min 
May, like the stream imprison’d there, 
Be check’d and chill’d, till it can bear 
‘The heaviest Kings, that ode or sonnet 
Wer yet be-praised, to dance upon it. 


And all were pleased, and cold, and 
stately, 
Shivering in grand illumination— 


_ Admired the superstructure greatly, 


2 


Nor gave one thought to the founda- 


Much too the Caar himself exulted,[tion. | 


To all plebeian fears a stranger, [ed, 


For, Madame Krudener, when consult- | 


Had pledged her word there was no 
So, on he caper’d, fearless quite, [ danger. 
Thinking himself extremely clever, 
And waltz’d away with all his might, 
As if the Frost would last forever. 


Just faney how a bard like me, 


Who reverence monarchs, must have | : 
: | How fast the globes and sceptres glided 


To see that goodly company, [trembled 
At such a ticklish sport assembled. 


Nor were the fears, that thus astounded 

My loyal soul, at all unfounded— 

For, lo! ere long, those walls so massy 
Were seized with an ill-omen’d drip- 


ping, 
And, o’er the floors, now growing glassy, 
Their Holinesses took to slipping. 
The Czar, half through a Polonaise, 
Could searce get on for downright 
stumbling ; 
And Prussia, though to slippery ways 
Well used, was cursedly near tum- 


bling. 
Yet still twas, who could stamp the floor 
most, [most.— 


Russia and Austria ’mong the ἴοτο- 
And now, to an Italian air, 

* “Tt is well known that the Empress Anne 
built a palace of ice on the Neva, in 1740, 
which was fifty-two feet in length, and when 


a 


ἣν Ἶ FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE 


513 
This precious brace would, hand in 
hand, go; 
Now-—while old Louis, from his chair, 
Dntreated theta his toes to spare— 
Call’d loudly out for a Fandango. 


And a Fandango, ‘faith, they had, 
At which they all set to, like mad! 
Never were Kings (though small th’ ex- 
pense is 
Of wit among their Excellencies) 
So out of all their princely senses. 
But, ah, that dance—that Spanish 
dance— 
Searee was the luckless strain begun, 
When, glaring red, as ’twere a glance 
Shot from an angry Southern sun, 


_A light throughall the chambers flamed, 


Astonishing old Father Frost, 
Who, bursting into tears, exclaim’d, 
“A thaw, by Jove —we’re lost, we’re 
lost ; 
“Run, France—a second Waterloo 
‘Ts come to drown you—suave aui 
peut!” 


Why, why will monarchs caper so 
In palaces without foundations ?— 
Instantly all was in a flow, [ tions— 
Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decora- 
Those Royal Arms, that look’ so nice, 
Cut out in the resplendent ice— 
Those Hagles, handsomely provided 
With double heads for double deal- 
ings—- 


Out of their claws on all the ceilings! 
Proud Prussia’s double bird of prey, 
Tame as aspatch cock, slunk away ; 
While—just like France herself, when 

she [is— 

Proclaims how great her nayal skill 


| Poor Louis’ drowning fleur-de-lys 


Imagined themselves water-lilies. 


And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, 
But—still more fatal execution— 

The Great Legitimates themselves 
Seem’d in a state of dissolution. 

Th’ indignant Czar—when just about 
To issue a sublime Ukase, 

“Whereas all light must be kept out”— 
Dissolved to nothing in its blaze. 

Next Prussia took its turn to melt, 

And, while his lips illustrious felt 

The influence of this southern air, 


illuminated had a surprising effect.”—PINKER- 


"TON. 


514 MOORHE’S 


Some word, like ‘ Constitution’— 
lon 
Congeal’d in frosty silence there— 
Came slowly thawing from his tongue, 
While Louis, lapsing by degrees, 
And sighing out a faint adieu 
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese, 
And smoking fondus, quickly grew 
Himself, into a fondu too ; — 
Or like that goodly King they make 
Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake, 
When, in some urchin’s mouth, alas, 
Tt melts into a shapeless mass! 


In short, I scarce could count a minute, 
Ere the bright dome, and all within it, 
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were 
gone— 

And nothing now was seen or heard 
But the bright river, rushing on, 

Happy as an enfranchised bird, 
And prouder of that natural ray, 
Shining along its chainless way— 
More proudly happy thus to glide 

In simple grandeur to the sea, 
Than when, in sparkling fetters tied, 
’Twas deck’d with all that kingly pride 

Could bring to light its slavery ! 


Such is my dream—and, I confess, 

I tremble at its awfulness. 

That Spanish Dance—that southern 
beam— 

But I say nothing—there’s my dream— | 

And Madame Krudener, the she-prophet, 

May make just what she pleases of it. 


FABLE II. 
THE LOOKING-GLASSES. 
PROEM. 


WuereE Kings haye been by mob-elec- 
tions [see 
Raised to the Throne, ’tis strange to 
What different and what odd perfections 
Men have required in Royalty. 
Some, liking monarchslarge and plumpy, 
Have chos’n their Sovereigns by the 
weight ;— {your dumpy, 
Some wish’d them tall, some thought 
Dutch-built, the true Legitimate.* 
The Easterns in a Prince, ’tis said, 
Prefer what’s called a jolter-head ;t 
Th’ Egyptians wer’n’t at all particular, 
So that their Kings had not red hair— 


*The Goths had a law to choose always a 
short, thick man for their King.—MUNSTER, 


Cosmog. lib. ili. p. 164, 


WORKS 


This fault not even the greatest stickler 
For the blood royal well could bear. 
A thousand more such illustrations 
Might be adduced from various nations. 
But, ’mong the many tales they tell us, 
Touching th’ acquired or natural right 
Which some men have to rule their fel- 
lows, 
There’s one, which I shall hererecite :— 


FABLE, 


There was a land—to name the place 
Ts neither now my wish nor duty— 

Where reign’d a certain royal race, 
By right of their superior beauty. 


What was the cut legitimate 
Ofthese great persons’ chins and noses, 
By right of which they ruled the state, 
No history I have seen discloses. 


But so it was—a settled case— 

Some Actof Parliament, pass’dsnugly, 
Had voted them a beauteous race, 

And all their faithful subjects ugly. 


As rank, indeed, stood high or low, 
Some change it made in visualorgans ; 

Your Peers were decent-- Knights, so so-- 
But all your common people, gorgons ! 


Of course, if any knave had hinted 
That the King’s nose was turned awry, 
Or that the Queen (God bless her!) 
squinted — 
The Judges doom’d that knave to die. 


But rarely things like this oceurr’d, 
The people to their King were du- 
And took it on his Royal word, [teous, 
That they were frights, and He was 
beauteous. 


The cause whereof, among all classes, 
Was simply this—these island elves 
Had never vet seen looking- glasses, 
And, therefore, did not know them- 
selves. 


Sometimes, indeed, their neighbors’ faces 

Might strike them as more full of rea- 
son, 

More fresh than those in certain places— 

But, Lord, the very thought was trea- 
son. 


Besides, howe’er we love our neighbor, 
And take his face’s part, ’tis known 


t“In a Prince a jolter-head is invaluable-” 
—Oriental Field Sports. 


Ψ 


We ne’er so much in earnest labor, 
As when the face attack’d’s our own. 


So, on they went—the crowd believing— 


(As crowds well govern’d always do) | 


Their rulers, too, themselves deceiving— 
So old the joke they thought ’twas true. 


But jokes, we know, if they too far go, 
Must have an end—and so, one day, 
Upon that coast there was a cargo 
Of looking-glasses cast away. 


Twas said, some Radicals, somewhere, 
Had laid their wicked heads together, 

And forced that ship to founder there,— 
While some believe it was the weather. 


However this might be, the freight 
Was landed without fees or duties ; 
And from that hour historians date 
The downfall of the Race of Beauties. 


The looking-glasses got about, 
And grew so common through the Jand, 
That scarce a tinker could walk out, 
Without a mirror in his hand. 


Comparing faces, morning, noon, 

And night, their constant occupation— 
By dint of looking-glasses, soon, 

They grew a most reflecting nation. 


In vain the Court, aware of errors 
Τὴ all the old, establish’d mazards, 
Prohibited the use of mirrors, 
And tried to break them at all haz- 
ards :— 


In vain—their laws might just as well 


Have been waste paper on the shelves; | 


That fatal freight had broke the spell ; 
People had look’d—and knew them- 
selves. 


Tf chance a Duke, of birth sublime, 
Presumed upon his ancient face, 

(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,) 
They popp’d a mirror to his Grace : — 


Just hinting, by that gentle sign, 
How little Nature holds it true, 
That what is call’d an ancient line, 
Must be the line of Beauty too. 


From Dukes’ they pass’d to regal phiz- 
zes, Lown, 
Compared them proudly with their 


_ And eried, ‘‘ How could such monstrous | 
-| The brand aloft, its sparkles shook, 


quizzes 


[throne !” 
“In Beauty’s name 


usurp the 


FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 515 


They then wrote essays, pao 
ioc Cosmetical (iconomy, [books, 
Which made the King try various looks, 
But none improved his physiognomy. 


And satires at the Court were levell’d, 
And small lampoons, so full of sly- 
nesses, (ill’d 
That soon, in short, they quite be-dey- 
Their Majesties and Royal Highnesses. 


At length—but here I drop the veil, 

To spare some loyal folks’ sensations ; 
Besides, what follow’d is the tale 

Of all such late enlighten’d nations ; 


Of all to whom old Time discloses 
A truth they should have sooner 


known— 
That Kings have neither rights nor 
noses 


A whit diviner than their own. 


FABLE III. 
THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. 


I saw it all in Fancy’s glass— 

| Herself, the fair, the wild magician, 

| Who bids this splendid day-dream pass, 
And named each gliding apparition. 


’T was like a torch-race—such as they 
Of Greece perform’d, in ages gone, 

| When the fleet youths, in long array, 

Pass’d the bright torch triumphant on, 


| I saw th’ expectant nations stand, 

To catch the coming flame in turn ;— 

| I saw, from ready hand to hand, 

The clear, though struggling, glory 
burn. 


| And, oh, their joy, as it came near, 

| ’Twas, in itself, a joy to see ;— 
While Fancy whisper’d in my ear, 
‘That torch they pass is Liberty !” 


| And, each, as she received the flame, 
Lighted her altar with its ray ; 

| Then, smiling, to the next who came 
Speeded it on its sparkling way. 


| From ALBION first, whose ancient shrine 
| Was furnish’d with the fire already, 
| CoLUMBIA caught the boon divine, 

And lit a flame, like Albion’s, steady. 


The splendid gift then GALLIA took, 
And, like a wild Baechante, raising 


' As she would set the world a-blazing ! 


516 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ae kindling wild, so fierce and high 
Her altar blazed into the air, 
That ALBION, to that fire too nigh, 
Shrunk back, and shudder’d at its 
glare! 


Next, SPAIN, so new was light to her, 
Leap’d at the torch—but, ere the 
spark 
That fell upon her shrine could stir, 
Twas gran dane all again was 
dark. 


Yet, no—not quench’d—a treasure, 
worth 

So much to mortals, rarely dies: 
Again her living light look’d forth, 


And shone, a beacon, in all eyes. 


Who next received the flame ? alas, 
Unworthy NApLES—shame of shames, 
That ever through such hands should 


pass 
That brightest of all earthly flames ! 


Scarce had her fingers touch’d the torch, 
When, frighted by the sparks it shed, 

Nor w aiting even to feel the scorch, 
She dropp’é it to the earth—and fled, 


And fall’n it might have long remain’d ; 
But GREECE, who saw her moment 
now, [ stain’d, 
Caught up ‘the prize, though prostrate, 


And waved it round her beauteous | 


brow. 


And Fancy bade me mark where, o’er 
Her altar, as its flame ascended, 
Fair, laurell’d spirits seem’d to soar, 
Who thus in song their voices blend- 
ed 


‘Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame, 
‘«Divinest gift of Gods to men ! 
“From GREECE thy earliest splendor 
came, 
“To GREECE thy ray returns again. 
‘Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round, 
‘‘ When dimm/’d, revive, when lost, 
return, [ found, 
“Till not a shrine through earth be 
“On which thy glories shall not 
burn "ἢ" 


FABLE IV. 
THE FLY AND THE BULLOCK. 
PROEM. 
OF all that, to the sage’s survey, 
This world presents of topsy-turvy, 


| 


There’s naught so much disturbs one’s 
patience 
As little minds in lofty stations. 
’Tis like that sort of painful wonder, 
Which slender columns, laboring under 
Enormous arches, wive beholders ; 
Or those poor Caryatides, 
Condemn'd to smile and stand at ease, 
With a whole house upon their shoul- 
ders. 


Tf, as in some few royal cases, 
Some minds are born into such places— 
If they are there by Right Divine, 

Or any such sufficient reason, 
Why—Heav’n forbid we should 

pine !— 

To wish it otherwise were treason ; 
Nay, ev’n to see it in a vision, 
Would be what lawyers call misprision. 


re- 


Sir RoperT FILMER saith~ and he, 
Of course, knew all about the mat- 
texr— 
“ Both men and beasts love Monarchy ;” 
Which proves how rational -- the lat- 
ter. 
SIDNEY, we know, or wrong or right, 


| Entirely differ’d from the Knight! 


Nay, hints a King may lose his head, 
By slipping aw kw ardly his bridle :— 

But this is treasonous, ill-bred, 

And (now-a-days, when Kings are led 
In patent snafiles) downright idle. 


No, no—it isn’t right-line Kings, 
(Those sovereign lords in le ading-strings 
Who, from their birth, are Faith-De- 
fenders, ) [ tenders, 
That move my wrath—’tis your pre- 
Your mushroom rulers, sons of earth, 
bina at like t’others, bores by birth, 
Establish’d gratia Det bloekheads, 
Born with three kingdoms in their pock- 
ets— 
Yet, with a brass that nothing stops, 
Push up into the loftiest stations, 
And, though too dull to manage shops, 
Presume, the dolts, to manage na- 
tions ! 


This class it is, that moves my gall, 

And stirs up bile, and spleen, and all. 

While other senseless things appear 

To know the limits of their sphere— 

While not a cow on earth romances 

So much as to conceit she dances— 

While the most jumping frog we know 
or, 


FABLES FOR THE 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 517 


Would scarce at Astley’s hope to show 

off— | 

Your **'*s, your ** “s dare, [them | 

Untrain’d as are their minds, to set) 
To any business, any where 

At any time that fools will let them. 


But leave we here these upstart things— 
My business is, just now, with Kings ; 
To whom, and to their right-line glory, 
I dedicate the following story. 


FABLE, 


THE wise men of Egypt were secret as | 
dumunies ; {ed to teach, | 
And,ev’n when they most condescend- 
They pack’d up their meaning, as they | 
did their mummies, [one’s reach. | 

In so many wrappers, ‘twas out of. 


They were also good people, much— 
iven to Kings— 

Fond of craft and of crocodiles, mon- | 

keys and mystery ; 

But blue-bottle flies were their best be-_ 

loved things— [ history. 

As wil] partly appear inthis very short 


A Seythian philosopher (nephew, they 
say, [Anacharsis) 

To that other great traveller, young 
Stepp’d into a temple at Memphis one | 
day, [eal farces, | 

To have a short peep at their mysti 


He saw* a brisk blue-bottle Fly on the | 
altar, [something drvine ; | 
Made much of, and worshipp’d, as 
While a large, handsome Bullock, led | 
there in a halter, [shrine. | 
Before it lay stabb’d at the foot of the 


| 


Surprised at such doings, he whisper’d 
his teacher— | 
“Tf ’tisn’t impertinent, may I ask why 


““Shonld a Bullock, that useful and 


powerful creature, Fly Ὁ" 
‘Be thus offer’d up to a blue-bottle 


““No wonder’’—said  t’other—‘‘ you 
stare at the sight, [view it— 
“But we as a Symbol of Monarchy 
‘‘That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate 
Right, [sacrificed £o-it.2” 

“ And that Bullock, the People, that’s | 


* According to lian, it was in the island of | 
Leucadia they practised this ceremony—gvew 
βουν ταις wucacs.— De Animal. lib. ii. cap. ἃ. } 

t Ames, demi-dmes, &e. 


FABLE Y. 
CHURCH AND STATE. 
PROEM, 


“The moment any religion becomes national, 


, or established, its purity must certainly be lost, 


because it is then impossible to keep it uncon- 
nected with men’sinterests ; and, if connected, 
it must inevitably be perverted by them.”— 


| SOAME JENYNS. 


Tuus did SoAME Jenyns—though ἃ 


Tory, 
A Lord of Trade and the Plantations, 
Feel how Religion’s simple glory 
Is stain’d by State associations. 


When CaTHeEerine, ere she crush’d the 
Poles, 
Appeal’d to the benign Divinity ; 
Then cut them up in protocols, 
Made fractions of their very souls—t 
All in the name of the bless’d Trinity; 
Or when her grandson, ALEXANDER, 
That mighty Northern salamander, t 
Whose icy touch, felt all about, 
Puts every fire of Freedom out— 


| When he, too, winds up his Ukases 


With God and the Panagia’s praises— 
When he, of royal Saints the type, 

In holy water dips the sponge, 
With which, at one imperial wipe, 

He would all human rights expunge ; 
When Lovis (whom as King, and eater, 
Some name Dix-huwit and some Des- 

huitres) 
Calls down “ St. Louis’ God ” to witness 
The right, humanity, and fitness 
Of sending eighty thousand Solons, 

Sages, with muskets and laced coats, 
To cram instruction, nolens volens, 

Down the poor struggling Spaniards’ 

throats— 
T can’t help thinking, (though to Kings 

I must, of course, like other men, bow,) 
That when a Christian monarch brings 
Religion’s name to gloss these things— 

Such gy sca out-Benbows Ben- 


bow "Ὁ 


Or—not so far for facts to roam, 
Having afew much nearer home— 
When we see Churchmen, who, if ask’d 
““Must Ireland’s slaves be tithed, and 
task’d, 

‘« And driy’n like Negroes or Croats, 

: The salamander is sappcer to have the 
power of extinguishing fire by its natural cold- 


ness and moisture. 
§ A well-known publisher of irreligious books. 


518 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“That you may roll in wealth and 
bliss ?”” 
Look from beneath their shovel hats 
Withall due pomp, and answer “Yes !” 
But then, ifquestion’d, ‘‘ Shall the brand 
“‘Intolerance flings throughout that 
land, — [grow 
‘‘Shall the fierce strife now taught to 
ἐς Betwixt her palaces and hovels, 
“Be ever quench’d?”—from the same 
shovels [“Νο."-- 
Look grandly forth, and answer 
Alas, alas! have these a claim 
To merciful Religion’s name? 
Ifmore you seek, go see a bevy 
Of bowing parsons at ἃ levee— _ [fore 
(Choosing your time, when straw’s be- 
Some apoplectic bishop’s door, ) 
Then, if thou canst, with life, escape 
That rush of lawn, that press of crape, 
Just watch their rev’rences and graces, 
As on each smirking suitor frisks, 
And say, if those round shining faces 
To heay’n or earth most turn their 
disks ? 


This, this it is—Religion, made, 
’Twixt Church and State, a truck, a 
trade— 
This most ill-match’d, unholy Co., 
From whence the ills we witness flow ; 
The war of many creeds with one— 
Th’ extremes of too much faith, and 
none— 
Till, betwixt ancient trash and new, 
’Twixt Cant and Blasphemy—the two 
Rank ills with which this age is cursed— 
We can no more tell which is worst, 
Than erst could Egypt, when so rich 
I yarious plagues, determine which 
She thought most pestilent and vile, 
Her frogs, like Benbow and Carlisle, 
Croaking their native mud-notes loud, 
Or her fat locusts, like a cloud 
Of pluralists, obesely low’ring, 
At once benighting and devouring ! 


This—this it is—and here I pray 
Those sapient wits of the Reviews, 
Who make us poor, dull authors say, 
Not what we mean, but what they 
chapse ; 
Who to our most abundant shares 
Of nonsense add still more of theirs, 
And are to poets just such evils 
*““The greatest number of the ichneumon 
tribe are seen settling upon the back of the 
caterpillar, and darting at different intervals 


As caterpillars find those flies, * 
Which, not content to sting like devils, 
Lay eggs upon their backs likewise— 
To guard against such foul deposits 
Of others’ meaning in my rhymes, 
(A thing more needful here, because it’s 
A subject, ticklish in these times)— 
I, here, to all such wits make known, 
Monthly and Weekly, Whig and Tory, 
Tis this Religion—this alone 
1 aim at in the following story :— 


FABLE. 


When Royalty was young and bold, 
Bre, touch’d by Time, he had become, 
Tf ’tisn’t civil to say old, 
At least, a ci-devant jeune homme ; 


One evening, on some wild pursuit 
Driving along, he chanced to see 
Religion, passing by on foot, 
And took him in his vis-a-vis. 


This said Religion was a Friar, 

The humblest and the best of men, 
Who ne’er had notion or desire 

Of riding in a coach till then. 


“1 say,”’—quoth Royalty, who rather 
Enjoy’d a masquerading joke— 
“1 say, suppose, my good old father, 
“You lend me, for a while, your 
cloak.” 


The Friar consented—little knew 
Whattricks the youth hadin his head; 
Besides, was rather tempted too 
By a laced coat he got in stead. 


Away ran Royalty, slap-dash, 
Scamp’ring like mad about the town ; 
Broke windows, shiver’d lamps tosmash, 
And knock’d whole scores of watch- 
men down. 


While naught could they, whose heads 
were broke, [fore,” 
Learn of the ‘‘ why ” or the ‘ where- 
Except that ’twas Religion’s cloak, 
The gentleman, who crack’d them, 
wore. 


Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was 
turn’d 
By the laced coat, grew frisky too ; 
Look’d big—his former habits spurn’d— 
And storm’d about, as great men do: 


their stings into its body—at every dart they 
clepose an egg.’ —GOLDSMITH. 


a 
. 
] 


i. 


FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 


519 


es 


Dealt much in pompous oaths and 
curses — 
Said ‘‘d—mn you” often, or as bad— 
Laid claim to other people’s purses— 
In short, grew either knave, or mad. 


As work like this was unbefitting, 
And flesh and blood no longer bore it, 
The Court of Common Sense, then sit- 
ting, 
Summon’d the culprits both before it. 


Where, after hours in wrangling spent, 


(As Courts must wrangle to decide | 


Religion to St. Luke’s was sent, [well,) 


And Royalty pack’d off to Bridewell. | 


With this proviso—should they be 
Restored, in due time, to their senses, 
They both must give security, 
Tn future, against such offences— 


Religion ne’er to lend his cloak, 


Seeing what dreadful work it leads to; | 
And Royalty to crack his joke,— [too. | 
/Oh! had there been a Hume or Bennet, 


But not to crack poor people’s heads 


FABLE VI. 
THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. 
PROEM, 


NOVELLA, ἃ young Bolognese, __ [tor,* 
The daughter of a learn’d Law Doc- 
Who had with all the subtleties 
Of old and modern jurists stock’d her, 
Was so exceeding fair, ’tis said, 
And over hearts held such dominion, 
That when her father, sick in bed, 
Or busy, sent her, in his stead, 
To lecture on the Code Justinian, 
She had a curtain drawn before her, 
Lest, if her charms were seen, the 
students [Ποὺ], 
Should let their young eyes wander o’er 
And quite forget their jurisprudence.t 
Just so it is with truth, when seen, 
Too dazzling far,—’tis from behind 
A light, thin allegoric screen, 
She thus can safest teach mankind. 


FABLE, 


In Thibet once there reign’d, we’re told, | 


A little Lama, one year old— 


* Andreas. 
Tt Quand il Gtoit oceupé d’aucune essoine, il 
enyoyoit Novelle, sa fille, en son lieu lire aux 


escholes en charge, et, afin que la biaiité delle | 


nempéchat la pensée des oyants, elle avoit 
une petite courtine devant ‘elle—Christ. de 
Pise, Cite des Dames, p. 11, cap. 36, 


Raised to the throne, that realm to bless, 


Just when his little Holiness 

Had cut—as near as can be reckon’d— 
Some say his first tooth, some his second. 
/Chronologers and Nurses vary, 


| Which proves historians should be wary. 


We only know th’ important truth, 
His Majesty had cut a tooth.t 


, And much his subjects were enchanted, — 


As well all Lamas’ subjects may be, 


And would have giv’n their heads, if 
wanted, 


To make tee-totums for the baby. 
Throned as he was by Right Divine— 
(What Lawyers call Jure Divino, 
Meaning a right to yours and mine, 
And everybody’s goods and rhino, ) 
Of course, his faithful subjects’ purses 
Were ready with their aids and sue- 
COrs ; 
Nothing was seen but pension’d Nurses, 
And the land groan’d with bibs and 
tuckers. 


| Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, 
Ye Gods, what room for long debates 
Upon the Nursery Estimates ! 
What cutting down of swaddling-clothes 
And pin-a-fores, in nightly battles ! 


| What calls for papers to expose 


The waste of sugar-plums and rattles ! 
5 


| But no—if Thibet had M. P.’s, 

| They were far better bred than these ; 
Nor gave the slightest Opps E 

| During the Monarch’s whole dentition. 


But short this calm ;—for, just when he 
Had reach’d th’ alarming age of three, 


| When Royal natures, and, no doubt, 


Those of all noble beasts break out— 
The Lama, who till then was quiet, 
Show’d symptoms of a taste for riot ; 
And, ripe for mischief, early, late, 


| Without regard for Church or State, 


Made free with whosoe’er came nigh; 

Tweak’d the Lord Chancellor by the 

nose, 

Turn’d all the Judges’ wigs awry, 

And trod on the old Generals’ toes: 
Pelted the Bishops with hot buns, 

Rode cockhorse on the City maces, 
And shot from little devilish guns, 
tSee Turner’s Embassy to Thibet for an 
account of his interview with the Lama.— 
/**Teshoo Lama (he says) was at this time 
eighteen months old. Though he was unable 
to speak a word, he made the most expressive 
signs, and conducted himself with astonishing 
dignity and decorum,” 


520 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Hard peas into his subjects’ faces. 
In short, such wicked pranks he play’d, 
And grew so mischievous, God bless 
him ! 
That his Chief Nurse—with ev’n the aid 
Of an Archbishop—was afraid, 
When in these moods, tocomb or dress 
him. 
Nay, ev’n the persons mostinclined 
Through thick and thin, for Kings to 
stickle, [ mind, 
Thought him (if they’d but speak their 
Which they did not) an odious pickle. 


At length some patriot lords—a breed 

Of animals they’ve got in Thibet, 
Extremely rare, and fit, indeed, 

For folks like Pideock, to exhibit— 
Some patriot lords, who saw the length 
To which things went, combined their 

strength, 
And penn’d a manly, plain, and free 
Remonstrance to the Nursery ; 
Protesting warmly that they yielded 

To none, that ever went before ’em, 
In loyalty to him who wielded 

Th’ hereditary pap-spoon o’er ’em ; 
That, as for treason, ’twas a thing 

That pee them almost sick to think 

oO — 
That they and theirs stood by the King, 

Throughout his measles and his chin- 

cough, 
When others, thinking him consumptive, 
Had ratted to the Heir Presumptive !— 
But, still—though much admiring Kings, 
(And chiefly those in leading-strings, ) 
They saw, with shame and grief of soul, 

There was no longer now the wise 
And constitutional control 

Of birch before their ruler’s eyes ; 
But that, of late, such pranks, and 

tricks, 

And freaks oceurr’d the whole day 


long, 
As all, but men with bishopricks, 
Allow’d, in evy’n a King, were wrong. 
Wherefore it was they humbly pray’d 
That Honorable Nursery, 
That such reforms be henceforth made, 
As all good men desired to see ;— 
Tn other words, (lest they might seem 
Too tedious,) as the gentlest scheme 
For putting all such pranks to rest, 
And in its bud the mischief nipping— 
They ventured humbly to suggest 
His Majesty should have a whipping. 


When this was read, no Congreve rocket, 
Discharged into the Gallic trenches, 
Ere equall’d the tremendous shock it 
Produced upon the Nursery benches. 
The Bishops, who of course had yotes 
By right of age and petticoats, 
Were first and foremost in the fuss— 
“What, whip a Lama! suffer birch 
“ΠῸ touch his sacred —— infamous ! 
“Deistical !—assailing thus 
‘The fundamentals of the Church !— 
““No—no—such patriot plans as these, 
“(So help them Heayen—and their 
Sees ! 
“They held to be rank blasphemies.” 


Th’ alarm thus given, by these and other 

Grave ladies of the Nursery side, : 
Spread through the land, till, such a 

pother, 

Such party squabbles, far and wide, 
Never in history's page bad been 
Recorded, as were then between 
The Whippers and Non-whippers seen. 
Till, things arriving at a state, 

Which gave some fears of revolution, 
The patriot lords’ advice, though late, 

Was put at last in execution. 

The Parliament of Thibet met— 

The little Lama, 6811 4 before it, 

Did, then and there, his whipping get, 
And (as the Nursery Gazette 
Assures us) like a hero bore it. 


And though, ’mong Thibet Tories, some 
Lament that Royal Martyrdom, 
(Please to observe, the letter D 
In this last word’s pronounced like B,) 
Yet to th’ example of that Prince 
So much is Thibet’s land a debtor, 
That her long line of Lamas, since, 
Have all behaved themselves much 
better. 


FABLE VII. 
THE EXTINGUISHERS. 
PROEM. 


THOUGH soldiers are the true supports, 
The natural allies of Courts, 
Wo to the Monarch, who depends 
Too much on his red-coated friends + 
For even soldiers sometimes think— 
Nay, Colonels haye been known to 
reason, — 
And reasoners, whether clad in pink, 
Or red, or blue, are on the brink 
(Nine cases out of ten) of treason. 


νυν Ὁ Υ ee 


FABLES FOR THE 


Not many soldiers, I believe, are 
As fond of liberty as Mina ; 
Else—wo to kings, when Freedom’s 
: fever 
Once turns into a Scarletina ! 
For then—but hold, ’tis best to veil 
My meaning in the following tale :— 


FABLE. 


A Lord of Persia, rich and great, 

Just come into a large estate, { bors, 
Was shock’d to find he had for neigh- 
Close to his gate, some rascal Ghebers, 
Whose fires, beneath his very nose, 

In heretic combustion rose. 

But Lords of Persia can, no doubt, 

Do what they will—so, one fine morn- 
He turn’d the rascal Ghebers out, [ing, 
First giving a few kicks for warning. 

Then, thanking Heaven most piously, 

He knocked their Temple to the 
Blessing himself for joy to see [ ground, 

Such Pagan ruins strew’d around. 
But much it vex’d my Lord to find 

That, while all else obey’d his will, 
The Fire these Ghebers left behind, 

Do what he would, kept burning still. 
Fiercely he storm’d, as if his frown 
Could seare the bright insurgent down; 
But, no—such fires are headstrong 

things, 

And care not much for Lords or Kings. 
Scarce could his Lordship well contrive 
The flashes in one place to smother, 

Before—hey presto !—all alive, 
They sprung up freshly in another. 


At length, when, spite of prayers and 
damns, {hina, 
’Twas found the sturdy flame defied 
His stewards came, with low salams, 
Offring, by contract, to provide him 
Some large Extinguishers, (a plan 
Much used, they said, at ἜΘΕΙ, 
Vienna, Petersburgh—in short, 
Wherever Light’s forbid at court, ) 
Machines no Lord should be without, 
Which would, at once, put promptly 
out 
All kinds of fires,—from staring, stark 
Volcanoes to the tiniest spark ; 
Till all things slept as dull and dark, 
Ag, in a great Lord’s neighborhood, 
’Twas right and fitting all things should. 


* The idea of this Fable was canght from one 
of those brilliant mots which abound in the 
conversation of my friend, the author of the 


HOLY ALLIANCE. 521 


Accordingly, some large supplies 
Of these Extinguishers were fur- 
nish'd, 
(All of the true Imperial size, ) 
And there, in rows, stood black and 
burnish’d, 
Ready, where’er a gleam but shone 
Of light or fire, to be clapp’d on. 


But, ah, how lordly wisdom errs, 

In trusting to extinguishers ! 

One day, when he had left all sure, 
(At least, so thought he, ) dark, secure— 
The flame, at all its exits, entries, 

Obstructed to his heart’s content, 
And black extinguishers, like sentries, 

Placed over every dangerous yvent— 
Ye Gods, imagine his amaze, [ing, 

His wrath, his rage, when, on return- 
He found not only the old blaze, 

Brisk as before, crackling and burning, 
Not only new, young conflagrations, 
Popping up round in various stations — 
But, still more awful, strange, and dire, 
Th’ Extinguishers themselves on fire ! !* 


They, they—those trusty, blind ma- 
chines [praising, 
His Lordship had so long been 


As, under Providence, the means 

Of keeping down all lawless blazing, 
Were now, themselyes—alas, too true 
The shameful fact—turn’d blazers too, 
And, by a change as odd as cruel, 
Instead of dampers, served for fuel! 


Thus, of his only hope bereft, 
“What,” said the great man, ‘“‘ must 
be done ?” 
All that, in serapes like this, is left 
To great men is—to cut and run. 
So run he did: while to their grounds, 
The banish’d Ghebers bless’d return’d; 
And, though their Fire had broke its 
bounds 
And all abroad now wildly burn’d, 
Yet well could they, who loyed the 
flame, 
Its wand’ring, its excess reclaim ; 
And soon another, fairer Dome 
Arose to be its sacred home, 
Where, cherish’d, guarded, not confined, 
The living glory dwelt inshrined, 
And, shedding lustre strong, but even, 
Though born of earth, grew worthy 
heay’n. 


“ Letters to Julia,”—a production which con- 
tains some of the happiest specimens of playful 
poetry that have appeared in this or any age. 


MOORE’S WORKS. : 


MORAL. 


The moral hence my Muse infers 

15, that such Lords are simply elves, 
In trusting to Extinguishers, 

That are combustible themselves. 


FABLE VIII. 
LOUIS FOURTEENTH’S WIG. 


THE money raised—the army ready— 
Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy 
Valiantly braying in the van, 
To the old tune, “‘ Eh, eh, Sire Ane /”—* 
Naught wanting, but some coup drama- 
tic 
To make French sentiment explode, 
Bring in, at once, the gowt fanatic, 
And make the war ‘“‘la derniére 
mode ”— 
Instantly, at the Pav’llon Marsan, 

Is held an Ultra consultation— 
What’s to be done to help the farce on? 
What stage-effect, what decoration, 
To make this beauteous France forget, 

In one grand, glorious pirouette, 

All she had sworn to butlast week, 
And, with a ery of ‘Magnifique /” 
Rush forth to this, or any war, 
Without inquiring once—‘‘ What for ?” 


After some plans proposed by each, 
Dord Chateaubriand made a speech, 
(Quoting, to show what men’s rights are, 

Or rather what men’s rights should be, 
From Hobbes, Lord Castlereagh, the 

Czar, 

And other friends to Liberty,) 
Wherein he—having first protested 
*Gainst humoring the mob—suggested 
(As the most high-bred plan he saw 
For giving the new War éclat) 
A grand, Baptismal Melo-drame, 
To be got up at Notre-Dame, 

In which the Duke (who, bless his High- 

Had by his hilt acquired such fame, 
*Twas hoped that he as little shyness 

Would show, when to the point he 

came) 

* They eelebrated in the dark ages, at many 
ehurches, particularly sat Rouen, what was 
ealled the Feast of the Ass. Ou this occasion 
the ass, finely dressed, was brought before the 
altar, and they sung before him this elegant 
anthem, ‘‘ Eh, eh, eh, Sire Ane, eh, eh, eh, Sire 
Ane.’—WArTON’s Lssay on Pope. 

| Brought from the river Jordan by M. Cha- 
teaubriand, and presented to the French Em- 
press for the christening of young Napoleon. 


[ness! | 


Should, for his deeds so lion-hearted, 
Be christen’d Hero, ere he started ; 
With power, by Royal Ordonnance, 
To bear that name—at least in France, 
Himself—the Viscount Chateaubriand— 
(To help th’ affair with more esprit on) 
Offring, for this baptismal rite, 
Some of his own famed Jordan wa- 
(Marie Louise not having quite [ter— Tt 
Used all that, for young Nap, he 
brought her, ) 
The baptism, in this case, to be 
Applied to that extremity, 
Which Bourbon heroes most expose ; 
And which (as well all Europe knows) 
Happens to be, in this Defender 
Of the true Faith, extremely tender. 


Or if (the Viscount said, ) this scheme 

Too rash and premature should seem— 

If thus discounting heroes, on tick— 
This glory, by anticipation, 

Was too much in the genre romantique 
For such a highly classic nation, 

He bege’d to say, the Abyssinians 

A practice had in their dominions, 

Which, if at Paris got up well, 

In full costwme, was sure to tell. 

At all great epochs, good or ill, 

They have, says Brucr, (and BRUCE 

ne’er budges 
From the strict truth, ) a grand Quadrille 
In public danced by the Twelve 
Judges—§ 

And, he assures us, the grimaces, 

The entre-chats, the airs and graces 

Of dancers, so profound and stately, 

Divert the Abyssinians greatly. 


‘‘Now, (said the Viscount, ) there’s but 
few [do: 
‘Great Empires, where this plan would 
“Por instance, England;—let them take 
‘‘ What pains they would—’twere vain 
to strive— [make 
“The twelve stiff Judges there would 
“The worst Quadrille-set now alive. 
“One must have seen them ere one could 
‘Tmagine properly JupGk Woop, 


t Seethe Duke’s celebrated letter to madame, 
written during his campaign in 1815, in whieh 
he says, ‘‘J’ai le postérieur légérement endom- 
mag.” 


§ “On certain great occasions, the twelve 
Judges (who are generally between sixty and 
seventy years of age) sing the song and dance 
the figure-dance,’’ &e.—Book vy. 


FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. 


“ Performing, in his wig, so gayly, 
“A queue-de-chat with Justice Bat- 
LEY! [ineans, 
“French Judges, though, are, by no 
“This sort of stiff, be-wigg’d machines! 
“ And we, who’ve seen them at Saumur, 
“And Poitiers lately, may be sure 
“They'd dance quadrilles, or anything, 
“That would be pleasing to the King— 
“Nay, stand upon their heads, and 
more do, "71 


(deaux ! 
“To please the little Duke de Bor- 


After these several schemes there came 

Some others—needless now to name, 

Since that, which Monsieur plann’d him- 
self, 

Soon doom’d all others to the shelf, 

And was received par acclamation, 

As truly worthy the Grande Nation. 


It seems (as Monsieur told the story) 
That Lovts the Fourteenth,—that glory, 
That Coryphée of all crown’d pates,— 
That pink of the Legitimates— 
Had, when, with manya pious pray’r, he | 
Bequeath’d unto the Virgin Mary 
His marriage deeds, and cordon bleu,* 
Bequeath'd to her his State Wig too— 
(An ofPring which, at Court, ’tis thought, 
The Virgin values as she ought)— 
That Wig, the wonder of all eyes, 
The Cynosure of Gallia’s skies, 
To watch and tend whose curls adored, | 
| 


Rebuild its tow’ring roof, when flat, 
And round its rumpled base, a Board 
Of sixty Barbers daily sat,t 
With Subs, on State-Days, to assist, 
Well pension’d from the Civil List :— 
That wondrous Wig, array’d in which, 
And form’d alike to awe or witch, 
He beat all other heirs of crowns, | 
In taking mistresses and towns, 
Requiring but a shot at one, 
A smile at other, and ’twas done!— | 


“That Wig” (said Monsieur, while his 
brow 

Rose proudly) ‘is existing now ;— 

“That Grand Perruque, amid the fall | 

“ΟΥ̓ ev’ry other Royal glory, 

*“TLonis XTV. fit présent ἃ la Vierge de son | 

cordon bleu, que l'on conserve soigneusement, | 
et lui enyoya ensuite, son Contrat de Mariage 
et le Traitédes Pyrenées, magnifiquement relié.”’ 
—Mémoires, Anecdotes pour servir, &e. 
_ + The learned author of Recherches ITistor- | 
iques sur les Perruques says that the Board 
consisted but of Forty—the same number as | 
the Academy. “Le plus beau tems des per- 


“With this 


“That Radical Lor 
| ‘France can have naught to fear—far 


52e 
_“ With curls erect survives them all, 
᾿ς “ And tells in ev’ry hair their story. 
“Think, think, how welcome at this 
“A relic, so beloved, sublime ! [time 
“What worthier standard of the Cause 
“Of Kingly Right can France demand ? 
“Or who among our ranks can pause 
““ΠῸ guard it, while acurl shall stand? 
“Behold, my friends ”’—(while thus he 
cried, 
A curtain, which conceal’d this pride 
Of Princely Wigs was drawn aside) 

‘“‘ Behold that grand Perruque— how big 
“With recollections for the world— 
“Por France—for us—Great Lovis’ 

Wig, { curl’d— 
“By Hrppotytet new frizz’d and 
“ New frizz’d! alas, tis but too true, 
“Well may you start at that word new— 
‘*But such the sacrifice, my friends, 
“'Th’ Imperial Cossack recommends ; 


|“ Thinking such small concessions sage, 


““ΠῸ meet the spirit of the age, 

‘* And do what best that spirit flatters, 

“Tn Wigs—if not in weightier matters. 

‘Wherefore, to please the Czar, and 
show [know 

“That we too, much-wrong’d Bourbons, 


_‘ What liberalism in Monarchs is, 


“We have conceded the New Friz! 


“Thus arm'd, ye gallant Ultras, say, 


“Can men, can Frenchmen, fearthe fray 

proud relic in our yan, 

“And D’ANGOULEME our worthy 

“Let rebel Spain do all she can, [leader, 
“ = recreant England arm and feed 

er,— 
“Urged by that pupil of Hunt's school, 
LIVERPOOL— 


from it— 
‘‘When once astounded Europe sees 
“The wig of Lours, like a Comet, 
“Streaming above the Pyrenees, 
‘‘All’s o’er with Spain—then,on, my 
‘“On, my incomparable Duke, [sons, 
“And, shouting for the Holy Ones, 
“Cry Vive la Guerre—et la Per- 
ruque /” 
ruques fut celui od Lonis XTV. commenga ἃ 
vorter, luiméme, perruque ; On 
ignore l'époque ou se fit cette révolution ; mais 
on sait qu'elle engagea Louis le Grand ἃ y 
donner ses soins paternels, en créant, en 1656, 


| quarante charges de perruqniers, suivant la 


cour; et en 1673, il forma un corps de deux 
cents perruquiers pour la Ville de Paris.’”— 
Patil. 

ΤΑ celebrated Coiffeur of the present day. 


ὅ94 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


8080850; 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD, 


EXTRACTED FROM THR JOURNAL OF A TRAVELLING MEMBER OF 


THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY, 1819. 


Tue greater part of the following 
Rhymes were written or composed in 
an old caléche, for the purpose of beguil- 


ing the ennui of solitary travelling ; and | 


as verses, made by a gentleman in his 
sleep, have been lately called ‘ 9 psy- 
chological curiosity,” it is to be hoped 
that verses, composed by a gentleman 
to keep himself awake, may be honored 
with some appellation equally Greek. 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


INTRODUCTORY RHYMES. 


Different Attitudes in which Authors compose. 
—Bayes, Henry Stephens, Herodotus, dce.— 
Writing in Bed—in the Fields.—Plato and 
Sir Richard Blackmore.—Fiddling with 
Gloves and Twigs.—Madame de Staél.— 
thyming on the Road, in an old Caléche. 


WHAT various attitudes, and ways, 

And tricks, we authors have in writ- 

ing! [Bayrs, 

While some write sitting, some, like 

Usually stand, while they’re inditing. 
Poets there are, who wear the floor out, 

Measuring a line at every stride ; 
While some, like HrEnry STEPHENS, 

pour out [1ide.* 

Rhymes by the dozen, while they 
Hrroporus wrote most in bed ; 

And RJCHERAND, a French physician, 
Declares the clock-work of the head 

Goes best in that reclined position. [on 
If youconsult MonTarGnet and PLINY 
The subject, ’tis their joint opinion 
That Thought its richest harvest yields 
Abroad, among the woods and fields; 
That bards, who deal in small retail, 

* Pleraque sua carmina equitans composuit. 
—PARAVICIN. Singular. 

} ‘‘Mes pensées dorment, si je les assis.” — 
MONTAIGNE. 


Animus eorum qui in aperto aere ambulant, 
attollitur.—PLINY. 


At home may, at their counters, stop; 
But that the grove, the hill, the vale, 
Are Poesy’s true wholesale shop. 
And, verily, I think they’re right— 
For, many a time, on summer eves, 
Just at that closing hour of light, 
When, like an Eastern Prince, wha 
leaves 
For distant war his Haram bow’rs, 
The Sun bids farewell to the flow’rs, 
Whose heads are sunk, whose tears ara 
flowing 
Mid all the glory of his going !— 
Even 7 have felt, beneath those beams, 
When wand’ring through the fields 
alone, 
Thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams, 
Which, far too bright to be my own, 
Seem’d lent me by the Sunny Power, 
That was abroad at that still hour. 


If thus I’ve felt, how must they feel, 
The few, whom genuine Genius 
Warms ; 
Upon whose souls he stamps his seal, 
Graven with  Beauty’s countless 
forms ;— 
The few upon this earth, who seem 
Born to give truth to PLATO’s dream, 
Since in their thoughts, as in a glass, 
Shadows of heavenly things appear, 
Reflections of bright shapes that pass 
Through other worlds, above ou 
sphere ! 


But this reminds me I digress ;— 

For PLATO, too, produced, ’tis said, 
(As one, indeed, might almost guess, ) 

His glorious visions all in bed. 

t The only authority 1 know for imputing 
this practice to Plato and Herodotus, is a Latin 
Poem by M. de Valois on his Bed, in which he 
gays:— 

Lucifer Herodotum vidit Vesperque cubantem, 

Desedit totos heie Plato sepe dies. 


; 


Twas in his carriage the sublime 
Sir Ricuarp BLACKMORE used torhyme; 
And (if the wits don’t do him wrong) 
*Twixt death* and eee ass’d his time, 
Seribbling and killing all day long— 
Like Phoebus in his car, at ease, 
Now warbling forth a lofty song, 
Now murd’ring the young Niobes. 


‘There was a hero ’mong the Danes, 
Who wrote, we’re told, ’mid all the 
pains 
And horrors of exenteration, 
Nine spermine odes, which, if you'll 
ook, 


You'll find preserved, with a transla- | 


tion, 

By BartHouines in his book.t 

In short, ’twere endless to recite 

he various modes in which men write. 

Some wits are only in the mind, 

Wheu beausand belles are round them 

prating ; 

Some, when they dress for dinner, find 


Their muse and valet both in waiting; | 


And manage, at the self-same time, 
T’ adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. 


Some bards there are who cannot serib- 
ble 

Without a glove to tear or nibble ; 

Or a small twig to whisk about— 

As if the hidden founts of Fancy, 
Like wells of old, were thus found out 
By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy. 

Such was the little feathery wand, ἢ 
That, held forever in the hand | 
Of her,§ who won and wore the crown 
Of female genius in this age, 
Seem’d the conductor that drew down 
Those words of lightning to her page. 
As for myself—to come, at last, 
To the odd way in which J write— 
Having employ’d these few months 
past 
Chiefly in traveling, day and night, 
I've got into the easy mode, 
Of rhyming thus along the road— 
Making ἃ way-bill of my pages, 
Counting my stanzas by my stages— 
*Twixt lays and re-lays no time lost— 
In short, in two words, writing post. 


* Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, as 
well as a bad poet. 

ἐπ οι. eur nee minores inter eruciatus 
nnimam infelicem agenti fait Asbiorno Prudm 
Danico heroi, cum Bruso ipsum, intestina ex- 
trahens, immaniter torqueret, tune enim novem 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


525 
EXTRACT I. 


Geneva. 


View of the Lake of Geneva from the Jura.— 
Anxious to reach it before the Sun went down. 
—Obliged to proceed on Foot.—Alps.—Mont 
Blane.—Effect of the Scene. 


‘Twas late—the sun had almost shone 
His last and best, when I ran on, 
Anxious to reach that splendid view, _ 
Before the day-beams quite withdrew; — 
And feeling as all feel, on first — [told, 
Approaching scenes, where, they are 
Such glories on their eyes will burst, 
As youthful bards in dreams behold. 


Twas distant yet, and, as I ran, 

Full often was my wistful gaze 
Turn’d to the sun, who now began 

To call in all his outpost rays, 
And form a denser march of light, 
Such as beseems a hero’s flight. 
Oh, how I wish’d for JosuvA’s pow’r, 
To stay the brightness of that hour! 
But no—the sun still less became, 

Diminish’d to a speck, as splendid 
/And small as were those tongues of 

flame, [ed! 

| That on th’ Apostles’ heads descend- 


’T was at this instant— while there glow’d 
This last, intensest gleam of light— 

| Suddenly, through the opening road, 

| The valley burst upon my sight! 

That glorious valley, with its Lake, 
And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, 

Mighty, and pure, and fit to make [ing. 
The ramparts of a Godhead’s dwell- 


I stood entranced—as Rabbins say 
This whole assembled, gazing world 
Will stand upon that awful day, 
| When the Ark’s Light, aloft unfurl’d, 
| Among the opening clouds shall shine, 
Divinity’s own radiant sign! 


Mighty Mont’ BLANc, thou wert to me, 
That minute, with thy brow in heayen, 

| As sure a sign of Deity 

| As e’er to mortal gaze was given ; 

Nor ever, were I destined yet 
To live my life twice o’er again, 

Can I the deep-felt awe forget, [then! 
The dream, the trance that rapt me 


carmina cecinit, &c.—BARTHOLIN. de Causis 
Contempt. Mort. 
+ Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or 
feather. 
§ Madame de Steel. 
Between Vattay and Gex, 


526 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


*T was all that consciousness of pow’r 
And life, beyond this mortal hour ;— 
Those mountings of the soul within 
At thoughts of Heay’n—as birds begin 
By instinct in the cage to rise, [skies ;— 
When near their time for change of 
That proud assurance of our claim 
To rank among the Sons of Light, 
Mingled with shame—oh bitter shame !— 
At haying risk’d that splendid right, 
For aught that earth through all its 
Of glories, offers in exchange! [range 
*Twas all this, at that instant brought, 
Like breaking sunshine, o’er my 
thought— 
’T was all this, kindled to a glow 
Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine 
Thus purely ever, man might grow 
Τὰν ἢ upon earth, a thing divine, 
And be, once more, the creature made 
To walk unstain’d th’ Elysian shade ! 


No, never shall I lose the trace 
Of what I’ve felt in this bright place. 
And, should my spirit’s hope grow weak, 
Should I, oh God, e’er doubt thy 
pow’r, 
This mighty scene again I'll seek, 
At the same calm and glowing hour, 
And here, at the sublimest shrine 
That Nature ever rear’d to Thee, 
Rekindle all that hope divine, 
And feel my immortality ! 


EXTRACT II. 
Geneva. 
FATE OF GENEVA IN THE YEAR 1782. 


A FRAGMENT. 


Yrs—if there yet live some of those, 
Who, when this small Republic rose, 
Quick as a startled hive of bees, 
Against her leaguering enemies—* 
When, as the Royal Satrap shook 
His well-known fetters at her gates, 
Tv’n wives and mothers arm’d, and took 
Their stations by their sons and 
mates ; [no, 
And on these walls there stood—yet, 
Shame to the traitors—would have 
As firm a band as e’er let flow [stood 
At Freedom’s base their sacred blood ; 
* In the year 1782, when the forees of Berne, 
Sardinia, and France laid siege to Geneva, and 
when, after a demonstration of heroism and 
self-devotion, which promised to rival the feats 
of their ancestors in 1602, against Savoy, the 
Geneyans, either panic-struck or betrayed, to 


If those yet live, who, on that night, 
When all were watching, girt for fight,. 
Stole, like the creeping of a pest, [ breast, 
From rank to rank, from breast te 
Filling the weak, the old with fears, 
Turning the heroine’s zeal to tears,— 
Betraying Honor to that brink, 
Where, one step more, and he must, 
sink— [the last, 
And quenching hopes, which, though 
Like meteors on a drowning mast, 
Would yet have Jed to death more 
bright, 
Than life e’er look’d, in all its light! 
Till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms 
Throughout th’ embattled thousands 
And the high spirit, late in arms, [ran, 
The zeal, that might have work’d such 
Fell, like a broken talisman— [charms, 
Their gates, that they had sworn should 
be 
The gates of Death, that very dawn, 
Gave passage widely, bloodlessly, 
To the proud foe—nor sword was 
drawn, 
Nor ev’n one martyr’d body cast 
To stain their footsteps, as they pass’d ; 
But, of the many sworn at night 
To do or die, some fled the sight, 
Some stood to look, with sullen frown, 
While some, in impotent despair, 


Broke their bright armor and lay down, 
Weeping, upon the fragments there !— 
If those, I say, who brought that shame, 
That blast upon GENEYA’s name, 
Be living still—though crime so dark 
Shall hang up, fix’d and unforgiy’n, 
In History’s page, th’ eternal mark 
For Scom to pieree—so help me, 
Heay’n, 
I wish the traitorous slaves no worse, 
No deeper, deadlier disaster, 
From all earth’s ills no fouler curse 
Than to have * * **** **** *theirmas- 
ter ! 


DXTRACT III. 
Geneya. 
Fancy and Truth.—ITippomenes and Atalanta. 
—Mont Blane.—Clouds. 
ven here, in this region of wonders, I 
find [ far behind ; 
That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth 
the surprise of all Europe, opened their gates 
to the besiegers, and submitted without a 


struggle to the extinction of their liberties.— 
See an account of this Revolution in Coxe's 
Switzerland. 


δῇ 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


527 


Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her 
ae, way.” 
By the golden illusions he flings in her 


What a glory it seem’d the first ev’ning | 


I gazed, [denly raised 
Mont BLAnc, like a vision, then sud- 
On the wreck of the sunset—and all his 

array [with a light 

Of high-towering Alps, touch’d still 
Far holier, purer than that of the Day, 
As ifnearness to Heaven had made 
them so bright ! [dors away 
Then the dying, at last, of these splen- 
From peak after peak, till they left but 
aray, 
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly, 
O’er the Mighty of Mountains still 
lowingly hung, [when high 
Like the last sunny step of AsTRa&A, 
From the summit of earth to Elysium 
she sprung ! [from the sight 
And those infinite Alps, stretching out 
Till they mingled with Heaven, now 
shorn of their light, [sky, 
Stood lofty, and lifeless, and pale in the 
Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation 
gone by! 


That scene—I have view’d it this even- | 


ing again, Cover it then— 
By the same brilliant light that hung 
The valley, the lake in their tenderest 
charms— {and the whole 

Mont BuAnc in his awfullest pomp— 
A bright picture of Beauty, reclined in 

the arms [soul ! 

Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her 
But where are the mountains, that 

round me at first, 
One dazzling horizon of miracles, burst ? 
Those Alps beyond Alps, without end, 
swelling on [ they gone ? 
Like the waves of eternity—where are 
See ou ney were nothing but 
clouds, after all !t 
That chain of Mont Buiancs, which 
my fancy flew o’er, 
* ——— nitidique eupidine pomi 
Declinat cursus, aurumque volubile tollit. 
OvIb. 

t It is often very difficult to distinguish be- 
tween clouds’ and Alps; and on the evening 
when I first saw this magnificent scene, the 
clouds were so disposed along the whole hori- 
zon as to deceive me into an idea of the stu- 
pendous extent of these mountains, which my 
subsequent observation was very far, of course, 
from confirming. 


With a wonder that naught on this earth 
can recall, 
Were but clouds of the evening, and 
now are no more. 


What a picture of Life’s young illusions! 
Oh, Night, 

Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all 
from my sight. 


EXTRACT IV. 
Milan. 

The Picture Gallery.—Albano’s Rape of Pros- 

erpine.—Rejlections.— Universal Salvation.— 

Abraham sending away Agar, by Guercino. 
—Genius. 

Went to the Brera—saw a Dance of 

Loves [pencil teems 

By smooth ALBANO ;$ him, whose 

With Cupids, numerous as in summer 

groves [beams. 

The leaflets are, or motes in summer 


Tis for the theft of Enna’s flow’r§ from 
earth, { mirth 

These urchins celebrate their dance of 
Round the green tree, like fays upon a 
heath— [ bright, 
Those, that are nearest, link’d in order 
Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a 
wreath ; {beneath 

And those, more distant, showing from 
The others’ wings their little eyes of 
light. [ brother, 

While see, among the clouds, their eldest 
But just flown up, tells with a smile 
of bliss { mother, 


‘This prank of Pluto to his charmed 


Who turns to greet the tidings with a 
kiss ! 

Well might the Loves rejoice—and well 

did they, | their weaving, 

Who wove these fables, picture, in 

That blessed truth, (which, in a darker 

day, {ing, )—ll 

ORIGEN lost his saintship for believ- 

That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless 

ray [east 

Nor time, nor death, nor sincan over- 

This picture, the Agar of Guercino, and 

the Apostles of Guido, (the two latter of which 


are now the chief ornaments of the Brera,) 
| were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri, at 


Bologna, 
§ that fair field 
Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
| Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis was 
gather'd. 
| Lhe extension of the Divine Loye ultimately 
even to the regions of the damned. . 


528 


Ev’n to the depths of hell will find its 
way, [there atlast! 
And soothe, and heal, and triumph 


GUERCINO’s Agar—where the bondmaid 
hears [must part ; 
From Abram’s lips that he and-she 
And looks at him with eyes all full of 
tears, [ her heart. 
That seem the very last drops from 
Exquisite picture !—let me not be told 
Of minor faults, of coloring tame and 
cold— 
If thus to conjure up a face so fair,* 
So full of sorrow ; with the story there 
Of all that woman suffers, when the 
stay Laway— 
Her trusting heart hath lean’d on falls 
If thus to touch the bosom’s tend’rest 
spring, 
By calling into life such eyes, as bring 
Back to our sad remembrance some of 
those [joys and woes, 
We've siniled and wept with, in their 
Thus filling them with tears, like tears 
we've known, [own— 
Till all the pictured grief becomes our 
If this be deem’d the victory of Art— 
If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare 
The deep, fresh, living fountains of the 
heart 
Before all eyes, be Genius—it is there / 


EXTRACT Y. 
Padua. 
Fancy and Reality —Rain-drops and Lakes.— 
Plan of a Story.— Where to place the Scene of 
it.—In some unknown Region.—Psalmana- 
zar's Tinposture with respect to the Island of 
Drorimosa. 


THE more Τγο yiew’d this world, the 
more I’ve found, 

That, fill’d as ’tis with scenes and 

creatures rare, [ round, 

Fancy commands, within her own bright 

A world of scenes and creatures far 

more fair. [there 

Nor is it that her power can call up 

A single charm, that’s notfrom Nature 

won, [can wear 

No more than rainbows, in their pride, 

A single hue unborrow’d from the 

sun— [ through 

But ’tis the mental medium it shines 

* It is probable that this fine head is a por- 

trait, as we find it repeated in a picture by 

Guercino, which is in the possession of Signor 


MOORE’S WORKS. Se 


| That lends to Beauty all its charm and 


hue; [lalkce: 
As the same light, that o’er the level 
One dull monotony of lustre flings, 
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, 
make 
Colors as gay as those on Peris’ wings! 


And such, I deem, the diffrence be- 
tween real, , 

Existing Beauty and that form ideal, 

Which she assumes, when seen by poets?” 
eyes, [ dyes,. 

Like sunshine in the drop—with all those 

Which Fancy’s variegating prism sup- 
plies. 


I have a story of two lovers, fill’d 
With all the pure romance, the bliss- 
ful sadness, [thrill’d 
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever 
Two young and longing hearts in that. 
sweet madness. 
But where to choose the region of my 
vision [ spot. 
In this wide, vulgar world—what real 
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian 
For two such perfect lovers, I know 
not. 
Oh for some fair ForMOSsA, such as he, 
The young Jew fabled of, in th’ Indian 
Sea, [known, 
By nothing, but its name of Beauty, 
And which Queen Fancy might make 
all her own, [lands, 
Her fairy kingdom—take its people, 
And tenements into her own bright 
hands, [ fit 
And inake, at least, one earthly corner, 
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite ! 


EXTRACT VI. 
Venice. 
The Fall of Venice not to be lamented.—For- 
mer Glory.—Eaxpedition against Constanti- 
nople.—— Giustinianis —Republic.—Character- 
istics ofthe Old Government.—Golden Book. 
—Brazen Mouths.—NSpies.—Dungeons.—Pre- 
sent Desolation. 
Mourn not for VentcE—let her rest 
In ruin,’mong those States unbless’d, 
Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, 
Where’er they trampled, Freedom died. 
No—let us keep our tears for them, 
Where’er they pine, whose fall hath 
been 


Camuccini, the brother of the celebrated painter 
at Rome. 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


529° 


Not from a blood-stain’d diadem, 
Like that which deck’d this ocean- 
queen, 
But from high daring in the cause 
Of human Rights—the only good 
And blessed strife, in which man draws 
His mighty sword on land or flood. 


Mourn not for Ventce ; though her fall 

Be awful, as if Ocean’s wave 
Swepto’er her, she deserves it all, 

And Justice triumphs o’er her grave. 
Thus perish ev’ry King and State, 

That run the guilty race she ran, 
Strong but in ill, and only great 

By outrage against God and man! 


Trae, her high spirit is at rest, 
And all those days of glory gone, 
When the world’s waters, east and west, 
Beneath her white-wing’d eommerce 
shone ; { went 
When, with her countless barks she 
To meet the Orient Empire’s might, * 
And her Giustinianis sent 
Their hundred heroes to that fight.t 


Vanish'd are all her pomps, ’tis true, 
But mourn them not—for vanish’d, too, 


* Under the Doge Michaeli, in 1171. 

{La famille entire des Justiniani, l'une 
des plus illustres de Venise. voulut marcher 
toute entiére dans cette expédition; elle fournit 
cent combattans; e’était renouveler l'exemple 
(une illustre famille de Rome; le méme 
mialhenr les attendait.""—Histoire de Venise, 
par Darvu. 

{ The celebrated Fra Paolo. The collection 
of Maxims which this bold monk drew up at 
the request of the Venetian Government, for 
the guidance of the Secret Inquisition of State, 
are so atrocious as to seem rather an over- 
charged satire upon despotism, than a system 
of policy, seriously inculeated, and but too 
readily and constantly pursued. 

The spirit, in which these maxims of Father 
Paul are conceived, may be judged from the 
instructions which he gives for the manage- 
ment of the Venetian colonies and provinces. 
Of the former he says:—" Il faut ibe traiter 
comme des animaux féroces, les rogner les 
dents, et les griffes, les humilier souvent, sur- 
tout leur 6ter les occasions de s'aguerrir. Du 

ain et le baton, voila ce qu'il leur faut; gar- 

ons 'humanité pour une meilleure occasion.” 

For the treatment of the provinces he ad- 
vises thus:—*t Tendre ἃ déponiller les villes 
de leurs priviléges, faire que les habitans S'ap- 
pauvrissent, et que leurs biens soient achetés 
pu les Vénitiens. Ceux qui, dans les conseils 
municipanux, se montreront ou plus audacienx 
ou plus dévoués aux intéréts de la population, 
il fuutles perdre oules gagner ἃ quelque prix 
que ce soit; enfin, s'il se trouve dans les pro- 
vinces quelques chefs de parti, il faut les exter- 
miner sous un prétexte quelconque, mais en 


ae, 


(Thanks to that Pow’r, who, soon or late. 
Hurls to the dust the guilty Great, ) 
Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud, 
The chains, the rapine, and the blood, 
That fill’d each spot, at home, abroad, 
Where the Republie’s standard stood. 
Desolate VENICE! when I track [back; 
Thy haughty course through cent’ries 
Thy ruthless pow’r, obey’d but cursed— 
The stern machinery of thy State, 
Which hatred would, like steam, haye 
burst, {hate ;— 
Had stronger fear not chill’d ey'n 
Thy perfidy, still worse than aught 
Thy own unblushing Sarpift taught ;— 
Thy friendship, which, o’er all beneath 
Its shadow, rain’d down dews of death; —§ 
Thy Oligarchy’s Book of Gold, 
Closed against humble Virtue’s name, || 
But open’d wide for slaves who sold 
Their native land to thee and shame ;{] 
Thy all-pervading host of spies, 
Watching o’er ey’ry glance and breath, 
Till men look’d in each others’ eyes, 
To read their chance of life or death; — 
Thy laws, that made a mart of blood, 
And legalized th’ assassin’s knife ;—* 


évitant de recourir ἃ la justice ordinaire. Que 
le poison fasse Voffice ΠΣ ας cela ext moins 
odieux et beaucoup plus prositable.” 

§ Conduct of Venice towards her allies and 
dependencies, particularly to unfortunate Pa- 
dua.—Fate of Francesco Carrara, for which 
see Daru, vol. ii. p 141. 

| ‘A Vexception des trente citadins admis 
au grand conseil pendant la guerre di Chiozzi, 
il n’est pas arrivé une seule fois que Jes talens 
ou les services aient paru ἃ cette noblesse 
orgucilleuse des titres suffisans pour s'asseoir 
avee elle.”"—DARU. - 

4“ Among those admitted to the honor of 


| being inscribed in the Libro d’oro were some 


families of Brescia, Treviso, and other places, 
whose ouly claim to that distinction was the 
zeal with which they prostrated themselves and 
their country at the feet of the republic. 

*« By the infamous statutes of the State In- 
quisition,’ not only was assassination recog- 
nized as a regular mode of punishment, but 
this secret power over life was delegated to 
their minions at a distance, with nearly as 
much facility as a license is given under the 
game laws of England. The only restriction 
seems to have been the necessity of applying 
for a new certificate, after every individual 
exercise of the power. 


1M. Daru has given an abstract of these 
Statutes, from a manuscript in the Bibliothéque 
du Roi, and it is hardly eredible that such a 
system of treachery and cruelty should ever 
have been established by any government, or 
submitted to, for an instant, by any prone: 
Among various precautions against the in- 


530 


‘Thy sunless cells beneath the flood, 
And racks, and Leads,* that burnt 
out life ;— 


‘When I review all this, and see 
The doom that now hath fall’n on thee ; 
Thy nobles, tow’ring once so proud, 
Themselves beneath the yoke now 
bow’d,— 
A yoke, by no one grace redeem’d, 
Such as, of old, around thee beam’d, 
But mean and base as e’er yet gall’d 
Tarth’s tyrants, when, themselves, en- 
thrall’d, — 
I feel the moral vengeance sweet, 
And, smiling o’er the wreck, repeat, 
“«Thus perish ey’ry King and State 
‘That tread the steps which VENICE 
“*Strong but in ill, andonly great [trod, 
“By outrage against man and God!” 


EXTRACT VII. 


Venice. 


Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself.— 
Reflections, when about to read them. 


LET me, a moment,—ere with fear and 
hope [I ope— 

Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves 

As one, in fairy tale, to whom the key 

Of some enchanter’s secret halls is 

giv’n, 

Doubts, while he enters, slowly, trem- 
blingly, 


trigues of their own Nobles, we find the follow- 
ing:—‘‘Pour persuader aux étrangers qu il 
était difficile et dangereux d’entretenir quelque 
intrigue seeréte avee les nobles Vénitiens, on 
imagina de faire avertir mystérieusement le 
Nonce du Pape (afin que les autres ministres 
en fussent informés) que ]’Inquisition avait 
autorisé les patriciens a poignarder quiconque 
essaierait de tenter leur fidélité. Mais craig- 
nant que les ambassadeurs ne prétassent foi 
difficilement ἃ une délibération, qui en effet 
n'existait pas, l’Inquisition voulait prouver 
quelle en ¢tait capable. Elle ordonna des 
rechérehes pour découvrir s'il _n’y avait pas 
dans Venise quelque exilé au-dessus du com- 
mun, qui efit rompu son ban; ensuite un des 
patriciens qui ¢taient aux gages du tribunal, 
recut la mission d’assassiner ce malheurenux, et 
Yordre de s’en vanter, en disant qu’il s’¢tait 
pone ἂν eet acte, parece que ce banni était 
‘agent d’un ministre ¢tranger, et avait cherché 
ἃ le corrompre.’’—' Remarquons,” adds M. 
Darn, ‘‘ que ceci n’est pas une simple anecdote; 
c'est une mission projetée, délibérée, Cerite 
(avanee; une régle do conduite traeée par 
des hommes graves & leurs successeurs, et con- 
sign¢e dans des statuts.” 

The cases, in which assassination is ordered 
by these Statutes, are as follow :— 

“Un ouyrier de l’arsenal, un chef de ce qu’on 


| devait le faire empoisonner.’ 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ec: 
If he shall meet with shapes from hell 

or heay’n— 

Let me, a moment, think what thou- 
sands live 

O’er the wide earth this instant, who 
would give, [the brow 

Gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend 

Over these precious leaves, as Ido now. 

How all who know—and where is he 
unknown ? [flown, 

To what far region have his songs not 

Like PsAPHON’s birds,t speaking their 
master’s name, 

In ey’ry language, syllabled by Fame ?— 

How all, who’ye felt the various spells 
combined 

Within the circle of that master-mind, — 

Like spells, derived from many a star, 
and met 

Togetherin some wondrous amulet,— 

Would burn to know when first the 
Light awoke 

In his young soul,—and if the gleams 
that broke 

From that Aurora of his genius, raised 

Most pain or bliss in those on whom 
they blazed; [that pow’r, 

Would love to trace th’ unfolding of 

Which hath grown ampler, grander, ev’ry 
hour ; [vance, 

And feel, in watching o’er his first ad- 

As did th’ Egyptian traveller,t when 

he stood : 


| appelle parmi les marins le menstrance, pas- 
Sait-il au service d’une puissance ¢trangére: 


il fallait le faire assassiner, surtout si e’€tait un 
homme réputé brave et habile dans sa profes- 
sion.” (Art. 3, des Statuts.) 

‘“Avait-il commis quelque action qu’on ne 
jugeait pas & propos de punir juridiquement, on 
1” (Art. 14) 

“Un artisan passait-il & létrangeren y ex- 
portant quelque procédé de l'industrie nation- 
ale: ¢’¢tait encore un crime capital, que la loi 
inconnue ordonnait de punir par un assassinat.”’ 
(Art. 26.) 

The facility with which they got rid of their 
Duke of Bedfords, Lord Fitzwilliams, &e., was 
admirable; it was thus:— 

‘Le patricien qui se permettait le moindre 


| propos contre le gouvernement, ¢tait admon- 


été deux fois, et ἃ la troisiéme noyé comme 
incorrigible.” (Art. 39.) 

* «Les prisons des plombs; e’est-a-dire ces 
fournaises ardentes qu’on avait distribuées en 
patites cellules sous les terrasses qui couyrent 
6 palais.” 

{ Psaphon, in order to attract the attention 
of the world, taught multitudes of birds to 
speak his name and then let them fly away in 
various directions; whence the proverb, ‘‘ Psa- 
phonis aves.” 

{ Bruce. 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


By the young Nile, and fathom’d with | ‘Turn forth their silver lining” on the 


his lance [flood. 
The fast small fountains of that mighty 


They, too, who, ’mid_ the scornful 
thoughts that dwell [streams, 
In his rich fancy, tinging all its 
As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell 
On earth of old,* had touch’d them 
with its beams,— [to hate, 
Can track a spirit, which, though driven 
From Nature’s hands came kind, affec- 
tionate ; [ with blight, 
And which, ev’n now, struck as it is 
Comes out, at times, in loye’s own na- 
tive light ;— [struggling rays 
How gladly all, who’ve watch’d these 
Ofabright, ruin’d spirit through his lays, 
Would here inquire, as from his own 
frank lips, {had driven 
What desolating grief, what wrongs 
That noble nature into cold eclipse ; 
Like some fair orb that, once a sun in 


heaven, 
And born, not only to surprise, but 
cheer { sphere, 


With warmth and lustre all within its 
Is now so quench’d, that of its grandeur 

lasts which it casts! 
Naught, but the wide, cold shadow 


Eventful volume ! whatsoe’er the change 
Of scene and clime—th’ adventures, 
bold and strange — [ told — 
The griefs—the frailties, but too frankly 
The loves, the feuds thy pages may un- 
fold, (locks 


If Truth with half so prompt a hand un- | 


His virtues as his failings, we shall 
find [rocks, 


The record tbere of friendships, held like | 


And enmities, like sun-touch’d snow, 
resign’d : (chill, 

Of fealty, cherish’d without change or 
In those who served him, young, and 
serve him still; [less art 

Of gen’rous aid, giy’n with that noise- 
Which wakes not pride, to many a 
wounded heart ; aught 
Ofacts—but, no—not from himself must 
Of the bright features of his life be 
sought. { MinTon’s cloud,t 
While they, who court the world, like 


*“And the name of the star is called worm- | 


wood, and the third part of the waters became 
wormwood,”’—Rev. viii. 
t te “ Did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?” 
ΑΙ Comus. 


531 


crowd, 
This gifted Being wraps himself in night ; 
And, keeping all that softens, and 
adorns, [sight, 
And gilds his social nature hid from 
Turns but its darkness on a world he 
scorns. 


EXTRACT VIII. 


Venice. 
| Female Beauty at Venice.--No longer what it 
was in the Time of Titian.—His Mistress.— 
Various Forms in which he has painted her. 
—Venus.—Divine and Profane Love.—La 
Fragilita d Amore.—Paul Veronese.—His 
Women.—Marriage of Cana.—Character of 
Italian Beauty.—Raphael Fornarina.—Mo- 
desty. 
Tuy brave, thy learn’d, have pass’d 
away ; 
Thy beautiful !—ah, where are they ? 
The forms, the faces, that once shone, 
Models of grace, in Titian’s eye, [on 
| Where are they now? while flowers live 
In ruin’d places, why, oh why 
Must Beauty thus with Glory die ? 
| That maid, whose lips would still have 
moved, (them ; 
Could art have breathed a spirit through 
Whose varying charms her artist loved 
More fondly ev’ry time he drew them, 
(So oft beneath his touch they pass’d, 
Each semblance fairer than the last ;) 
Wearing each shape that Fancy’s range 
Offers to Love—yet still the one 
| Fair idol, seen through every change, 
Like facets of some orient stone, — 
In each the same bright image shown. 
| Sometimes a Venus, unarray’d 
But in her beauty{—sometimes deck’d 
| In costly raiment, as a maid 
That kings might for a throne select. § 
Now high and proud, like one who 
thought 
The world should at her feet be brought; 
Now, with a look reproachful, sad,—|| 
Unwonted look from brow so glad ; 
| And telling of a pain too deep 
| For tongue to speak or eyes to weep. 
| Sometimes, through allegory’s veil, 
In double semblance seen to shine, 
tIn the Tribune at Florence. 
§In the Palazzo Pitti. 
if Alludes particularly to the portrait of her 
in the Sciarra collection at Rome, where the 
look of mournful reproach in those full, shadowy 
| eyes, as if she had been unjustly accused of 
something wrong, is exquisite. 


532 


MOORE’S WORKS. | 


Teliing a strange and mystic tale 
Of Love Profane and Love Divine—* 
Akin in features, but in heart 
As far as earth and heay’n apart. 
Or else (by quaint device to prove 
The frailty of all worldly love) 
Holding a globe of glass, as thin 
As ait-blown bubbles, in her hand, 
With a young Love confined therein, 
Whose wings seem waiting to expand— 
And telling, by her anxious eyes, 
That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies "7 


Thou, too, with touch magnificent, 
PAUL OF VERONA !——-where are they, 
The oriental forms,¢ that lent 
Thy canvass such a bright array ? 
Noble and gorgeous dames, whose dress 
Seems part of their own loveliness ; 
Like the sun’s drapery, which, at eve, 
The floating clouds around him weave 
Of light they from himself receive ! 
Where is there now the living face 
Like those that, in thy nuptial throng, 
By their superb, voluptuous grace, 
Make us forget the time, the place, 
The holy guests they smile among,— 
Till, in that feast of heaven-sent wine,$ 
We saw no miracles but thine. 


Ife’er, except in Painting’s dream, 

There bloom’d such beauty here, ’tis 

gone,-— 
Gone, like the face that in the stream 

Of Ocean for an instant shone, 

When Venus at that mirror gave 

A last look, ere she left the wave. 

And though, among the crowded ways, 
We oft are startled by the blaze 

Of eyes that pass, with fitful light, 
Like fire-flies on the wing at night, || 
Tis not that nobler beauty, giv’n 

To show how angels look in heav’n. 
Ev’n in its shape, most pure and fair, 

’Tis Beauty, with but half her zone, 
All that can warm the Sense is there, 

But the Soul’s deeper charm is 

flown : 
?Tis RAPHAEL’s Fornarina,—warm, 

Luxuriant, arch, but unrefined ; 

* The fine picture in the Palazzo Borghese, 
called (it is not easy to say why) ‘‘Sacred and 
Profane Love,” in which the two figures, sit- 
ting on the edee of the fountain, are evidently 
portraits of the same person. 

+ This fanciful allegory is the subject of a 
picture by ‘Litian, in the possession of the 
Marquis Cambiar at Turin, whose collection, 
though small, contains some beautiful speci- 
mens of all the great masters. 


A flower, round which the noontide 
swarm 
Of young Desires may buzz and wind, 
But where true Love no treasure meets, 
Worth hoarding in his hive of sweets. 


Ah, no,—for this, and for the hue 
Upon the rounded cheek, which tells 
How fresh, within the heart, this dew 
Of Love’s unrifled sweetness dwells, 
We must go back to our own Isles, 
Where Modesty, which here but gives 
A rare and transient grace to smiles, 
In the heart’s holy centre lives ; 
And thence, as from her throne diffuses 
O’er thoughts and looks so bland a 
reign, 
That not a thought or feeling loses 
Its freshness in that gentle chain. 


EXTRACT IX. 


Venice. 


The English to be met with everywhere.—Alps 
and Threadneedle Street.—The Simplon and 
the Stocks.—Rage for travelling.— Blue Stock- 
ings among the Wahabees.—Parasols and 
Pyramids.—Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of 
China. 

AND is there then no earthly place, 
Where we can rest in dream Elysian, 
Without some cursed, round English 

face, 

Popping up near to break the vision? 
’Mid northern lakes, ’mid southern vines, 
Unholy cits we’re doom’d to meet ; 

Nor highest Alps nor Apennines 
Are sacred from Threadneedle Street! 


If up the Simplon’s path we wind, 
Fanecying we leave this world behind, 
Such pleasant sounds salute one’s car 
As— Baddish news from ’Change, my 

dear— { hill)-— 
“The Funds—(phew, curse this ugly 
“Are lowing fast,—(what, higher 

still ?)— {heaven !)— 
“ And—(zooks, we’re mounting up to 
‘‘ Will soon be down to sixty-seven.” 


Go where we may—rest where we will, 
Eternal London haunts us still. 
t As Paul Veronese gaye but little into the 


beau idéal, his women may be regarded as 
pretty close imitations of the living models 


| which Veniee afforded in his time. 


§ The Marriage of Cana. 

|| “Certain it is(as Arthur Young truly and 
feclingly says) one now ΕΠ then meets with 
terrible eyes in Italy.” 


The trash of Almack’s or Fleet Ditch— 

And searce a pin’s head difference 
which— 

Mixes, though ev’n to Greece we run, 

With every rill from Helicon ! 

And, if this rage for travelling lasts, 

If Cockneys, of all sects and castes, 


- Old maidens, aldermen, and squires, 


Will leave their puddings and coal fires, 
‘To gape at things in foreign lands, 
No soul among them understands ; 
If Blues desert their coteries, 
To show oll ‘mong the Wahabees ; 
If neither sex nor age controls, 
Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids 
Young ladies, with pink parasols, 
To glide among the Pyramids—* 
Why, then, farewell all hope to find 
A spot, that’s free from London-kind! 
Who knows, if to the West we roam, 
But we may find some Blue “αὖ home” 
Among the Blacks of Carolina— 
Or, flying to the Eastward, see 
Some Mrs. Horkrns, taking tea 
And toast upon the Wall of China. 


EXTRACT X. 
Mantna. 
Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband. 


Tury tell me thou’rt the favor'd guestt 

Of every fair and brilliant throng ; 
No wit, like thine, to wake the jest, 

No voice like thine, to breathe the song. 
And none could guess, so gay thou art, 
That thou and I are far apart. 

Alas, alas, how difl’rent flows, 

With thee and me the time away. 


Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows— 


Still if thou canst, be light and gay ; 
T only know that without thee 
The sun himself is dark for me. 


Do I put on the jewels rare 

Thou'st always loved to see me wear ? 

Do I perfume the loeks that thou 

So oft hast braided o’er my brow, [run, 

Thus deck’d, through festive crowds to 
And all th’ assembled world to see,— 


* It was pink spencers, I believe, that the im- 
agination of the French traveller conjured up. 
t Utque ferunt τοῦδ convivia leta 

Et celebras lentis otia mista jocis; 

Aut cithara wstivum attenuas cantnqne calo- 
rem. 

Hei mihi, quam dispar nune mea vita tux! 
Nee mihi displiceant que sunttibigrata; sed 

ipsa est, . 

Te sine, lux oculis pene inimica meis. 

Non auro aut gemma caput exornare nitenti 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


533 


Jy 
All but the one, the absent one, [me! 


Worth more than present worlds to 
No, nothing cheers this widow’d heart— 
My only joy, from thee apart, 
From thee thyself, is sitting hours 
| And days, before thy pictured form— 
That dream of thee, which Raphael’s 
pow’rs [warm ! 
Have made with all but life-breath 
And as I smile to it, and say 
The words I speak to thee in play, 
| I faney from their silent frame, 
| Those eyes and lips give back the same ; 
And still I gaze, and still they keep 
| Siniling thus on me—till I weep! 
Our little boy, too, knows it well, 
| For there I lead bim every day, 
_And teach his lisping lips to tell 
᾿ς The name of one that’s far away. 
Forgive me, love, but thus alone 
My time is cheer'd, while thou art gone. 


BXTRACT XI. 


Florence. 

No—'tis not the region where Love's to 

be found— [glances that rove, 

They have bosoms that sigh, they have 

They have language a Sappho’s own lip 
might resound, 

When she warbled her best--but — 

they’ve nothing like Love. 


Nor is’t that pure sentiment only they 
want, {tranquil hath made— 

Which Heay’n for the mild and the 

/ Calm, wedded affection, that home-root- 
ed plant, [in the shade ; 

Which sweetens seclusion, and smiles 


have gone by, {in youth, 
Remains, like a portrait we've sat for 
Where, ev’n though the flush of the 
colors may fly, (smiling truth ; 
The features still live, in their first 


| ; A 

| That feeling, which, after long years 
| 

| 


/ That union, where all that in Woman is 
kind, [tow’rs, 
With all that in man most ennoblingly 


Me jnvat, aut Arabo spargere odore comas: 
Non celebres ludos fastis spectare diebus. 
Sola tuos vultus referens Raphaelis imago 
Picta manu, curas allevat usque meas. 
Huie ego delicins:facio, arrideoque jocorque, 
Alloquor et tanquam reddere verba queat. 
Assensu nutuque mihi srepe illa videtur 
Dicere velle aliquid et tua verba loqui. 
Agnoscit balboque patrem puer ore salutat 
Hoe solor longas decipioque dies. 


534 MOORE’S WORKS. 


Grow wreath’d into one—like the col- 
umn, combined [capital’s flow’rs. 
Of the strength of the shaft and the 


Of this—bear ye witness, ye wives, 
ey’ry where, [streams— 

By the Arno, the Po, by all ITAty’s 
Of this heart-wedded love, so delicious 
to share, [in his dreams. 

Not ahusband hath even one glimpse 


But it is not this, only ;—born full of 
the light [uriant festoons 

Of a sun, from whose fount the lux- 
Of these beautiful valleys drink lustre 
so bright, [north are but moons,— 

That beside him our suns of the 


We might fancy, at least, like their cli- 
mate they burn’d ; 
And that Love, though unused in this 
region of spring, { turn’d, 
To be thus to a tame Household Deity 
Would yet be all soul, when abroad on 
the wing. 


And there may be, there are, those ex- 
plosions of heart, 
Which burst, when the senses have 
first caught the flame; _ [impart, 
Such fits of the blood as those climates 
Where Love is the sun-stroke that 
maddens the frame. 


But that Passion, which springs in the 
depth of the soul; [as the source 
Whose beginnings are virginly pure 
Of some small mountain rivulet, destin- 
ed to roll [its course— 

As a torrent, ere long, losing peace in 


A course, to which Modesty’s struggle 
but lends [chance of recall ; 

A more headlong descent, without 
But which Modesty ev’n to the last edge 
attends, [round its fall! 

And, then, throws a halo of tears 


This exquisite Passion—ay, exquisite 
even [hath made, 

Mid the ruin its madness too often 
As it keeps, even then, a bright trace of 
the heaven, [has stray’d — 

That heaven of Virtue from which it 


This entireness of love, which can only 
be found, [holy, watch’d over, 
Where Woman, like something that’s 
And fenced, from her childhood, with 
purity round, [to a lover! 
Comes, body and soul, fresh as Spring, 


Where not an eye answers, where not δ 
hand presses, [move ' 

Till spirit with spirit in sympathy 
And the Senses, asleep in their sacred. 
TeCeSses, [temple of Love! 

Can only be reach’d through the 


This perfection of Passion—how can it 
be found, [round the tie 
Where the mystery nature hath hung 
By which souls are together attracted 
and bound, [and eye ;— 

Is laid open, forever, to heart, ear, 


| Whefe naught of that innocent doubt 


can exist, [ledge more bright, 

That ignorance, even than know- 
Which circles the young, like the morn’s 
sunny mist, [native light ;— 

And curtains them round in their own 


Where Experience leaves nothing for 
Love to reveal, [the thought ; 
Or for Fancy, in visions, to gleam o’er 
But the truths which, alone, we would 
die to conceal 
From the maiden’s young heart, are 
the only ones taught. 


No, no, ’tis not here, howsoever we 
sigh, [planet we pray, 
Whether purely to Hymen’s one 
Or adore, like Sabeans, each light of 
Love’s sky, [ stray. 

Here is not the region, to fix or to 


For faithless in wedlock, in gallantry 
gross, [to restrain, 
Without honor to guard, or reserve 
What have they, a husband can moum 
as a loss ? [a gain? 

What have they, a lover can prize as 


EXTRACT XII. 
Florence. 
Music in Italy.—Disappointed by it.—Recollec- 
tions of other Times and Friends.—Dalton.— 
Sir John Stevenson.—His Daughter.—Musi- 
cal Evenings together. 
*” * * * * 


Ir it be true that Music reigns, 
Supreme, in ITALy’s soft shades, 
’Tis like that Harmony, so famous, 
Among the spheres, which, He of SAMos 
Declared, had such transcendent merit, 
That not a soul on earth could hear it ; 
For, far as I have come—from Lakes, 
Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks, 


i 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


Through ΜΊΑΝ, and that land, which 
ave 

The Hero of the rainbow vest—* 

By Mrvctio’s banks, and by that wave,t 
Which made Verrona’s bard 80 

bless’d— 

Places, that (like the Attic shore, 
Which rung back music, when the sea 

Struck on its marge) should be, all o’er, 
Thrilling alive with melody— 

T’ve heard no music—not a note 

Of such sweet native airs as float, 

In my own land, among the throng, 

And speak our nation’s soul for song. 


Nay, ev’n in higher walks, where Art 
Performs, as ’twere, the gardener’s part, 
And richer, if not sweeter, makes 
The flow’rs she from the wild-hedge 
takes— Lear, 
Ey’n there, no voice hath charm’d my 
No taste hath won my perfect praise, 
Like thine, dear friend} —long, truly 
dear— 
Thine, and thy loved Oxrv1a’s lays. 
She, always beautiful, and growing 
Still more so ey’ry note she sings— 
Like an inspired young Sibyl,§ glowing 
With her own bright imaginings! 
And thou, most worthy to be tied 
In musie to her, as in love, 
Breathing that language by her side, ἡ 
All other language far above, 


Eloquent Song—whose tones and words | 


In ev’ry heart find answering chords! 


How happy once the hours we pass’d, 
Singing or list’ning all day long, 
Till Time itself seem’d changed, at last, 
To music, and we lived in song ! 
Turning the leaves of Haypn o’er, 
As quick, beneath her master hand, 
They open’d all their brilliant store, 


Like chambers, touch’d by fairy wand ; | 


Or o’er the page of Mozart bending, 
Now by his airy warblings cheer’d, 
Now in his mournful Requiem blending 

Voices, through which the heart was 


heard, 

And still, to lead our ev’ning choir, 

Was He invoked, thy loved-one’s 
Sire—|| 


* Bergamo—the birthplace, it is said, of Har- 
lequin. 

+ The Lago di Garda. 

{ Edward Tuite Dalton, the first husband of 
Sir John Stevenson's daughter, the late Mar- 
ehioness of Headfort. 


He, who if aught of grace there be 
In the wild notes I write or sing, 
First smooth’d their links of harmony, 
And lent them charms they did not 
bring ;— 
He, of the gentlest, simplest heart, 
With whom, employ’d in his sweet art, 
(That art, which gives this world of ours 
A notion how they speak in heay’n, ) 
I’ve pass’d more bright and charmed 
hours (giv’n. 
That all earth’s wisdom could have 
Oh happy days, oh early friends, 
How Life, since then, hath lost its 
flow’rs ! [το (Ὁ, 
But yet—though Time some foliage 
| The stem, the Friendship, stillis ours ; 
And long may it endure, as green, 
And fresh as it hath always been! 


How I have wander'd from my theme! 
But where is he, that could return 

To such cold subjects from a dream, 

| Through which these best of feelings 


burn ?7— 
Not all the works of Science, Art, 
| Or Genius in this world are worth 
One genuine sigh, that from the heart 
| Fnendship or Love draws freshly 
forth. 


EXTRACT XIII. 

Rome. 
Reflections on reading Du Cerceau's Account 

of the Conspiracy of Rienzi, in 1347.9—Thy 

Meeting of the Conspirators on the Night of 

the 19th of May.—Their Procession in the 

Morning to the Capitol—Rienzi's Speech. 


| , 
*TWAS a proud moment—ey’n to hear 
the words {temples breathed, 

Of Truth and Freedom ’mid these 
And see, once more, the Forum shine 

with swords, 

In the Republic’s sacred name un- 

sheath’d— {day, 
That glimpse, that vision of a brighter 
For his dear Romer, must to a Roman 
be, 
Short as it was, worth ages pass’d away 
In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 

§ Such as those of Domenichino in the Palazzo 
Borghese at the Capitol, &e, 

\|Sir John Stevenson. 

{The “ Conjuration de Nicolas Gabrini, dit 
de Rienzi,” by the Jesuit Du Cerceau, is chiefly 
taken from the much more authentic work of 
Fortifioeca on the same subject. Rienzi was 
the son of a laundress, . 


536 


"Twas on a night of May, beneath that 
moon, [Time untune 
Which had, through many an age, seen 
The strings of this Great Empire, till it 
fell [ shell— 
From his rude hands, a broken, silent 
The sound of the church clock,* near 
ADRIAN’S Tomb, [for Rome, 
Summon’d the warriors, who had risen 
To meet unarm’d,—with none to watch 
them there, [in prayer. 
But God’s own eye,—and pass the night 
Holy beginning of a holy cause, 
When heroes, girt for Freedom’s combat, 
pause [their might, 
Before high Heav’n, and, humble in 
Call down its blessing on that coming 


fight. 
At dawn, in arms, went forth the patriot 
band ; [fann’d 


And, as the breeze, fresh from the TIBER, 
Their gilded gonfalons, all eyes could see 
The palm-tree there, the sword, the 
keys of Heay’nt— 
Types of the justice, peace, and liberty, 
That were to bless them, when their 
chains were riy’n. 
On to the Capitol the pageant moved, 
While many a Shade of other times, 
that still [roved, 
Around that grave of grandeur sighing 
Hung o’er their footsteps up the Sa- 
cred Hill, [last 
And heard its mournful echoes, as the 
High-minded heirs of the Republic 
pass’d. — [(name, which brought 
"Twas then that thou, their Tribune,t 
Dreams of lost glory to each patriot’s 
thought, ) [seek 
Didst, with a spirit Rome in vain shall 
To wake up in her sons again, thus 
speak :— [cred place 
““RomAns, look round you—on this sa- 
“There once stood shrines, and gods, 
and godlike men. 
“What see younow? what solitary trace 
“It is not easy to diseoyer what church is 
meant by Du Cereean here:—‘‘1] fit crier dans 
les rues de Rome, ἃ son de trompe, que chacun 
efit ase trouver, sans armes, la nuit du lende- 
main, dix-neuvieme, dans l'eglise du chateau 
de Saint-Ange, au son de la cloche, afin de 
pouryoir au Bon Etat.” 

‘Les gentilshommes conjurés poste eny 
devant Ini trois étendarts. Nicolas Guallato, 
suriommeé le bon diseur, portait le premier, qui 
Gtuit de couleur rouge, et plus grand que les 
autres. On y yoyait des caractéres d'or avee 
une femme assise sur deux lions, tenant d’une 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Ts left of all, that made Romr’s 
glory then? [Mount bereft 
‘‘The shrines are sunk, the Sacred 
‘‘Ev’n of its name—and nothing now 
remains 
“But the deep mem’ry of that glory, left 
“To whet our pangs and aggravate 
our chains ! [the same, — 
But shail this be ?—our sun and sky 
‘*Treading the very soil our fathers 
trod, — ‘soul and frame, 
“What with’ring curse hath fall’n on 
‘What visitation hath there come 
from God, [slaves, 
‘*To blast our strength, and rot us into 
“* Here, on our great forefathers’ glorious 
graves ? [Dead,— 
“Tt cannot be—rise up, ye Mighty 
“Tf we, the living, are too weak to 
crush [empire tread, 
‘These tyrant priests, that o’er your 
“Till all but Romans at Rome’s tame- 
ness blush ! 


‘ 


‘‘ Happy, PALMYRA, in thy desert domes, 
‘“ Where only date-trees sigh and ser- 
pents hiss ; [homes 
‘And thou, whose pillars are but silent 
‘‘ Por the stork’s brood, superb PEr- 
SEPOLIS ! [guish’d race 
“Thrice happy both, that your extin- 
“Have left no embers—no half-living 
trace— [proud spot, 
“ No slaves, to crawl around the once 
‘Till past renown in present shame’s 
forgot. [very wrecks, 
“While Roms, the Queen of all, whose 
“Tf lone and lifeless through a desert 
hurl’d, [than decks 
“Would wear more true magnificence 
“Th’ assembled thrones of all th’ ex- 
isting world— 
Romer, RoME alone, is haunted, stain’d, 
and cursed, 
‘Through ev’ry spot her princely T1- 
BER laves, [ worst, 
‘ By living human things—the deadliest, 
main le globe du monde, et de l'autre wne 
Palme pour peprcpeuten la ville de Rome. 
C’était le Gonfulon dela Liberté. Le second, 
ἃ fonds blane, avee un St. Paul tenant de la 
droite une Epée nue et de la gauche la cou- 
ronne de Justice, 6tait porté par Etienne Mag- 
nacnecia, notaire apostolique. Dans le 
troisiéme, St. Pierre avait en main les clefs de 
la Coneorde et de la Paix. Tout cela insinuait 
Je dessein de Rienzi, qui était de rétablir la 
liberté, la justice et la paix.’—Du CERCEAU, 
liv. li. 
t Rienzi. 


le 4 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


° 

“This earth engenders—tyrants and 
their slaves ! {ponder’d o’er 

« And we—oh shame !—wwe, who have 
“The patriot’s lesson and the poet’s 
lay ;* {cient lore, 
“Wave mounted up the streams of an- 
“Tracking our country’s glories all 
the way— {the ground 
“By’n we have tamely, basely kiss’d 
“Before that Papal Power,—that 
Ghost of Her, [ting, crown’d 

“The World’s Imperial mistress—sit- 
‘And ghastl, on her mould’ring se- 


pulchre Εἴ 
* But this is past,—too long have lordly 
priests [our pride 


“And priestly lords led us, with all 
““With’ring about us—like devoted 
beasts, {garlands tied. 
“‘Dragg’d to the shrine, with faded 
τ Tis o’er,—the dawn of our deliy’rance 
breaks ! 
“Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 
“The Genius of the Old Republic, free 
“ΑΒ first he stood, in chainless majesty, 
““ And sends his voice through ages yet 
to come, [ Eternal Rome !” 
“‘Proclaiming Romer, Romer, Romer, 


EXTRACT XIV. 


Rome. 


Fragment of a Dream.—The great Painters | 


supposed to be Magicians. —The Beginnings 
of the Art.—Gildings on the Glories and Dra- 

eries.—Improvements under Giotto, de.— 
The first Dawn of the true Style in Masaceio. 
—Studied by all the great Artists who followed 
him.—Leonardo da Vinet, with whoin com- 
menced the Golden Age of Painting.—His 
Knowledge of Mathematics and of Musie.— 
His female Heads all like each other —Trian- 
gular Faces.—Portraits of Mona Lisa, de — 
Picture of Vanity and Modesty.— His chef- 
dcuvre, the Last Supper.—Faded and almost 
effaced. 


F111’p with the wonders I had seen, 
In Rome’s sapendone shrines and 
I felt the veil of sleep, serene, — [halls, 


* The fine Canzone of Petrarch, beginning 
“Spirto gentil,"’ is supposed, by *Voltaire and 
others, to huve been addressed to Rienzi; but 
there is much more evidence of its having been 
written, as Ginguené asserts, to the young 
Stephen Colonna, on his being created a Sena- 
tor of Rome. That Petrarch, however, was 
filled with high and patriotie hopes by the 
first measures of this extraordinary man, ap- 

ears from one of his letters, quoted by Du 

Jereeau, where he says,—‘ Pour tont dire, en 
un mot, j'atteste, non comme lecteur, mais 
comme témoin oculaire, qu'il nous a ramené la 


537 


Come o’er the mem’ry of each scene, 
As twilight o’er the landscape falls. 

Nor was it slumber, sound and deep, 
But such as suits a poet’s rest— 

That sort of thin, transparent sleep, 
Through which his day-dreams shine 

the best. 

Methought upon a plain I stood, [said, 
Where certain wondrous men, ’twas 

With strange, mirac’lous pow’r endued, 
Were coming, each in turn, to shed 

His arts’ illusions o’er the sight, 

And call up miracles of light. 

The sky aboye this lonely place 
Was of that cold, uncertain hue, 

The canvass wears, ere, warm’d apace, 
Its bright creation dawns to view. 


But soon a glimmer from the east 

Proclaim’d the first enchantments 
And as the feeble light increased, [nigh;t 

Strange figures moved across the sky, 
With golden glories deck’d, and streaks 

Of gold among their garments’ dyes ;§ 
And life’s resemblance tinged their 

cheeks, 

But naught of life was in their eyes ;— 
Like the fresh-painted Dead one meets, 
Borne slow along Rome’s mournful 

streets. 
But soon these figures pass’d away ; 

And forms ΟΣ to their place, 
With less of gold in their array, 

But shining with more natural grace, 


‘And all could see the charming wands 


Had pass’d into more gifted hands. || 


Among these visions there was one, § 
Surpassing fair, on which the sun, 


ed la paix, la bonne foi, la sécurité, et tous 
es antres vestiges de lage d'or.’ 

t ‘Lhis image is borrowed from Hobbes, 
whose words are, as near as I can recollect :-— 
“Por what is the Papaey, but the Ghost of the 
old Roman Empire, sitting crowned on the 
grave thereof?” 

¢ The paintings of those artists who were 
introduced into Venice and Florence from 
Greece. 

§ Margaritone of Orezzo, who was a pupil 
and imitator of the Grecks, is said to have in- 
vented this art of gilding the ornaments of 
pictures, a practice which, though it gave way 
to a purer taste at the beginning of the 1th 
century, was still oceasionally nsed by many 
of the great masters: as by Raphael in the 
ornaments of the Fornarina, and by Reubens 
not unfrequently in glories and flames. 

|| Cimabue, Giotto, &e. 

 ‘’he words of Masaccio—for the character 
of this powerful and original genius, see Sir 
Joshua Reynolds’ twelfth discourse. is cele- 


598 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


That instant ris’n, a beam let fall, 
Which through the dusky twilight 
trembled, {all 
And reach’d at length the spot where 
Those great magicians stood assem- 
bled. 
And as they turn’d their heads, to view 
The shining lustre, I could trace 
The bright varieties it threw 
On each uplifted studying face ;* 
While many a voice with loud acclaim, 
Call’d forth, ‘‘ Masaccio” as the name 
Of him, th’ Enchanter, who had raised 
This miracle, on which all gazed. 


’Twas daylight now—the sun had ris’n, 
From out the dungeon of old Night, — 

Like the Apostle, from his prison 
Led by the Angel’s hand of light ; 

And—as the fetters, when that ray 

Of glory reach’d them, dropp’d away,t 

So fled the clouds at touch of day ! 

Just then, a bearded sage} eame forth, 
Who oft in thoughtful dream would 

To trace upon the dusky earth — [stand, 
Strange learned figures with his 

And oft he took the silverlutel| [wand;§ 
His little page behind him bore, 

And waked such music as, when mute, 
Left in the soul a thirst for more ! 


Meanwhile, his potent spells went on, 
And forms and faces, that from out 
A depth of shadow mildly shone, 
Were in the soft air seen about. 
Though thick as midnight stars they 
beam/’d, 
Yet all like living sisters seem’d, 
So close, in every point, resembling 
Each other’s beauties—from the eyes 
Lucid as if through erystal trembling, 
Yet soft as if suffused with sighs, 
To the long, fawn-like mouth, and chin, 
Lovely tapering, less and less, 
Till, by this very charm’s excess, 


brated frescoes are in the church of St. Pietro 
del Carmine, at Florence. 


* All the great artists studied, and many of | 


them borrowed from Masaccio. Several fig- 
ures in the Cartoons of Raphael are taken, with 
but little alteration, from his frescoes. 

t ‘* And ἃ lizht shined in the prison... 
and his chains fell off from his hands.’”’—Acts. 

t Leonardo da Vinci. 

δ His treatise on Mechanics, Optics, &c., 
preserved in the Ambrosian library at Milan. 

||On dit que Léonard parut pourla premicre 
fois & la cour de Milan, dans mn espece de con- 
cours ouvert entre les meilleurs joueurs de lyre 
d'Italie. Il se présenta ἀνθὸ une lyre de sa 


Like virtue on the verge a sin, 
It touch’d the bounds of ugliness. 
Here look’d as when they lived the 
shades 
Of some of Arno’s dark-eyed maids— 
Such maids as should alone live on, 
In dreams thus, when their charms are 
Some Mona Lisa, on whose eyes [gone ; 
A painter for whole years might gaze,{ 
Nor find in all his palette’s dyes, [ blaze! 
One that could even approach their 


Here float two spirit shapes,** the one, 
With her white fingers to the sun 
Outspread, as if to ask his ray 
Whether it e’er had chanced to play 
On lilies half so fair as they! 
This self-pleased nympb was Vanity— 
And by her side another smiled, 
In form as beautiful as she, 
But with that air, subdued and mild, 
That still reserve of purity, 
Which is to beauty like the haze 
Of ev’ning to some sunny view, 
Soft’ning such charms as it displays, 
And veiling others in that hue 
Which fancy only can see through ! 
This phantom nymph, who could she be, 
But the bright Spirit, Modesty ? 


Long did the learn’d enchanter stay 

To weave his spells, and still there 
As in the lantern’s shifting play, [pass’d, 
Group after group in close array, 

Hach fairer, grander, than the last. 
But the great triumph of his pow’r 

Was yet to come :—gradual and slow, 
(As all that is ordain’d to tow’r 

Among the works of man must grow, ) 
The sacred vision stole to view, 

In that half light, half shadow shown, 
Which gives to ev’n the gayest hue, 

A sober’d, melancholy tone. 
It was a vision of that lasttt 
Sorrowful night which Jesus pass’d 


fagon, construit en argent.—Histoire de la 


| Peintureen Italie. 


Ἵ He is said to have been four years em- 
ployed upon the portrait of this fair Florentine, 


| without being able, after all, to come up to his 
| idea of her beauty. 


*< Vanity and Modesty in the collection of 
Cardinal Fesch, at Rome. The composition of 
the four hands here is rather awkward, but the 
picture, altogether, is very delightful. There is 
aw repetition of the subject in the possession of 
Lucien Bonaparte. 

Ἡ The Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci, 
which is in the Refectory of the convent delle 
Grazie at Milan. See L’Histoire de li J’ein- 


ΣΝ a 
ΖΕ +) ᾿ 


RHYMES ON 


With his disciples, when he said | 
Mournfully to them—‘‘T shall be 
“ Betray’d by one, who here hath fed 
“ This night at the same board with | 
me.” | 
And theugh the Saviour, in the dream | 
Spoke not these words, we saw them | 
Legibly in his eyes, (so well {beam | 
The great magician work’d his spell,) | 
And read in every thoughtful line 
Imprinted on that brow divine, 
The meek, the tender nature, grieved, 
Not anger’d, to be thus deceived— 
Celestial love requited ill 
For all its care, yet loving still— 
Deep, deep regret that there should fall 
From mau’s deceit so foul a blight 
Upon that parting hour—and all 
His Spirit must have felt that night, 
Who, soon to die for human kind, 
Thought only, ’mid his mortal pain, | 
How many a soul was left behind 
For whom he died that death in vain ! 


Such was the heavenly scene—alas, 

That scene sobright so soon should pass ! 

But pictured on the humid air, 

Its tints, ere long, grew languid there ;* 

And storms came on, that, cold and 

rough, 

Seatter’d its gentlest glories all— 

As when the baffling winds blow off 
The hues that hang o’er Terni’s fall,— 

Till, one by one, the vision’s beams 
Faded away, and soon it fled, 

To join those other vanish’d dreams 
That now flit palely ’mong the dead,— | 

The shadows of those shades, that go, 

Around Oblivion’s lake, below ἢ 


EXTRACT XV. 


Rome. 


Mary Magdalen.— Her Story.—Numerous Pic- 
tures of her.—Correggio.—Guido.—Raphael, 
&c.—Canova's two exquisite Statues.—The 
Somariva Magdalen.—Chantrey'’s Admira- 
tion of Canova’s Works. 


No wonder, Mary, that thy story 

Touches all hearts—for there we see 
The soul’s corruption, and its glory, 

Its death and life combined in thee. 
ture in Italie, liv. iii. chap. 45. The writer of 
that interesting work (to whom I take this 
opportunity of offering my acknowledgments, 
for the copy he sent me a year since from 
Rome) will see I have profited by some of his 
observations on this celebrated picture, 


beauties, 


THE ROAD. 539 


From the first moment, when we find— 
Thy spirit haunted by a swarm 
Of dark desires—like demons shrined 
Unholily in that fair form,— 
Till when, by touch of Heav’n set free, 
Thou cam’st with those bright locks of 
(So oft the gaze of BETHANY, ) {gold 
And cov’ring in their precious fold 
Thy Saviour’s feet, didst shed such tears 
As paid, each drop, the sins of years! 
Thence on, through all thy course of love 
To Him,thy Heavenly Master,—Hin, 
Whose bitter death-cup from above 
Had yet this cordial round the brim, 
That woman's faith and love stood fast 
And fearless by Him to the last :— 


| Till,oh, bless’d boon for truth like thine ! 


Thou wert, of all, the chosen one, 
Before whose eyes that Face Divine, 
When risen froin the dead, first shone ; 
That thou might’st see how, like acloud, 
Had pass’ away its mortal shroud, 
And make that bright revealment 
known 


To hearts, less trusting than thy own. 


All is affecting, cheering, grand ; 
The kindliest record ever giy’n, 
Jv’n under God’s own kindly hand, 
Of what Repentance.wins from Heay’n! 


No wonder, MAry, that thy face, 

In all its touching light of tears, 
Should meet us in each holy place, 

Where Man before his God appears, 
Hopeless—were he not taught to see 
All hope in Him who pardon’d thee ! 
No wonder that the painter’s skill 

Should oft have triumph'd in the 
Of keeping thee all lovely still _ [pow’r 

Ey’n in thy sorrow’s bitt’rest hour ; 
That soft CorreGGro should diffuse 

His melting shadows round thy form ; 


| That Guipo’s pale, unearthly hues 


Should in pera ee thee, grow 
That all--from the ideal, grand, [warm ; 


| Inimitable Roman hand, 


Down to the small, enamelling touch 
Of smooth Cartino—should delight 
In pict’ring her, who “ loy’d so much,” 
And was, in spite of sin, so bright! 


But, MAry, ’mong these bold essays 
Of Genius and of Art to raise 


* Leonardo appears to have used a mixture of 
oil and varnish for this picture, which alone, 
without the various other causes of its ruin, 
would have prevented any long duration of its 
It is now almost entirely effaced. 


540 


MOORE’S WORKS. — 


A semblance of those weeping eyes— 
A vision worthy of the sphere 
Thy faith has earn’d thee in the skies, 
And in the hearts of all men here,— 
None e’er hath match’d, in grief or grace, 
CANov4’s day-dream of thy face, 
In those bright sculptured forms more 
bright 
With true expression’s breathing light, 
Than ever yet, beneath the stroke 
Of chisel, into life awoke. 
he one,* portraying what thou wert 
In thy first grief, —while yet the flow’r 
Ofthose young beauties was unhurt 
By sorrow’s slow, consuming pow’r ; 
And mingling earth’s seductive grace 
With heav’n’s subliming thoughts so 
well 
We doubt, while gazing, in which place 
Such beauty was most form’d to 
dwell ! 
The other, as thou look’dst when years 
Of fasting, penitence, and tears 
Had worn thy frame ;—and ne’er did Art 
With half such speaking pow’r express 
The ruin which a breaking heart 
Spreads, by degrees, o’er loveliness. 
Those wasting arms, that keep the trace 
Τὰν ἢ still, of all their youthful grace, 
That loosen’d hair, of which thy brow 
Was once so proud—neglected now !— 
Those features, ev’n in fading worth 
The freshest bloom to others giy’n, 
And those sunk eyes, now Jost to earth, 
But, to the last, still full of heay’n ! 


Wonderful artist !—praise, like mine 
Though springing from a sonl that 
feels 
Deep worship of those works divine, 
Where Genius all his light reveals— 
How weak ’tis to the words that came 
From him, thy peer in art and fame, t 
Whom 1 have known, by day, by night, 
Hang o’cr thy marble with delight; 
And, while his ling’ring hand would 
steal 
O’er every grace the taper’s rays,t 
Give thee, with all the gen’rous zeal 
Such master-spirits only feel, 
That best of fame, a rival’s praise ! 


“This statue is one of the last works of 
Canova, and was not yet in marble when 1 left 
Rome. The other, which seems to prove, in 
contradiction to very high authority, that ex- 
pression, of the intensest kind, is fully within 
the sphere of sculpture, was executed many 


EXTRACT XVI. , 
Les Charmettes. 


A Visitto the House where Rousseau lived with 
Madame de Warrens.—Their Meénage.—Its 
Grossness.—Claude Anet.—Reverence with 
which the Spotis now visited.—Absurdity of 
this blind Devotion to Fame.—Feelings ex- 
cited by the Beauty and Seclusion of the 
Scene.—Disturbed by its Associations with 
Rousseau’s History.—Impostures of Men of 
Genius.—Their power of mimicking all the 
best Feelings, Love, Independence, «δα. 


STRANGE power of Genius, that can 
throw : 
Round all that’s vicious, weak, and low, 
Such magic lights, such rainbow dyes 
As dazzle ey’n the steadiest eyes! 
* 


* * * * * = 
* * * * * * * 
‘Tis worse than weak—’tis wrong, ’tis 
shame, 


This mean prostration before Fame ; 
This casting down beneath the car 
Of Idols, whatsoe’er they are, 
Life’s purest, holiest decencies, 
To be career’d o’er, as they please. 
No—give triumphant Genius all 
Hor which his loftiest wish can call : 
If he be worshipp’d, let it be 

For attributes, his noblest, first ; 
Not with that base idolatry, 

Which sanetifies his last and worst. 


I may be cold ;—may want that glow 
Of high romance, which bards should 
That holy homage, which is felt [know ; 
In treading where the great have dwelt ; 
This rev’rence, whatsoe’er it be, 

I fear, I feel, I have it not :— 
For here, at this still hour, to me 

The charms of this delightful spot ; 
Its calm seclusion from the throng, 

Irom all the heart would fain forget : 
This narrow valley, and the song 

Of its small murm’ring rivulet ; 
The flitting, to and fro, of birds, 

Tranquil and tame as they were once 
In Eden, ere the startling words 

Of Man disturb’d their orisons ; 
Those little, shadowy paths, that wind 
Up the hill-side, with fruit trees lined, 
And lighted only by the breaks 
The gay wind in the foliage makes, 
years ago, and is in the possession of the Count 
Somariva, at Paris. 

| Chantrey. 


τ Canova always shows his fine statue, the 
Venere Vincitrice, by the light of a small candle. 


RHYMES ON THE ROAD. 


Or vistas, here and there 
Through weeping willows, 
snatches 
Of far-off scenes of light, which Hope 
By’n through the shade of sadness 
catches !— 
All this, which—could I once but lose 
The memory of those vulgar ties, 
Whose grossness all the heavenliest hues 
Of Genius can no more disguise, 
Than the sun’s beams can do away 
The filth of fens o’er which they play— 
This scene, which would have fill’d my 
heart 
With thoughts of all that happiest is;— 
Of Love, where self hath only part, 
As echoing back another’s bliss ; 
Of solitude, secure and sweet, 
Beneath whose shade the Virtues meet ; 
Which, while it shelters, never chills 
Our sympathies with human wo, 
But keeps them, like sequester’d rills, 
Purer and fresher in their flow ; 
Of happy days, that share their beams, 
’*Twixt quiet mirth and wise employ ; 
Of tranquil nights, that give, in dreams, 
The mooulight of the morning’s joy !— 
All this my heart could dwell on here, 
But for those gross mementoes near : 
Those sullying truths that cross the track 
Of each sweet thought, and drive them 
Full into all the mire, and strife, [back 
And vanities of that man’s life, 

Who, more than all that e’er have glow’d 
With Fancy’s flame, (and it was his, 
In fullest warmth and radiance,) show’d 

What an impostor Genius is ; 
How, with that strong, mimetic art, 
Which forms its life and soul, it takes 


that ope 
like the 


541 


All shapes of thought, all hues of heart, 
Nor feels, itself, one throb it wakes ; 
How like a gem its light may smile 
O’er the dark path, by mortals trod, 
Itself as mean a worm, the while, 
As crawls at midnight o’er the sod; 
What gentle words and thoughts may fall 
From its false lip, what zeal to bless, 
While home, friends, kindred, country, all, 
Lie waste beneath its selfishness ; 
How, with the pencil hardly dry 
From coloring up such scenes of love 
And beauty, as make young hearts sigh, 
And dream, and think through heay’n 
they rove, 
They, who can thus describe and nove, 
The very workers of these charms, 
Nor seek, nor know a joy, above 
Some Maman’s or Theresa’s arms ! 


How all, in short, that makes the boast 
Of their false tongues, they want the 
most ; 

And, while with freedom on their lips, 
Sounding their timbrels, to set free 
This bright world, Jaboring in th’ eclipse 

Of priestcraft and of slavery, — 
They may, themselyes, be slaves as low 
As ever Lord or Patron made 
To blossom in his smile, or grow, 
Like stunted brush wood, in his shade. 
Out on the craft!—I'd rather be 
One of those hinds, that round me tread, 
With just enough of sense to see 
The noonday sun that’s o’er his head, 
Than thus, with high-built genius cursed, 
That hath no heart for its foundation, 
Be all, at once, that’s brightest, worst, 
Sublimest, meanest in creation. 


΄ 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


OF VARIOUS DATES. 


OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE. 


‘SPOKEN BY MR. CORRY, IN THE CHARACTER OF 
VAPID, AFTER THE PLAY OF THE DRAMATIST, 
AT THE KILKENNY THEATRE. 


(Entering as if to announce the Play.) 
LApiEs and Gentlemen, on Monday 
night, 
For the ninth time—oh accents of delight 
‘To the poor author’s ear, when three 
times three 
With a full bumper crowns his Comedy ! 
When, long by money, and the muse, 
forsak’n, [tak’n, 
He finds, at length, his jokes and boxes 
And sees his play-bill circulate—alas, 
The only bill on which his name will 
ass ! [οἵ fame 
Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls 
Through box and gall’ry waft your well- 
known name, [con, 
While critic eyes the happy cast shall 
And learned ladies spell your Dram. 
Person. 


’Tis said our worthy Manager* intends 
To help my night, and he, you know, 
has triends. [parts, 
Friends, did I say ? for fixing friends, or 
Engaging actors, or engaging hearts, 
There’s nothing like him! wits, at his 
request, [ to jest ; 
Are turn’d to fools, and dull dogs learn 
Soldiers, for him, good ‘trembling 
cowards” make, [his sake ; 
And beaus, turn’d clowns, look ugly for 
for him ey’n lawyers talk without a fee, 
For him (oh friendship !) act tragedy ! 
In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive 
tricks [ sticks. 
Make boars amusing, and put life in 
* The late Mr. Richard Power. 
t The brief appellation by which those per- 
sons were distinguished who, at the opening of 
the new theatre of Covent Garden, clamored 


for the continuance of the old prices of admis- 
sion. 


With such a manager we can’t but 
please, LO. P.’s,t 

Though London sent us all her loud 

Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss 
and rattle, 

Arm’d with a thousand fangs, we'd give 
them battle ; 

You, on our side, R. P.t upon our ban- 
ners, [ manners ; 

Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.’s 

And show that here—howe’er John 
Bull may doubt— 

In all our plays, the Riot-Act’s cut out ; 

And, while we skim the cream of many 
a jest, [zest. 

Your well-timed thunder never sours its - 


Oh gently thus, when three short weeks 
are past, [our last ; 

At Shakspeare’s altar,§ shall we breathe 

And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin 
nods, 

Die all, die nobly, die like demigods ! 


EXTRACT 


FROM A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY 
THE AUTHOR, AT THK OPENING OF THE KIL- 
KENNY THEATRE, OCTOBER, 1809.4 


* * * * * * * * 


YET, even here, though Fiction rules 
the hour, [yond her power; 
There shine some genuine smiles, be 
And there are tears, too—tears that 
Memory sheds [spreads, 
Tiy’n o’er the feast that mimic Fancy 
When her heart misses one lamented 
guest, || 
t The initials of our manager's name. 
This alludes to a scenic representation then 
preparing forthe last night of the performances. 
|| Lhe late Mr. John Lyster, one of the oldest 
members and best actors of the Kilkenny 
Theatrical Society. 


-_ 


—_— 


Ψ 


7 


ὡς ΔΩ ee 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


543 


Whose eye so long threw light o’er all | 


the rest ! 
There, there, indeed, the Muse forgets 
her task, [mask. 


And drooping weeps behind Thalia’s | 


Forgive this gloom—forgive this joyless | 
strain, [train. 
Too sad to welcome pleasure’s smiling | 
But, meeting thus, our hearts will part 
the lighter, [brighter ; 
As mist at dawn but makes the setting 
Gay Epilogue will shine where Prologue | 
fails [their tails. 
As glow-worms keep their splendor for | 


I know not why—but time, methinks, 
hath pass’d [ last. 
More fleet than usual since we parted 
It seems but like a dream of yester- 
night, [delaying light; 
Whose charm still hangs, with fond, 
And, ere the memory lose one glowing | 
hue 
Of former joy, we come to kindle new. 
Thus ever may the flying moments 
haste [ waste, 
With trackless foot along life’s vulgar 
But deeply print and lingeringly move, 
When thus they reach the sunny spots 
we love. 
Oh yes, whatever be our gay career, 
Let this be still the solstice of the year, 
Where Pleasure’s sun shall at its height 
remain, 
And slowly sink to level life again. 


THE SYLPH’S BALL. 


A Syupn, as bright as ever sported 
Her figure through the fields of air, 
By an old swarthy Gnome was courted, 

And, strange to say, he won the fair. | 


The annals of the oldest witch 
A pair so sorted could not show, 

But how refuse ?—the Gnome was rich, 
The Rothschild of the world below; 


And By lnns, like other pretty creatures, 
Are told, betimes, they must consider 
Love as an auctioneer of features, 
Who knocks them down to the best 
bidder. 


Home she was taken to his Mine— 


A Palace, paved with diamonds all— | 


And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, | 


Sent out her tickets for a Ball. 


The lower world, of course, was there, 
And all the best; but of the upper 

The sprinkling was but shy and rare, 
A few old Sylphids, who loved supper. 


As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp 
Of Davy, that renown’d Aladdin, 

And the Gnome’s Halls exhaled a damp, 
Which accidents from fire were bad in; 


The chambers were supplied with light 
By many strange but safe devices ; 
Large fire-flies, such as shine at night 
Among the Orients’ flowers and 
spices ;— 


Musical flint-mills—swiftly play’d 
By Elfin hands—that, flashing round, 
Like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids, 
Gave out, at once, both light and 
sound. 


| Bologna stones, that drink the sun; 


And water from that Indian sea, 
Whose waves at night like wild-fire 
Cork’d up in crystal carefully. [run— 


Glow-worms, that round the tiny dishes, 
Like little light-houses, were set up ; 


| And pretty phosphorescent fishes, [up. 


That by their own gay light were eat 


’Mong the few guests from Ether, came 
That wicked Sylph, whom Love we 

My Lady knew him but by name, [eall; 
My Lord, her husband, not at all. 


Some prudent Gnomes, ’tis said, apprized 
That he was coming, and, no doubt, 
Alarm’d about his touch, advised 
He should, by all means, be kept out. 


But others disapproved this plan, 
And, by his flame though somewhat 
frighted, 
Thought Love too much a gentleman, 
In such a dangerous place to light it. 


However, there he was—and dancing 
With the fair Sylph, light as a feather ; 


They look’d like two fresh sunbeams, 


glancing, 
At daybreak, down to earth together. 


And all had gone off safe and well, 
But for that plaguy torch, whose light, 
Though not yet kindled—who could tell 
How soon, how devilishly, it might ? 


And so it, chanced—which, in those dark 
And fireless halls, was quite amazing ; 


544 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Did we not know how small a spark 
Can set the torch of Love a-blazing. 


Whether it came (when close entangled 
Inthe gay waltz) from her bright eyes, 
Or from the lucciole, that spangled 
Her locks of jet—is all surmise ; 


But certain ’tis th’ ethereal girl _ [ing, 
Did drop a spark, at some odd turn- 

Which, by the waltz’s windy whirl, 
Was fann’d up into actual burning. 


Oh for that Lamp’s metallic gauze, 
That curtain of protecting wire, 

Which Davy delicately draws 
Around illicit, dangerous fire !— 


'The wall he sets ’twixt Flame and Air, 
(Like that, which barr’d young This- 
be’s bliss, ) [ous pair 
‘Through whose small holes this danger- 
May see each other, but not kiss. * 


At first the torch look’d rather bluely, 
A sign, they say, that no good boded— 

‘Then quick the gas became unruly, 
And, erack! the ball-room all ex- 


ploded. 
Sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mix’d to- 
gether, [nieces, 


With all their aunts, sons, cousins, 
Like butterflies in stormy weather, | 
Were blown—legs, wings, and tails, 
to pieces! 


While ’mid these victims of the torch, 
The Sylph, alas. too, bore her part— 
Found lying, with a livid scorch, 
As if from lightning, o’er her heart ! 


* * * * * * 


“Well done ”—a laughing Goblin said— 
Escaping from this gaseous strife— 
<ONis not the first time Love has made 

A blow-up in connubial life !” 


REMONSTRANCEH. 


After a Conversation with Lord John Russell, 
in which he had intimated some Idea of giv- 
ing up all political Pursuits. 


Wuar! thou, in thy genius, thy youth, 

and thy name— __ [stinct to run 

Thou, born of a Russell—whose in- 

The accustom’d career of thy sires, is 

the same {on the sun ! 

oe the eaglet’s, to soar with his eyes 
Partique dedére 


Gast quisque suze, non pervenientia contra. 
Ovib. 


Whose nobility comes to thee, stamp’d 
with a seal, [e’er set: 

Far, far more ennobling than monar ch 

With the blood of thy race, offer’d up 

for the weal [tyrdom yet! 

Of a nation, that swears by that mar- 


Shalt thow be faint-hearted, and turn 
from the strife, [is grand, 

From the mighty arena, where all that 
And devoted, and pure, and adorning in 
life, [to command ἢ 

Is for high- -thoughted spirits like thine 


Ob no, never dream it—while good men 
despair [timid men bow, 
Between tyrants and traitors, and 
Never think, for an instant, thy country 
can spare [85 thou. 

Such alight from her darkening horizon 


With a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of 
those [and warm ; 
Who in life’s sunny valley lie shelter’d 
Yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose 
To the top cliffs of Fortune, 
breasted her storm ; 


and 


With an ardor for liberty, fresh as, in 
youth, 
It first kindles the bard and gives life 
to his lyre ; 
Yet mellow’d, ον now, by that mild- 
ness of truth, 
Which tempers, but chills not, the pa- 
triot fire ; 


With an elo juence—not like tnose nls 
from a height, [por are o’er, 
Which sparkle, and foam, and in va- 
But a current, that works outits way 
into light [thought and of lore. 
Through the filtering recesses of 


Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in 
the shade ; [of fame, 
If the stirrings of Genius, the music 
And the charms of thy cause have not 
power to persuade, 
Yet think how to Freedom thow’rt 
pledged by thy Name. 


Like the boughs of that laurel, by Del- 
phi’s decree [vice divine, 

Set apart for the Fane and its ser- 
So the branches, that spring from the 
old Russell tree, [her Shrine 

Are by Liberty claim’d for the use of 


στ νυ 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


»ἵ ΣΝ ὦ ἣ 
MY BIRTH-DAY. 
“My birth-day’’— what a diffrent 


sound 
That word had in my youthful ears ! 
And how, each time the day comes 
round, 
Less and less white its mark appears ! 


When first our scanty years are told, 
It seems like pastime to grow old; 


And, as Youth counts the shininglinks, | 


- That Time around him binds so fast, 
Pleased with the task, he little thinks 
How hard that chain will press at last. 
Vain was the man, and false as vain, 
Who said* —‘‘ were he ordain’d to run 
*‘ His long career of life again, 

“ He would do all that he had done.”— 
Ah, ’tis not thus the voice, that dwells 
In sober birth-days, speaks to me ; 

Far otherwise —of time it tells, 
Lavish’d unwisely, carelessly ; 

Of counsel mock’d; of talents, made 
Haply for high and pure designs, 

But oft, like Israel’s incense, laid 
Upon unholy, earthly shrines; 

Of nursing many a wrong desire ; 
Of wandering after Love too far, 

And taking every meteor fire, [star.— 


That cross’'d my pathway, for his_ 


All this it tells, and, could I trace 
Th’ imperfect picture o’er again, 
With pow’r to add, retouch, efface 
The jintitaand shades, the joy and pain, 
How little of the past would stay ! 
How quickly all should melt away— 
All—but that Freedom of the Mind, 
Which hath been more than wealth 
to me ; [ twined, 
Those friendships, in my boyhood 
And kept till now unchangingly ; 
And that dear home, that saving ark, 
Where Loye’s true light at last I’ve 
found, 
Cheering within, when all grows dark, 
And comfortless and stormy round ! 


FANCY. 


THE more I’ve view’d this world, the 
more I’ve found, {tures rare, 

That, fill’d as ’tis with scenes and crea- 
Fancy commands, within her own bright 
round, [more fair. 

A world of scenes and creatures far 


* FONTENELLE.—“'Si je recommengais ma 
carricre, je ferai tout ce que j'ai fait.” 


545 


‘Nor is it that her power can call up 

there [ture won, — 

A single charm, that’s not from na- 

No more than rainbows, in their pride, 
can wear 

A single tint unborrow’d from the sun; 

But ’tis the mental medium it shines 

through, [hue ; 

| That lends to Beauty all its charms and 


| Asthe same light, that o’er the level lake 
One dull monotony of lustre flings, 
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, 
make [wings ! 
Colors as gay as those on angels’ 


| 
| 


SONG. 
FANNY, DEAREST ! 


Yes! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 
Fanny, dearest, for thee Τ᾽ ἃ sigh ; 

And every smile on my cheek should 
To tears when thou art nigh. [turn 

But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 
So busy a life I live, 

That even the time it would take to weep~ 
Is more than my heart can give. 

Then wish me not to despair and pine, 

| Fanny, dearest of all the dears ! 

The Love that’s orderd to bathe in wine, 

Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


' Reflected bright in this heart of mine, 
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies ; 

But, ah! the mirror would cease to shine, 
If dimm’d too often with sighs. 

They lose the half of beauty’s light, 
Who view it through sorrow’s tear ; 

And ’tis but to see thee truly bright 
That I keep my eye-beams clear. 


Then wait no longer till tears shall flow— 
Fanny, dearest! the hope is vain ; 

If sunshine cannot dissolye thy snow, 
I shall never attempt it with rain. 


TRANSLATIONS FROM CATUL- 
LUS. 
Carm. 70. 
Dicebas quondam, &e. 
TO LESBIA, 


ΠΟΥ told’st me, in our days of love, 
That I had all that heart of thine ; 
That, ev’n to share the couch of Jove, 
Thou wouldst not, Lesbia, part from 
mine. 


546 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


How purely wert thou worshipp’d then! 
Not with the vague and vulgar fires 
Which Beauty wakesin soulless men,— 
But loved, as children by their sires. 


That flatt’ring dream, alas, is o’er ;— 
I know thee now—and though these 
Doat on thee wildly as before, Leyes 
Yet even in doting, I despise. 


Yes, sorceress—mad as it may seem— 
With all thy craft, such spells adorn 
thee, 
That passion even outlives esteem, 
And J, at once, adore and scorn thee. 


Carm. 11. 


Pauca nunciate mec puelle. 


* * * * * * 


ComMRADES and friends! with whom, 
where’er [I’ve roved, 

The fates have will’d through life 

Now speed ye home, and with you bear 
These bitter words to her I’ve loved. 


Tell her from fool to fool to run, 
Where’er her vain caprice may call ; 
Of all her dupes not loving one, 
But ruining and madd@ning all. 


Bid her forget—what now is past— 
Our once dear love, whose ruin lies 
Like a fair flow’r, the meadow’s last, 
Which feels the ploughshare’s edge, 
and dies! 


Carm. 29, 


Peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque 
Ocelle. 
- SWEET Sirmio! thou, the very eye 
Of all peninsulas and isles, 
That in our lakes of silver lie, 
Or sleep, enwreath’d by Neptune’s 
smiles— 


How gladly back to thee I fly ! 
Still doubting, asking—can it be 

That I have left Bithynia’s sky, 
And gaze in safety upon thee ? 


Oh! what is happier than to find 
Our hearts at ease, our perils past ; 
When, anxious long, the lighten’d mind 
Lays down its load of care at last : 


When, tired with toil o’er land and deep, 
Again we tread the welcome floor 
* O quid solutis est beatius curis, _ 
Cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino 
Labore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum, 
Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto, 


" 
| 


ἢ 
ῃ 


Of our own home, and sink to sleep 
On the long-wish’d-for bed once more. * 


This, this it is, that pays alone 
The ills of all life’s former track.— 
Shine out, my beautiful, my own 
Sweet Sirmio! greet thy master back. 


And thou, fair Lake, whose water quafts 
The light of heav’n, like Lydia’s sea, 

Rejoice, rejoice —let all that laughs 
Abroad, at home, laugh cut for me! 


TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA. 


Nulla tuum nobis subducet femina lectum, &e. 


&e. Lib. iv. Carm. 13. 
“NEVER shall woman’s smile haye 
pow’r [charms !”’— 


“To win me from those gentle 
Thus swore I, in that happy hour, 
When Love first gave thee to my 
arms. 
And still alone thou charm’st my sight— 
Still, though our city proudly shine 
With forms and faces, fair and bright, 
I see none fair or bright but thine. 


Would thou wert fair for only me, 
And couldst no heart but mine al- 
To all men else unpleasing be, [lure !— 
So shall I feel my prize secure. ἢ 


Oh, love like mine ne’er wants the zest 
Of others’ envy, others’ praise ; 
But, in its silence safely-bless’d, 
Broods o’er a bliss it ne’er betrays. 
Charm of my life! by whose sweet pow’r 
All cares are hush’d, all ills subdued— 
My light, in ev’n the darkest hour, 
My crowd, in deepest solitude !f 


No, not though heay’n itself sent down 

Some maid, of more than heay’nly 
charms, 

With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, 

Would he for her forsake those arms! 


IMITATION. 
FROM THD FRENCH. 


WitH women and apples both Paris and 
Adam 
Made mischief enough in their day :— 


t Displiceas aliis, sie ego tutus ero. 
t Tu mihi curarum requies, tu noete vel atr& 
Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


5AT 


God be praised that the fate of mankind, 
my dear Madam, 
Depends not on us, the same way. 
For, weak as I am with temptation to 
grapple, 
The world would have doubly to rue 
Like Adam, Τ᾽ ἃ gladly take from thee 
the apple, 
Like Paris, at once give it to thee. 


INVITATION TO DINNER. 


ADDRESSED TO LORD LANSDOWNE. 
September, 1812. 


Some think we bards have nothing real; | 


That poets live among the stars so, 
Their very dinners are ideal,— [so,)— 
(And, heay’n knows, too oft they are 
For instance, that we have, instead 
Of vulgar chops, and stews, and 
hashes, 
First course—a Phoenix, at the head, 
Done in its own celestial ashes ; 
At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing 
All the time its neck was wringing. 
Side dishes, thus-—Minerva’s owl, 
Or any such like learned fowl: 
Doves, such as heaven’s poulterer gets, 
When Cupid shoots his mother’s pets. 
Larks, stew’d in Morning’s roseate 
breath, 
Or roasted by a sunbeam’s splendor ; 
And nightingales, berhymed to death— 


Like young pigs whipp’d to make them | 


tender. 


Such fare may suit those bards, who're | 


able 


To i μα at Duke Humphrey’s table ; | 


But as for me, who’ve long been taught 
To eat and drink like other people ; 
And can put up with mutton, bought 


+) aanen ἃ ΝΡ = : . 
Where Bromham®* rears its ancient | When, stooping from their starry place, 


steeple— 
If Lansdowne will consent to share 


My humble feast, though rude the fare, | 
| How freshly doth my mind recall, 


Yet, season’d by that salt he brings 

From Attica’s salinest springs, 

*T will turn to dainties ;—while the cup 

Beneath his influence bright’ning up, 
*A picturesque village in sight of my cot- 


[thee ; | 


Like that of Baucis, touch’d by Jove, 
| Will sparkle fit for gods above! 


VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE’S 
INKSTAN D.t 


WRITTEN MAY, 1832. 


ALL, as he left it !—ev’n the pen, 

So lately at that mind’s command, 
Carelessly lying, as if then 

Just fallen from his gifted hand. 


Have we then lost him? scarce an hour, 
A little hour, seems to have pass’d, 

Since Life and Inspiration’s power 
Around that relic breathed their last. 


Ah, powerless now—like talisman, 
Found in some vanish’d wizard’s halls, 

Whose mighty charm with him began, 
Whose charm with him extinguish’d 

falls. 

| Yet though, alas! the gifts that shone 

Around that pen’s exploring track, 

| Be now, with its great master, gone, 

Nor living hand can call them back; 


Who does not feel, while thus his eyes 
Rest on the enchanter’s broken wand, 

Each earth-born spell it work’d arise 
Before him in succession grand ?— 


Grand, from the Truth that reigns o’er 
all; [light 
The unshrinking Truth, that lets her 
Through Life’s low, dark interior fall, 
Opening the whole, severely bright: 
Yet softening, as she frowns along, 
O’er scenes whichangels weep tosee— 
Where Truth herself half veils the 
In pity of the Misery. [ Wrong, 


True bard :—and simple, as the race 
Of true-born poets ever are, 


They’re children, near, though gods 
afar. 


’Mong the few days I’ve known with 


| One that, most buoyantly of all, [thee, 


Floats in the wake of memory ;t 


tage, and from which it 1s separated but by a | 


small verdant valley. 


t Soon after Mr. Crabbe’s death, the sons of 


that gentleman did me the honor of presenting 


¢ The lines that follow allude to a day passed 
jin company with Mr. Crabbe, many years 

since, when a party, consisting of only Mr. 
| Rogers, Mr. Crabbe, and the author of these 


to me the inkstand, pencil, &c., which their | verses, had the pleasure of dining with Mr. 


distinguished father had long been in the habit 
of using. 


Thomas Campbell, at his house at Syden- 
ham, 


548 


When he, the poet, doubly graced, 
Tn life, as in his perfect strain, [ Taste, 
With that pure, mellowing power of 
Without which Fancy shines in vain ; ᾿ 


Who in his page will leave behind, 
Pregnant with genius though it be, 
But half the treasures of a mind, 
Where Sense o’er all holds mastery — 


Friend of long years! of friendship tried 

Through many a bright and dark 

event [ guide— 

In doubts, my judge—in adie my 
In all, my stay and ornament ! 


He, too, was of our feast that day, 
Andall were guests of one, whose hand 

Hath shed a new and deathless ray 
Around the lyre of this great land ; 


In whose sea-odes—as in those shells 
Where Ocean’s voice of majesty 

Seems still to sound—immortal dwells 
Old Albion’s Spirit of the Sea. 


Such was our host; and though, since 
then, [ine, 
Slight clouds have ris’n twixt him and 
Who would not grasp such hand again, 
Stretch’d forth again in amity ? 


Who ean, in this short life, afford 
To let such mists a moment stay, 
When thus one frank, atoning word, 
Like sunshine, melts them all away ? 


Bright was our board that day—though 
one 
Unworthy brother there had place ; 
As ’mong the horses of the Sun, 
One was, they say, of earthly race. 


Yet, next to Genius 15 the power 
Of feeling where true Genius lies ; 
And there was light around that hour 
Such as, in memory, never dies ; 


Light which comes o’er me, as I gaze, 
Thou relic of the Dead, on thee, 

Like al] such dreams of vanish’d days, 
Brightly indeed—but mournfully ! 


TO CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS 
VALLETORT. 
WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832. 
Wuen I would sing thy beauty’s light, 
Such various forms, and all so bright, 
I’veseen thee, from thy childhood, wear, 
I know not which to call most fair, 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Nor ’mong the countless charms that 
spring 
Forever round thee, which to sing. 


When I would paint thee as thou art, 
Then all thou wert comes o’er my 
heart— 
The graceful child, in beauty’s dawn, 
Within the nursery’s shade withdrawn, 
Or peeping out—like a young moon 
Upon a world ’twill brighten soon. 
Then next, in girlhood’s blushing hour, 
As from thy own loved Abbey-tow’r 
I’ve seen thee look, all radiant, down, 
With smiles that to the hoary frown 
Of centuries round thee lent a ray, 
Chasing even Age’s gloom away ;— 
Or, in the world’s resplendent throng, 
As I have mark’d thee glide along, 
Among the crowds of fair and great 
A spirit, pure and separate, 
To which even Admiration’s eye 
Was fearful to approach too nigh ;— 
A creature, circled by a spell  [dwell; 
Within which nothing wrong coulda 
And fresh and clear as from the source, 
Holding through life her limpid course, 
Like Arethusa ‘through the sea 
Stealing in fountain purity. 


Now, too, another change of light ! 
As noble bride, still meekly bright, 
Thou bring’st thy Lord a dower above 
All earthly price, pure woman’s love ; 


And show’st what lustre Rank re- 
ceives, [leaves 
When with his proud Corinthian 


Here rose thus high-bred Beauty waves. 


Wonder not if, where all’s so fair, 
To choose were more than bard ean 
Wonder not if, while every scene [ dare ; 
I’ve watch’d thee through so bright hath 

been, 

Th’ enamor’d Muse should, in her quest 
Of Beauty, know not where to rest, 
But, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall, 
Hailing thee beautiful in all! 


A SPECULATION. 


OF all speculations the market holds 
forth, [pelf, 

The best that I know for a lover of 
Is to buy Marcus up, at the price he is 
worth, [sets on himself. 

And then sell him at that which he 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


TO MY MOTHER. 
WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK, 1822, 


Tuey tell us of an Indian tree, 
Which, howsoe’er the sun and sky 
May tempt its boughs to wander free, 
And shoot, and blossom, 

high, 

Far better loves to bend its arms 
Downward again to that dear earth, 
From which the life that fills and 

warms 
Its grateful being, first had birth. 


’Tis thus, though woo’d by flattering | 


friends, 
And fed with fame (7f fame it be) 
This heart, my own dear mother, bends, 
With love's true instinct, back to thee ! 


LOVE AND HYMEN. 


LOovE had a fever—ne’er could close 
His little eyes till day was breaking, 


And wild and strange enough, Heay’n | 


knows, [ing. 
The things he raved about while wak- 
To let him pine so werea sin;— [or—_ 


One, to whom all the world’s a debt- 


So Doctor Hymen was eall’din, __ [ter. 


And Love that night slept rather bet ny τῇς, «ποτά οἵ ΑἹ Italy, half-way 


“Next day the case gave further hope | 


yet, [tent ;—- 

Though 
‘Dose, as before ”’—a gentle opiate, 

For which old Hymen has a patent. 


After a month of daily call, 
So fast the dose went on restoring, 
That Love, who first ne’er slept at all, 
Now took, the rogue! to downright 
snoring. 


LINES ON THE ENTRY OF THE 
AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES, 1821. 


Carbone notati. 
Ay—down to the dust with them, 
slaves as they are, 
From this hour let the blood in their 
dastardly veins, [ty’s war, 
That shrunk at the first touch of Liber- 
Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in| 
chains. 


On, on like acloud, through their beau- | 
tiful vales, [o’er— 
Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them 


a 
ty 
Te _* 
-* a 


wide and | 


still some ugly fever la- | 


| 


| 


} 
| 


549 


‘Fill, fill u their wide sunny waters, ye 
sails [and shadow their shore ! 
From babi slave-mart of Europe, 


Let their fate be a mock-word—let men 
of alllands [ring to the poles, 
Laugh out, with a scorn that shall 
When each sword, that the cowards let 
fall from their hands, [their souls. 
Shall be forged into fetters to enter_ 


And deep, and more deep, as the iron is 
driv’n, {agony be, 
Base slaves! let the whet of their 
To think—as the Doom’d often think of 
that heay’n 
They had once within reach—that 
they might have been free. 


when there was not a bosom, 
whose heat (heart, 
Ever rose ’bove the zero of C h’s 
That did not, like echo, your war-hymn 
repeat, 
And send all its prayers with your 
Liberty’s start ; 


Oh shame ! 


When the world stood in hope—when a 
spirit, that breathed 

The fresh air of the olden time, whis- 

per ἃ about; { unsheath’d, 


But waited one conquering cry, to 
flash out! 


When around you the shades of your 
Mighty in fame, 
FrnicaJAs and PETRARCHS, seem’d 
bursting to view, 
And their words, and their warnings, 
like tongues of bright flame 
Over Freedom’s apostles, fell kindling 
on you! 


Oh shame! that, in such a proud mo- 
ment of life, {you but hurl’d 
Worth the hist’ry of ages, when, had 
One bolt at your tyrant invader, that 
strife 
Between freemen and tyrants had 
spread through the world— 


| That then —oh ! disgrace upon manhood 
—ev’n then, [pitiful breath ; 

You should falter, should cling to your 

_Cow’r down into beasts, when you might 
have stood men, ne to death. 

And prefer the slave’s life of prostra- 


350 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


It is strange, it is dreadful :—shout, 
Tyranny, shout 
Through your dungeons and palaces, 
“‘ Freedom is 0’er ;”— 
If there lingers one spark of her light, 
tread it out, [ness once more. 
And return to your empire of dark- 


For, if swch are the braggarts that claim 
to be free, [me kiss ; 

Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let 
Far nobler to live the brute bondman of 
thee, 

Than to sully ey’n chains by ἃ strug- 


SKEPTICISM. 


ERE Psyche drank the cup, that shed 
Immortal Life into her soul, 

Some evil spirit pour’d, ’tis said, 
One drop of Doubt into the bowl— 


Which, mingling darkly with the stream, 
To Psyche’s lips—she knew not why— 

Made even that blessed nectar seem 
As though its sweetness soon would die. 


Oft, in the very arms of Love, 
A chill came o’er her heart—a fear 
That Death might, even yet, remove 
Her spirit from that happy sphere. 


“Those sunny ringlets,” she exclaim’d, 
Twining them round her snowy fin- 

gers 5 
“That forehead, where alight, unnamed, 
‘¢ Unknown on earth, forever lingers ; 


‘Those lips, through which I feel the 
breath [sever— 


“ΟΥ̓ Heaven itself, whene’er they | 


«Say, are they mine, beyond all death, 
‘‘My own, hereafter, and forever? 


‘“Smile not—I know that starry brow, 
“Those ringlets, and bright lips of 
thine, 
“Will always shine as they do now— 


“ But shall J live to see them shine ?”” | 


Tn vain did Love say, “ Turn thine eyes | 
“On all that sparkles round thee | 


here— 
““Thow’rt now in heaven, where nothing 
dies, [fear Ὁ 


“ And in these arms what canst thou 


In vain—the fatal drop, that stole 
Into that cup’s immortal treasure, 

Had lodged its bitter near her soul, 
And gave a tinge to every pleasure. 


| 
| 


[gle like this! | 


And, though there ne’er was transport 
given 
Like Psyche’s with that radiant boy, 
Hers is the only face in heaven, 
That wears a cloud amid its joy. 


A JOKE VERSIFIED. 


‘COME, come,” said Tom’s father, “ at 
your time of life, 
“‘There’s no longer excuse for thus 
playing the rake— 
“It is time you should think, boy, of 
taking awife’’— [shall I take?” 
‘““Why, so it is, father—whose wife 


ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 


Pure as the mantle, which, o’er him 
who stood [the sky, 
| By Jorpan’s stream, descended from 
ΤΠ that remembrance, which the wise 
and good [when they die, 
Leave in the hearts that love them, 
So pure, so precious shall the memory be, 
| Bequeath’d, in dying, to our souls by 
| thee— [ish’d warm 
So shall the love we bore thee, cher- 
Within our souls through grief, and 
pain, and strife, 
Be, like ExisHa’s cruise, a holy charm, 
Wherewith to ‘heal the waters” of 
this life ! 


TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ. 


ME A PRESENT OF A WINE 
STRAINER, 


ON HIS MAKING 


Brighton, June, 1825, 

Tus life, dear Corry, who can doubt ?— 

Resembles much friend Ewarts’* wine, 
When first the rosy drops come out, 
| How beautiful, how clear they shine ! 
And thus awhile they keep their tint, 

So free from even a shade with some, 
| That they would smile, did you but hint, 
That darker drops would ever come. 


But soon the ruby tide runs short, 

Each minute makes the sad truth 
plainer, 
Till life, like old and crusty port, 

When nearits close, requires a strainer. 
This friendship can alone confer, 

Alone can teach the drops to pass, 

* A wine-merohant. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


If not as bright as once they were, 
At least unclouded, through the glass. 


Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine, 
Of which this heart were fonder, 
vainer, 
Than thus, if life grow like old wine, 
To have thy friendship for its strainer. 


FRAGMENT OF A CHARACTER. 


Here lies Factotum Ned at last; 
Long as he breathed the vital air, 
Nothing throughout all Europe pass’d, 


In which Ned hadn’t some small share. | 


Whoe’er was in, whoe’er was out, 
Whatever statesmen did or said, 

Tf not exactly brought about, 
’Twas all, at least, contrived by Ned. 


With Nap, if Russia went to war, 
’T was owing, under Providence, 

To certain hints Ned gave the Czar— 
(Vide his pamphlet—price, sixpence. ) 


If France was beat at Waterloo— 
As all but Frenchmen think she was— 
To Ned, as Wellington well knew, 
Was owing half that day’s applause. 


Then for his news—no envoy’s bag 
B’er pass’d so many secrets through it ; 
Searcely a telegraph could wag 
Its wooden finger, but Ned knew it. 


Such tales he had of foreign plots, 


With foreign names, one’s ear to buzz | 


From Russia, chefs and ofs in lots, [in! 
From Poland, owskis by the dozen. 


When George, alarm’d for England’s 
creed, 
Turn’d out the last Whig ministry, 
And men ask’d—who advised the deed ? 
Ned modestly confess’d ’twas he. 


For though, by some unlucky miss, 
He had not downright seen the King, 
He sent such hints through Viscount 
This, [ thing. 
To Marquis That, a; clench’d the 

The same it was in science, arts, 

The Drama, Books, MS. and printed— 
Kean learn’d from Ned his cleverest 
[hinted. 


parts, 
And Scott’s last work by him was ° 


Childe Harold in the proofs he read, 
And here and there infused some soul 
in’t— 


551 


Nay, Davy’s Lamp, till seen by Ned, 
Had—odd enough—an awkward hole 


in’t. 

‘Twas thus, all-doing and all-knowing, 
Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, 

singer, 


| Whatever was the best pie going, [ger. 
In that Ned—trust him—had his fin- 


* - * - - - " - 


WHAT SHALL I SING THER? 
TO ——. 


WHat shall I sing thee? Shall I tell 
| Of that bright hour, remember’d well 
As though it shone but yesterday, 
| When, loitering idly in the ray 
Of a spring-sun, I heard, o’erhead, 
| My name as by some spirit said, 
| And, looking up, saw two bright eyes 
Above me from a casement shine, 
Dazzling my mind with such surprise 
As they, who sail beyond the Line, 
Feel when new stars above them rise ;— 
And it was thine, the voice th t spoke, 
Like Ariel’s, in the mid-air then; 
And thine the eye, whose lustre broke— 
Never to be forgot again! 


What shall [ sing thee? Shall I weave 
| A song of that sweet summer-eve, 
(Summer, of which the sunniest part 
Was that we, each, had in the heart, ) 
When thou and I, and one like thee, 
In life and beauty, to the sound 
Of our own breathless minstrelsy, 
Danced till the sunlight faded round, 
Ourselves the whole ideal Ball, 
Lights, music, company, and all! 
Oh, ’tis not in the languid strain 
Of lute like mine, whose day is past, 
To call up even a dream again 
Of the fresh light those moments cast. 


COUNTRY DANCE AND QUAD- 
RILLE, 


ONE night the nymph ecall’d Country 
DANCE— 

(Whom folks, of late, have used so ill, 
'Preferring a coquette from France, 
That mincing thing, Mamselle Qvap- 
RILLE)— : 


Having been chased from London down 
To that most bumble haunt of all 


552 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


She used to grace—a Country Town— 
Went smiling to the New-Year’s Ball. 


“Here, here, at least,” she cried, 
“though driven [ tracks— 
“rom London’s gay and shining 
‘‘Though, like a Peri cast from heaven, 
ον lost, forever lost, Almack’s— 


“Though not a London Miss alive 
‘‘Would now for her acquaintance 
own me ; 
«“ And spinsters, even, of forty-five, 
“Upon their honors ne’er have known 
me ; 


“« Here, here, at least, I triumph still, 
“ς And—spite of some few dandy Lan- 
cers, 
«Who vainly try to preach Quadrille— 
“See naught but true-blue Country 
Dancers. 


τὸ Here still I reign, and, fresh in charms, 
“‘My throne, like Magna Charta, raise 
“Mong sturdy, freeborn legs and arms, 
“That scorn the threaten’d chaine 
Anglaise.” 


’Twas thus she said, as ’mid the din 
Of footmen, and the town sedan, 
She lighted at the King’s Head Inn, 

And up the stairs triumphant ran. 


The Squires and their Squiresses all, 
With young Squirinas, just come out, 
And my Lord’s daughters from the Hall, 
(Quadrillers, in their hearts, no 

doubt, )— 


All these, as light she tripp’d up stairs, 
Were in the cloak-room seen assem- 
bling— 
When, hark ! some new, outlandish airs, 
From the First Fiddle, set her trem- 
bling. 


She stops—she listens —can it be ? 
Alas, in vain her ears would ’scape 

Itis “ Di tanti palpiti” [1Ὁ-- 
As plain as English bow can scrape it. 


‘““ Courage !”” however—in she goes, 
With her best, sweeping country 
grace ; 
When, ah too true, her worst of foes, 
QUADRILLE, there meets her, face to 
face. 
Oh for the lyre, or violin, 
Or kit of that gay Muse, Terpsichore, 


To sing the rage these nymphs were in, 
Their looks and language, airs and 
trickery. 
There stood QUADRILLE, with cat-like 
face 
(The beau-ideal of French beauty,) 
A bandbox thing, all art and lace 
Down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tie. 


Her flounces, fresh from Victorine— 
From Hippolyte, her rouge and hair— 
Her poetry, from Lamartine— 
Her morals, from—the Lord knows 
where. 


And, when she danced—so slidingly, 
So near the ground she plied her art, 

You'd swear her mother-earth and she 
Had made a compact ne’er to part. 


Her face too, all the while, sedate, 
No signs of life or motion showing, 
Like a bright pendule’s dial-plate— 
So still, youd hardly think ’twas go- 
ing. 


Full fronting her stood Country Dance— 
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you 
would know 
For English at a single glance— 
English all o’er, from top to toe. 


A little gauche, ’tis fair to own, [ces; 
And rather given to skips and boun- 
Endangering thereby many a gown, 
And playing, oft, the devil with floun- 
ces. 


Unlike Mamselle—who would prefer 
(As morally a lesser ill) 

A thousand flaws of character, 
To one vile rumple of a frill. 


No rouge did she of Albion wear ; 

Let her but run that two-heat race 
She calls a Set, not Dian e’er 

Came rosier from the woodland chase. 


Such was the nymph, whose soul had in’t 
Such anger now—whose eyes of blue 
(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint, 
Which Wnglish maids call ‘‘ Water- 
1005) 


Like summer lightnings, in the dusk 
Of a warm evening, flashing broke, 
While—to the tune of ‘‘ Money Musk,”* 
Which struck up now—she proudly 

spoke :— 
* An old Enghsh Country Dance. 


“MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


“Heard you that strain—that joyous 
strain ? 
‘OTwas such as England loved tohear, 
‘(Bre thou, and all thy frippery train, 
“ Corrupted both her foot and ear— 


“Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign 
lands, 
“Presumed, in sight of all beholders, 
“To lay his rude licentious hands 
‘On virtuous English backs and shoul- 
ders— 


‘(Pre times and morals both grew bad, 
“ And, yet unfleeced by funding block- 
heads, 
“Happy John Bull not only had, [ets.’ 
“But danced to, ‘Money in both pock- 


“ Alas, the change !—Oh, L—d—y, 
“Where is the land could ’scape dis- 
asters, 
“With such a Foreign Secretary, 
** Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters ? 


‘Wo to ye, men of ships and shops! 
“Rulers of day-books and of waves! 
“‘Quadrill’d, on one side, into fops, 


** And drill’d, on t’other, into slaves! | 


“ΕΥ̓, too, ye lovely victims, seen, 
“ Like pigeons, truss’d for exhibition, 
With elbows ἃ la crapaudine, 
“ And feet in—God Eagan what po- 
sition ; 
‘*Hemim’d in by watchful chaperons, 
““Tnspectors of your airs art graces, 
“ Who intercept all whisper’d tones, 
‘“And read your telegraphic faces ; 


“Unable with the youth adored, 
ΣΤῊ that grim cordon of Mammas, 
“To interchange one tender word, 
“Though whisper’d but in queue de 


chats. 
* Ah did you know how bless’d we 
ranged dle— 


“Pre vile Quadrille usurp’d the fid- 

“What looks in setting were exchanged, 

“What tender words in down the mid- 
dle ; 


“‘How many a couple, like the wind, 
“Which nothing in its course controls, 
‘Left time and chaperons far behind, 


“And gave a loose to legs and souls; | 


“How matrimony throve—ere stopp’d 
“By this cold, silent, foot-coquetting— 


553 


ζ How charmingly one’s partner popp'd 


‘“Th’ important question in pousset- 
ting. 
“While now, alas—no sly advances— 
“No marriage hints—all goes on 
badly— [ Dances, 
‘oTwixt Parson Malthus and French 
“We, girls, are at a discount sadly. 


“Sir William Scott (now Baron Stowell) 
“Declares not half so much is made 
“By Licenses—and he must know well — 
‘Since vile Quadrilling spoil’d the 

trade !” 


She ceased—tears fell from every Miss— 

She now had touch’d the true pathet- 
| One such authentic fact as this [ie :— 
Is worth whole volumes theoretic. 


Instant the ery was ‘‘ Country Dance!” 
And the maid saw, with brightening 
face 
The Steward of the night advance, 
And lead her to her birthright place. 


The fiddles, which awhile had ceased, 
Now tuned again their summons 
sweet, 
| And, for one happy night, at least, 
Old England’s triumph was complete. 


GAZEL. 


HASTE, Maami, the spring is nigh ; 
Already, in th’ unopen’d flowers 

That sleep around us, Fancy’s eye 
Can see the blush of future bowers ; 

And joy it brings to thee and me, 

My own beloved Maami! 


The streamlet frozen on its way, 
To feed the marble Founts of Kings, 
Now, loosen’d by the vernal ray, 
Upon its path exulting springs— 
As doth this bounding heart to thee, 
My ever blissful Maaimi ! 


Such bright hours were not made to stay ; 
Enough if they a while remain, 

| Like Irem’s bowers, that fade away, 
From time to time, and come again, 

And life shall all one Irem be 

For us, my gentle Maami. 


Ὁ haste, for this impatient heart 
Is like the rose in Yemen’s vale, 
That rends its inmost leaves apart 
With passion for the nightingale ; 
/ So languishes this soul for thee, 
‘My bright and blushing Maami ! 


554 MOORE’S WORKS. 


LINES 
SEPH ATKINSON ESQ., OF DUB- 
LIN. 


IF ever life was prosperously cast, 
Ifever life was like the lengthened 
flow [last, 
Of some sweet music, sweetness to the 
*Twas his who, mourn’d by many, 
sleeps below. 


The sunny temper, bright where all is 
strife, [ wiles; 

The simple heart, above all worldly 
Light wit that plays along the calm of 
life, [smiles ; 

And stirs its languid surface into 


Pure Suen that comes not in a show- 
[feeds, 

sngaen and loud, oppressing what it 
But, like the dew, ‘with gradual silent 
power, [meads ; 

Felt in the bloom it leaves along the 


The happy grateful spirit that improves 
And brightens every gift by fortune 
given ; [loves, 

That, wander where it will with those it 
Makes every place a home, and home 


a heaven ; 
All these were his.—Oh, thou who 
read’st this stone, [sky 


When for thyself, thy children, to the 
Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon 
alone, [may die ! 

That ye like him may live, like him 


GENIUS AND CRITICISM. 


Seripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur. 
SENECA, 


OF old, the Sultan Genius reign’d, 
AS N ature meant, supreme, alone; 
With mind uncheck’d, and hands un- 
chain’d, Lown. 
His views, his conquests were his 


But power like his, that digs its grave 
With its own sceptre, could not last ; 
So Genius’ self became the slave 
Of laws that Genius’ self had pass’d. 


As Joye, who forged the chain of Fate, 
Was, ever after, doom’d to wear it; 
His nods, his struggles all too late— 
© Oui semel jussit, semper paret.” 


| 
ON THE DEATH OF JO- 


To check young Genius’ proud career, 
The slaves, who now his throne. in- 
Made Criticism his prime Vizir, [vaded, 
And from that hour his glories faded. 
Tied down in Legislation’s school, 
Afraid of even his own ambition, 
His very victories were by rule, 
And he was great but by permission. 


His most heroic deeds—the same, 


That dazzled, when spontaneous 
actions— [tame, 
Now, done by law, seem’d cold and 


And shorn of all their first attractions. 


If he but stirr’d to take the air, 
Instant the Vizir’s counsel sat— 
“Good Lord, your Highness can’t go 
there— [ that.” 
“Bless me, your Highness can’t do 


If, loving pomp, he chose to: buy 
Rich jewels for his diadem, 
“The taste was bad, the price was 
high— 
‘<4 flower were simpler than a gem.” 


To please them, if he took to flowers— 
“What trifling, what unmeaning 
things ! 
“ Pit for a woman’s toilet hours, 
‘* But not at all the style for Kings.” 


If, fond of his domestic sphere, 
He play’d no more the rambling com- 
et 
“Α dull, good sort of man, ’twas clear, 
“But as for great or brave, far from it.” 


Did he then look o’er distant oceans, 
For realms more worthy to enthrone 
him? 
“ Saint Aristotle, what wild notions ! 
“Serve a ‘ne exeat regno’ on him.” 


At length, their last and worst to do, 
They round him placed a guard of 
watchmen, 
Reviewers, knaves in brown or blue, 
Tun’d up with yellow—chiefly 
Scotchmen ; 


To dog his footsteps all about, [grounds, 
Like those in Longw o0d’s prison 
Who at Napoleon’s heels rode out, 
For fear the Conqueror should break 
bounds. 


Oh for some Champion of his power, 
Some Ultra spirit, to set free, 


As erst in Shakspeare’s soy’reign hour, 
The thunders of his royalty !— 


To vindicate his ancient line, 
The first, the true, the only one 
Of Right eternal and divine, 
That rules beneath the blessed sun. 


ΤΑ ΔΎ, 
ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE SOMETHING IN HER 
ALBUM. 
Written at Middleton. 


On albums, albums, how I dread 
Your everlasting scrap and scrawl]! 

How often wish that from the dead, 

Old Omar would pop forth his head, 
And make a bonfire of you all! 


So might I ‘scape the spinster band, 
The blushless blues, who, day and 
night, 
Like duns in doorways, take their stand 
To waylay bards, with book in hand, 
Crying forever, ‘‘ Write, sir, write "ἢ 


So might I shun the shame and pain, 
That o’er me at this instant come, 
When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain, 
Knocks at the portal of my brain, 
And gets, for answer, “ Not at home !” 


November, 1828. 


TO THE SAME, 
ON LOOKING THROUGH HER ALBUM. 
No wonder bards, both high and low, 
From Byron down to*** ** and me, 
Should seek the fame, which all bestow 
On him whose task is praising thee. 


Let but the theme be J*r* * y’s eyes, 
At once all errors are forgiven ; 
As ey’n old Sternhold still we prize, 


Because, though dull, he sings of) 


heaven. 


AT NIGHT.* 


AT night, when all is still around, 

How sweet to hear the distant sound 
Of footsteps, coming soft and light ! 

What pleasure in the anxious beat, 

With which the bosom flies to meet 
That foot that comes so soft at night ! 


And then, at night, how sweet to say 
“Tis late, my love!” and chide delay, 

* These lines allude to a curious lamp, which 
has for its device a Cupid, with the words “ at 
night ἢ written over him. 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


555 


Though still the western clouds are 

bright ; 

Oh ! happy, too, the silent press, 

The eloquence of mute caress, [night ! 
With those we love exchanged at 


TO LADY HOLLAND, 
ON NAPOLEON'S LEGACY OF A SNUFF-BOX. 
Girt of the Hero, on his dying day, 
To her, whose pity watch’d, forever 
nigh ; [ray, 
Oh! could he see the proud, the happy 
| This relic lights up in her generouseye, 
Sighing, he’d feel how easy ’tis to pay 
A friendship all his kingdoms could not 
buy. 
Paris, July, 1821. 


EPILOGUE. 


WRITTEN FOR_LADY DACRE'S TRAGEDY OF INA. 


LAST night, as lonely o’er my fire I sat, 
Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and—all 
that, [sprite 
And wondering much what little knavish 
|Had put it first in women’s heads to 
write: (dream — 
‘Sudden I saw—as in some witching 
A bright-blue glory round my book-case 
beam, [light 
From whose quick-opening folds of azure 
| Out flew a tiny form, as small and bright 
/As Puck the Fairy, when he pops his 
head, 
Some sunny morning, from a violet bed. 
‘* Bless me !” I starting cried, ‘‘ what 
imp are you ?”— Bas BLEU— 
“A small he-devil, Ma’am—my name 
‘* 4 bookish sprite, much giy’n to routs 
and reading ; { breeding, 
“Tis I who teach your spinsters of good 
‘‘The reigning taste in chemistry and 
caps, [maps, 
_“The last new bounds of tuckers and of 
‘And, when the waltz has twirl’d her 
giddy brain, [again !” 
“With metaphysics it back 


I view’d him, as he spoke—his hose was 

blue, {[view— 

His wings—the covers of the last Re- 

Cerulean, border’d with a jaundice hue, 

| And tinsell’d gayly o’er for evening 

wear, [ fledged pair. 

Till the next quarter brings a new- 

‘Inspired by me,—(pursued this wag- 
gish Fairy )— 


twirl 


596 


MOORE’S WORKS. : 


τ. 


“That best of wives and Sapphos, Lady 
Mary, 

“‘Votary alike of Crispin aud the Muse, 

“Makes her own splay-foot epigrams 
and shoes, [ shine, 

“Wor me the eyes of young Camilla 

*“And mingle Love’s blue briliances 
with mine ; [shrinking, 


““ Por me she sits apart, from coxcombs | 


“‘Looks wise—the pretty soul !—and 
thinks she’s thinking. 

““By my advice Miss Indigo attends 

“ Lectures on Memory, and assures her 
friends, [surpass the plan 

“““?Pon honor !—(mimies)—nothing can 

“0 Ὁ that professor—(trying to recol- 
lect)—psha! that memory man— 

««That—what’s. his name ?—him I at- 
tended lately— [greatly.’” 

“Pon honor, he improved my memory 


Here, curtseying low, I ask’d the blue- 
lege’d sprite, [night. 
What share he had in this our play to- 
“Nay, there—(he cried)—there I am 
guiltless quite— [Gothic time, 
‘What! choose a heroine from that 
““When no one waltz’d, and none but 
monks could rhyme ; [and wild, 
““When lovely woman, all unschool’d 
“«Blush’d without art and without cul- 
ture smiled— [ they shone, 
«Simple as flowers, while yet unclass’d 
““Wre Science eall’d their brilliant world 
her own, [orders, 
““ Ranged the wild, rosy thingsin learned 
“And fill’d with Greek the garden’s 
blushing borders !— 
“ΝΟ, no—your gentle Inas will not do— 
“To-morrow evening, when the lights 
burn blue, 
“Tl come—(pointing downwards)—you 
understand—till then adieu!” 


And has the sprite been here? No— 
jests apart— 
Howe’er man rules in science and in art, 
The sphere of woman’s glories is the 
heart. 
And, if our muse have sketch’d with 
pencil true 
The wife—the mother—firm, yet gentle 
too— [ spun, 
Whose soul, wrapp’d up in tiesitself hath 
Trembles, if touch’d in the remotest one ; 
“In these stanzas I have done little more 
than relate a fact in verse; and the lady, 
whose singing gave rise to this curious instance 


Who loves—yet dares even Love him- 
self disown, [his throne ; 

When Honor’s broken shaft supports 

Ifsuch our Ina, she may scorn the evils, 

Dire as they are, of Critics and—Blue 
Devils. 


THE DAY-DREAM.* 


both were hush’d, the voice, the 
chords, — 
1 heard but once that witching lay ; 
And few the notes, and few the words, 
My spell-bound memory brought away; 


| THEY 


| Traces remember’d here and there, 
Like echoes of some broken strain ;— 
Links of a sweetness lost in air, 
That nothing now could join again. 


_Ey’n these, too, ere the morning, fled ; 
And,though the charm still linger’d on, 

That o’er each sense her song had shed, 
The song itself was faded, gone ;— 


Gone, like the thoughts that once were 
ours, 
On summer days, ere youth had set; 
Thoughts bright, we know, as summer 
flowers, get. 
Though what they were, we now for- 


In vain, with hints from other strains, 
I woo’d this truant air to come— 
As birds are taught, on eastern plains, 
To lure their wilder kindred home. 


In vain :—the song that Sappho gaye, 
In dying, to the mournful sea, 

Not muter slept beneath the wave, 
Than this within my memory. 


At length, one morning, as I lay 
In that  half-waking mood, when 
dreams 
Unwillingly at last give way 
To the full truth of daylight’s beams, 


A face—the very face, methought, 
From which had breathed, as from a 
shrine ὃ 
Of song and soul, the notes I sought— 
Came with its music close to mine ; 


And sung the long-lost measure o’er,— 
Hach note and word, with every tone 
And look, that lent it life before,— 
All perfect, all again my own! 


of the power of memory in sleep, is Mrs. Robert 


' Arkwright. 


13 


a ΡΠ ee 
wat x 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 557 


Like parted souls, when, ’mid the Blest | For priestly men, who covet sway 
They meet again, each widow’dsound| And wealth, though they declare 
Through memory’s realm had wing’d in not; 
_ quest } Who point, like finger-posts, the way 
Of its sweet mate, till all were found. | They never go—WE CARE NOT. 


Nor even in waking did the clue, , ς 
᾿ ῃ ᾽ τ 
Thus strangely caught, escape again ;_ ee pane ine ete 42 ord, 
or never lark its matins knew | The pledges of a aiidier’s word 
Ὁ well as now I knew this strain. : Ε aor ; : 
5 Redeem’d and pure— WE CARE NOT. 
And oft, when memory’s wondrous spell 


Ts talk’d of in our tranquil bower, For legal men, who plead for wrong, 
I sing this lady’s song, and tell And, though to lies they swear not, 
The vision of that morning hour. Are hardly better than the throng 


Of those who do—WE CARE NOT. 


SONG. For courtly men, who feed upon 


_ Wuerk is the heart that would not give The land, like grubs, and spare not 


Years of drowsy days and nights, The smallest leaf, where they can sun 
One little hour, like this, to live— Their crawling limbs—WE CARE NOT. 
Full, to the brim, of life’s delights ? 
Look, look around 
This fairy ground, 
With love-lights glittering o’er ; 
While cups that shine 
With freight divine For prudent men, who hold the power 
Go coasting round its shore. Of Love aloof, and bare not 
Their hearts in any guardless hour 
To Beauty’s shaft— WE CARE NOT. 


For wealthy men, who keep their mines 
In darkness hid, and share not 

The paltry ore with him who pines 
In honest want—WE CARE NOT. 


Hope is the dupe of future hours, 
Memory lives in those gone by; 
Neither can see the moment’s flowers 
Springing up fresh beneath the eye. 
Wouldst thou, or thou, 
Forego what's now, 
For all that Hope may say ? 
No—Joy’s reply, 
From every eye, 


For all, in short, on land or sea, 

In camp or court, who are not, 
Who never were, or e’er will be 

Good men and true—WE CARE NOT. 


Is, ‘‘ Live we while we may.” ANNE BOLEYN. 
TRANSLATION FROM THE METRICAL κ᾽ HISTOIRE 
SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE D'ANNE BOLEYN.” 
SOCIETY. S'elle estoit belle et de taille ¢légante, 
Haud curat Hippoclides. Estoit des yeulx encor plus attirante, 
© Lesquelz sgavoit bien conduyre ἃ propos 
Eras. Adag. En les tenant quelquefoys en repos ; 


To those we love we’ve drank to night; en 5 ee ret teamolgnage 
But now attend, and stare not, ΣΟ pir eh δος ἀπε τος 


While I the ampler list recite Mucu# as her form seduced the sight, 
Of those for whom—WE CARE NOT. Her eyes could even more surely woo ; 
For royal men, howe’er they frown, And when and how to shoot their light 


If on their fronts they bear not Into men’s hearts full well she knew. 


That noblest gem that decks a crown, 
The People’s Loye—WE CARE NOT. 


| 
For sometimes, in repose, she hid 
Their rays beneath a downcast lid; 


For slavish men, who bend beneath And then again, with wakening air, 

A despot yoke, yet dare not Would send tbeir sunny glances out, 
Pronounce the will, whose very breath | Like heralds of delight, to bear 

Would rend its links—We CARE NoT. Her heart’s sweet messages about, 


558 MOORE’S 


THE DREAM OF THE TWO 
SISTERS. 


FROM DANTE. 


Nell cra, credo, che dell’ oriente 
Prima raggid nel monte Citerea, 

Che di fuoco d’ amor par sempre ardente, 
Giovane 6 bella in sogno mi parea 
Donna vedere andar per una Janda 

Cogliendo fiori ; ¢ cantando dicea :— 


Sappia qualunque ’] mio nome dimanda, 
Ch’-io mi son Lia, e vo movendo ’ntorno 
Le belle mani a farmi una ghirlanda— 

Per piacermi allo specchio qui m’ adorno ; 
Ma mia suora Rachel mai non si smaga 
Dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno. 

Ell’ é de’ suoi begli occhi veder vaga, 

Com’ io dell’ adornarmi con le mani; 
Lei lo yedere e me l’ovrare appaga. 
DANTE, Purg. canto xxvii. 


"TWAS eyve’s soft hour, and bright above, 
The star of Beauty beam’d, 
While lull’d by light so full of love, 
Jn slumber thus I dream’d— 
Methought, at that sweet hour, 
A nympk came o’er the lea, 
Who, gath’ring many a flow’r, 
Thus said and sung to me :— 
“Should any ask what Leila loves, 
“Say thou, To wreath her hair 
“With flow’rets cull’d from glens and 
‘Ts Leila’s only care. [groves, 


“While thus in quest of flow’rets rare, 
‘“O’er hill and dale I roam, 

“My sister, Rachel, far more fair, 
‘Sits lone aud mute at home. 


“‘ Before her glass untiring 
“With thoughts that never stray, 
“Wer own bright eyes admiring, 
‘She sits the live-long day ; 
“While I!—oh, seldom eyen a look 
“Of self salutes my eye ;— 
““My only glass, the limpid brook, 
‘That shines and passes by.” 


SOVEREIGN WOMAN, 
A BALLAD, 
THE dance was o’er, yet still in dreams 
That fairy scene went on ; 
Like clouds still flush’d with daylight 
Though day itself is gone. [gleams, 
And gracefully, to music’s sound, 
The same bright nymphs went gliding 
round ; 
While thou, the Queen of all, wert there— 
The Fairest still, where all were fair. 


The dream then changed—in halls of 
I saw thee high enthroned ; [state 


WORKS. 


While, ranged around, the wise, the 
In thee their mistress own’d: [great, 

And still the same, thy gentle sway 

O’er willing subjects won its way— 

Till all confess’d the Right Divine 


To rule o’er man was only thine ! 


But lo, the scene now changed again— 
And borne on plumed steed, 
I saw thee o’er the battle-plain 
Our land’s defenders lead ; 
And stronger in thy beauty’s charms, 
Than man, with countless hosts in arms, 
Thy voice, like music, cheer’d the Free, 
Thy very smile was victory ! 


Nor reign such queens on thrones alone—: 
In cot and court the same, 

Wherever woman’s smile is known, 
Victoria’s still her name. 

For though she almost blush to reign, 

Though Love’s own flow’rets wreath the 

Disguise our bondage as we will, [chain, 

*Tis woman, woman, rules us still. 


COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE 
AIR AGAIN, 


A BALLAD. 


ComE, play me that simple air again, 
I used so to love, in life’s young day, 
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams 
that then 
Were waken’d by that sweet lay ; 
The tender gloom its strain 
Shed o’er the heart and brow, 
Grief’s shadow, without its pain-— 
Say where, where is it now ? 
But play me the well-known air once 
more, [strain, 
For thoughts of youth still haunt its 
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore 
We never shall see again. 


Sweet air, how every note brings back 
Some sunny hope, some day-dream: 
bright, 
That, shining o’er life’s early track, 
Fill’d ον its tears with light. 


The new-found life that came 
With love’s first echo’d vow ;— 
The fear, the bliss, the shame— 
Ah—where, where are they now? 
But, still the same lov’d notes prolong, 
For sweet ’twere thus, to that old lay, 
In dreams of youth and love and song, 
To breathe life’s hour away. 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


1823. 


have once inhabited, and to which, after 
along lapse of purification and trial, it 
will return. This belief, under vari- 


PREFACE. 
Tue Wastern story of the angels Ha- 


rut and Marut,* and the Rabbinical fic- 
tions of the loves of Uzziel and Shim- 
chazai,t are the only sources to which I 
need refer, for the origin of the notion on 
which this Romance is founded. In ad- 
dition to the fitness of the subject for 


poetry, it struck me also as capable of 


affording an allegorical medium, through 
which might be shadowed out (as [have 


ous symbolical forms, may be traced 
through almost all the Oriental theolo- 
gies. The Chaldeans represent the Soul 
as originally endowed with wings, 
which fall away when it sinks from its 
native element, and must be reproduced 
before it can hope to return, Some dis- 
ciples of Zoroaster once inquired of him, 
‘* How the wings of the Soul might be 


endeavored to do in the following sto- | made to grow again ?”—* By sprinkling 
ries) the fall of the Soul from its original | them,” he replied, ‘“‘ with the Waters of 
purity{—the loss of light and happiness , Life.””—‘‘But where are those Waters to 
which it suffers in the pursuit of this | be found?” they asked.—‘‘In the Gar- 
world’s perishable pleasures—and the | den of God,” replied Zoroaster. 
δ΄ δια both from conscience and| The mythology of the Persians has 
ivine justice, with which impurity, | allegorized the same doctrine, in the his- 
pride, and presumptuous inquiry into | tory of those genii of light who strayed 
the awful secrets of Heaven are sure to | from their dwellings in the stars, and 
be visited. The beautiful story of Cupid | obscured their original nature by mix- 
and Psyche owes its chief charm to this | ture with this material sphere ; while the 
sort of “ veiled meaning,” and it has | Egyptians, connecting it with the descent 
been my wish (however I may have }and ascent of the sun in the zodiac, 
failed in the attempt) to communicate | considered Autumn as emblematic of 
to the following pages the same moral | the Soul’s decline towards darkness, and 
interest. the re-appearance of Spring as itsreturn 
Among the doctrines, or notions, de- | to light and life. 
rived by Plato from the East, one of the | Besides the chief spirits of the Ma- 
most natural and sublime is that which |hometan heaven, such as Gabriel, the 
inculeates the pre-existence of the soul, | angel of Revelation, Israfil, by whom 
and its gradual descent into this dark | the last trumpet is to be sounded, and 
material world, from that region of| Azrael, the angel of death, there were 
spirit and light which it is supposed to | also a number of subaltern intelligences, 


* See note on page 524. 
t Hyde, de Relig. Vet. Persarum, p. 272. 


inroad of the spirits of darkness, who, finding 
+p as i themselves in the neighborhood of this pure 
ic ne account which Macrobius gives* of the | Jight, and becoming passionately enamored of 
downward journey of the Soul, through that | jts beauty, break the boundaries between them, 
gate of the zodiac which opens into the lower | and take forcible possession of it.t 
spheres, is a curions specimen of the wild fan- 
cies passed for philosophy in ancient times. 

In the system of Manes, the luminous or 
spiritual principle owes its corruption not to 
any evil tendency of its own, but to a violent 


*In Somn. Scipionis, cap. 12 


+ See a Treatise “ De la Religion des Perses,” by the 
| ae Foucher, Memoires de l'Academie, tom, xxxl. p. 


560 


of which tradition has preserved the 
names, appointed to preside over the 
different stages, or ascents, into which 
the celestial world was supposed to be 
divided.* Thus Kelail governs the fifth 
heaven; while Sadiel, the presiding 
spirit of the third, is also employed in 
steadying the motions of the earth, 
which would be in a constant state of 
agitation, ifthisangel did not keep his 
foot planted upon its orb.t 

Among other miraculous interposi- 
tions in favor of Mahomet, we find com- 
memorated in the pages of the Koran 


the appearance of five thousand angels | 


on his side at the battle of Bedr. 

The ancient Persians supposed that 
Ormuzd appointed thirty angels to pre- 
side successively over the days of the 
month, and twelve greater ones to as- 
sume the government of the months 
themselves ; among whom Bahman (to 
whom Ormuzd committed the custody 
of all animals, except man) was the 
greatest. Mihr, the angel of the 7th 
month, was also the spirit that watched 
over the affairs of friendship and love ; 
—Chir had the care of the disk of the 
sun ;—Mah was agent for the concerns 
of the moon ;—Isphandarmaz (whom 
Cazvin calls the Spirit of the Earth) was 
the tutelar genius of good and virtuous 
women, &c., &e., &e. For all this the 
reader may consult the 19th and 20th 
chapters of Hyde de Relig. Vet. Persa- 
rum, where the names and attributes of 
these daily and monthly angels are with 
much iminuteness and erudition ex- 
plained. It appears, from the Zend- 


avesta, that the Persians had a certain | 


office or prayer for every day of the 
month, (addressed to the particular angel 
who presided over it, ) which they called 
the Sirouzé, 

The Celestial Hierarchy of the Syri- 
ans, as described by Kircher, appears to 
be the most regularly graduated of any 
of these systems. In the sphere of the 
Moon they placed the angels, in that of 
Mercury the archangels, Venus and the 
Sun contained the Principalities and the 
Powers ;—and so on to the summit of 

* “ We adorned the lower heaven with lights, 
and placed therein a guard of angels.” —Koran, 
chap. xli. 

1 See D’Herbelot, passim. 

| The Mahometans believe, says D’Herbelot, 
that in that early period of the world, “les 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


the planetary system, where, in the 
sphere of Saturn, the Thrones had their 
station. Above this was the habitation 
of the Cherubim in the sphere of the 
fixed stars; and still higher, in the re- 
gion of those stars which are so distant 
as to be imperceptible, the Seraphim, 
we are told, the most perfect of all ce- 
lestial creatures, dwelt. 

The Sabeans also (as D’Herbelot tells 
us) had their classes of angels, to whom 
they prayed as mediators or interces- 
sors; and the Arabians worshipped fe- 
male angels, whom they called Benad 
Hasche, or Daughters of God. 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


*TwAs when the world was in its prime, 
When the fresh stars had just begun 


| Their race of glory, and young Time 


Told his first birth-days by the sun ; 
When, in the light of Nature’s dawn 
Rejoicing, men and angels mett 
On the high hill and sunny lawn,— 
Iire sorrow came, or Sin had drawn 
*Twixt man and heay’n her curtain yet! 
When earth lay nearer to the skies 
Than in these days of crime and wo, 
And mortals saw without surprise, 
In the mid-air, angelic eves 
Gazing upon this world below. 


Alas, that Passion should profane, 
Evw’n then, the morning of the earth ! 
That, sadder still, the fatal stain [birth— 
Should fall on hearts of heay’nly 
And that from Woman’s love should fall 
So dark a stain, most sad of all! 


One ey’ning, in that primal hour, 

On a hill’s side, where hung the ray 
Of sunset, bright’ning rill and bow’, 

Three noble youths conversing lay ; 
And, as they look’d, from time to time, 

To the far sky, where Daylight furl’d 
His radiant wing, their brows sublime 

Bespoke them of that distant world— 
Spirits, who once, in brotherhood 
Of faith and bliss, near ALLA stood, 
And o’er whose cheeks full oft had 

blown [ throne, ᾧ 

The wind that breathes from ALLA’s 
hommes n’eurent qu'une seule religion, et furent 
souvent visités des Anges, qui leur donnoient 
la main.” 

ὶ “ΤῸ which will be joined the sound of the 
bells hanging on the trees, which will be put in 
motion by the wind proceeding from the Throne, 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


Creatures of light, such as still play, 


Like motes in sunshine, round the 
And through their infinite array [Lord, 
Transmit each moment, night and day, 


The echo of His luminous word ! 


Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more 
oft, [thence ; 
Of the bright eyes that charm’d them 
Till, yielding gradual to the soft 
And balmy evening’s influence— 
The silent breathing of the flow’rs, 
The melting light that beam’d above, 
As on their first, fond, erring hours, 
Bach told the story of his love, 
The history of that hour unbless’d, 
When, like a bird, from its high nest 
Won down by fascinating eyes, 
For Woman's smile he lost the skies. 


The First who spoke was one, with look 
The least celestial of the three— 
A apie of light mould, that took — 
The prints of earth most yieldingly ; 
Who, ev’n in heav’n, was not of those 
Nearest the Throne,* but held a place 
Far off, among those shining rows 
That circle out through endless space, 
And o’er whose wings the light from Him 
In Heaven’s centre falls most dim, 


Still fair and glorious, he but shone 
Among those youths th’ unheavenliest 
one— 
A creature, to whom light remain’d 
From Eden still, but alter’d, stain’d, 
And o’er whose brow not Love alone 
A blight had, in his transit, cast, 
But other, earthlier joys had gone, 
And left their foot-prints as they pass’d. 
Sighing, as back through ages flown, 
ike a tomb-searcher, Mem’ry ran, 
Lifting each shroud that Time had thrown 
O’er buried hopes, he thus began :— 


FIRST ANGEL’S STORY, 


‘Twas in a land, that far away 

Into the golden orient lies, 

Where Nature knows not night's delay, 
80 often as the Blessed wish for musiec.”’ See 
Sale’s Koran, Prelim. Dissert. 

*The ancient Persians supposed that this 
Throne was placed in the Sun, and that through 
the stars were distributed the various classes 
of Angels that encircled it. 

The Basilidians supposed that there were 
three hnndred and sixty-five orders of angels, 
“dont la perfeotion alloit en déercissant, ἃ 


ιν, δ 


oh 


501 


But springs to meether bridegroom, Day, 
Upon the threshold of the skies. 

One morn, on earthly mission sent, ἡ 
And midway choosing where to light, 

IT saw, from the blue element— 
Oh beautiful, but fatal sight ! 

One of earth’s fairest womankind, 

Half veil’d from view, or rather shrined 

In the clear crystal of a brook ; 

Which, while it hid no single gleam 
Of her young beauties, made them look 
More spirit-like, as they might seem 

Through the dim shadowing of a 
Pausing in wonder I look’d on, {dream. 
While, playfully around her breaking 
The waters, that like diamonds shone, 
She moved in light of her own mak- 
At length, as from that airy height [ing. 
I gently lower’d my breathless flight, 
The tremble of my wing all o’er (thrill) 
(For through each plume I felt the 
Startled her, as she reach’d the shore 
Of that small lake—her mirror still— 
Above whose brink she stood, like snow 
When rosy with a sunset glow. 
Never shall I forget those eyes !— 
The shame, the innocent surprise 
Of that bright face, when in the air 
Uplooking, she beheld me there. 
It seem’d as if each thought, and look, 
And motion, were that minute chain’d 
Fast to the spot, such root she took, 
And—like a sunflower by a brook, 
With face upturn’d—so still remain’d! 


In pity to the wond’ring maid, [ing, 
Though loath from such a vision turn- 

Downward I bent, beneath the shade 
Of my spread wings to hide the burn- 

ing 

Of glances, which—I well could feel— 
For me, for her, too warmly shone ; 

But, ere I could again unseal 

My restless eyes, or even steal [gone— 
One sidelong look, the maid was 

Hid from me in the forest leaves, 
Sudden as when, in all her charms 

Of full-blown light, some cloud receives 
The Moon into his dusky arms. 


mesure qu'ils s'Cloignoient de la premidre classe 
(Wesprits placés dans le premier ciel.” See 
Dupuis, Orig. des Cultes, tom. ii. p. 112. 

t It appears that, in most languages, the 
term employed for an angel means also a mes- 
senger. Firischteh, the Persian word for 
angel, is derived (says D'Herbelot) from the 
verb Firischtin, to send. The Hebrew term, 
too, Melak, has the same signification. 


563 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


*Tis not in words to tell the power, 

The despotism that, from that hour, 

Passion held o’er me. Day and night 
I sought around each neighboring 

spot ; 

And, in the chase of this sweet light, 
My task, and heaven, and all forgot ; 

All, but the one, sole, haunting dream 

Of her I saw in that bright stream. 


Nor was it long, ere by her side 
I found myself, whole happy days, 
List’ning to words, whose music vied 
With our own Eden’s seraph lays, 
When seraph lays are warm’d by love, 
But, wanting that, far, far above !— 
And looking into eyes where, blue 
And beautiful, like skies seen through 
The sleeping wave, for me there shone 
A heaven more worshipp’d than my 
own. 
Oh what, while I could hear and see 
Such words and looks, was heay’n to me? 
Though gross the air on earth I drew, 
*T was blessed, while she breathed it too ; 
Though dark the flow’rs, though dim the 
sky, [nigh. 
Love lent them light, while she was 
‘Throughout creation I but knew [small, 
‘Two separate worlds—the one, that 
Beloved, and consecrated spot 
Where LEA was—the other, all [not / 
The dull, wide waste, where she was 


But vain my suit, my madness vain ; 
‘Though gladly, from her eyes to gain 
One earthly look, one stray desire, 
I would have torn the wings, that hung 
Furl’d at my back, and o’er the Fire 
In Geurm’s* pit their fragments flung ;— 
Twas hopeless all—pure and unmoved 
She stood, as lilies in the light 
Of the hot noon but look more white ; 
And though she loved me, deeply loved, 
°Twas not as man, as mortal—no, 
Nothing of earth was in that glow— 
She loved me but as one, of race 
Angelic, from that radiant place 
‘She saw so oft in dreams—that Heaven, 


* The name given by the Mahometans to the 
infernal regions, over which, they say, the 
angel Tabhek presides. 

By the seven gates of hell, mentioned in the 
Koran, the commentators understand seven 
different departments or wards, in which seven 
different sorts of sinners are to be punished. 
The first, called Gehennem, is for sinful Mus- 
Aulmans,; the second, Ladha, for Christian of- 


¢ 
To which her prayers at morn were 
sent 
And on whose light she gazed at even, 
Wishing for wings, that she might go 
Out of this shadowy world below, 
To that free, glorious element ! 


Well I remember by her side 
Sitting at rosy even-tide, 
When,—turning to the star, whose head 
Look’d out, as from a bridal bed, 
At that mute, blushing hour,—she said, 
‘Oh! that it were my doom to be 
‘The Spirit of yon beauteous star, 
‘Dwelling up there in purity, [are ;— 
‘Alone, as all such bright things 
‘My sole employ to pray and shine, 
‘To light my censer at the sun, 
“And cast its fire towards the shrine 
‘Of Him in heav’n, th’ Eternal one "ἢ 


So innocent the maid, so free 
From mortal taint in soul and frame, 
Whom ’twas my crime—my destiny— 
To love, ay, burn for; with a flame 
To which earth’s wildest fires are tame. 
Had you but seen her look, when first 
From my mad lips th’ avowal burst ; 
Not anger’d—no—the feeling came 
From depths beyond mere anger’s 
It was a sorrow, calm as deep, [flame— 
A mournfulness that could not weep, 
So fill’d her heart was to the brink, 
So fix’d and froz’n with grief, to think 
That angel natures—that ev’n I, 
Whose love she clung to, as the tie 
Between her spirit and the sky— 
Should fall thus headlong from the height 
Of all that heav’n hath pure and bright ! 


That very night—my heart had grown 
Impatient of its inward burning ; 

The term, too, of my stay was flown, 

And the bright Watchers near the thrcne, 

Already, if a meteor shone 

Between them and this nether zone, 
Thought ’twas their herald’s wing re 

turning. 

Oft did the potent spell-word giv’n 

To Envoys hither from the skies, 


fenders; the third, Hothama, is appointed for 
Jews; and the fourth and fifth, called Sair and 
Sacar, are destined to receive the Sabzans and 
the worshippers of fire; in the sixth, named 
Gehim, those pagans and idolaters who admit 
a plurality of gods are placed; while into the 
abyss of the seventh, called Derk Asfal, or the 
Deepest, the hypocritical canters of all religions 
are thrown, 


tin 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 6S 


To be pronounced, when back to heav’n 

It is their time or wish to rise, 

Come to my lips that fatal day ; 

And once, too, was so nearly spoken, 
That my spread plumage in the ray 
And breeze of heay’n began to play ;— 

When my heart fail’d—the spell was 

broken— » 
The word unfinish’d died away, 
And my check’d plumes, ready to soar, 
Fell slack and lifeless as before. 
How could I leave a world which she, 
Or lost or won, made all to me ? 
No matter where my wand’rings were, 

So there she look’d, breathed, moved 

about— 
Wo, ruin, death, more sweet with her, 

Than Paradise itself, without ! 


But, to return—that very day 
A feast was held, where, full of mirth, 
Came—crowding thick as flow’rs at play 
In summer winds—the young and gay 
And beautiful of this bright earth. 
And she was there, and ’mid the young 
And beautiful stood first, alone; 
Though on her gentle brow still hung 
The shadow I that morn had thrown— 
The first, that ever shame or wo 
Had cast uponits vernal snow. 
My heart was madden’d ;—in the flush 
Of the wild revel I gave way 
To all that frantic mirth—that rush 
Of desp’rate gayety, which they, 
Who never felt how pain’s excess 
Can break out thus, think happiness ! 
Sad mimicry of mirth and life, 
Whose flashes come but from the strife 
Of inward passions—like the light 
Struck out by clashing swords in fight. 


Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane 
And blessing of man’s heart and brain— 
That draught of sorcery, which brings 
Phantoms of fair, forbidden things— 
Whose drops, like those of rainbows, 
smile 
Upon the mists that cirele man, 
Bright’ning not only Earth, the while, 
But grasping Heavy’n, too, in their 
span !— 
Then first the fatal wine-cup rain’d 
Its dews of darkness through my lips,* 
* T have already mentioned that some of the 
circumstances of this story were suggested to 
ine by the eastern legend of the two angels, 
Harut and Marut, as given by Mariti, who says 
that the author of the Taalim founds upon it 
the Mahometan prohibition of wine.* have 


Casting whate’er of light remain’d 
To my lost soul into eclipse ; 

And filling it with such wild dreams, 
Such fantasies and wrong desires, 

As, in the absence of heay'n’s beams, 
Haunt us forever —like wild-fires 
That walk this earth, when day retires. 


Now hear the rest ;—our banquet done, 
I sought her in th’ accustom’d bow’r, 
Where late we oft, when day was gone, 
And the world hush’d, had met alone, 
At the same silent, moonlight hour. 
Her eyes, as usual, were upturn’d 
To her loy’d star, whose lustre burn’d 
Purer than ever on that night ; 
While she, in looking, grew more 
bright, 
As though she borrow’d of its light. 


There was a virtue in that scene, 
A. spell of holiness around, 
Which, had my burning brain not been 
Thus madden’d, would have held me 
bound, 
As though I trod celestial ground. 
Εν as it was, with soul all flame, 
And lips that burn’d in their own 
sighs, 
I stood to gaze, with awe and shame— 
The memory of Hden came 
Full o’er me when I sqw those eyes; 
And though too well each glance of 
mine 
To the pale, shrinking maiden proved 
How far, alas, from aught divine, 
Aught worthy of so pure a shrine, 
Was the wild love witb which I loved, 
Yet must she, too, have seen—oh yes, 
’Tis soothing but to think she saw 
The deep, true, soul-felt tenderness, 
The homage of an Angel’s awe 
To her, a mortal, whom pure love 
Then placed above him—far aboye— 
And all that struggle to repress 
A sinful spirit’s mad excess, 
Which work’d within me at that hour, 
When, with a voice, where Passion shed 
All the deep sadness of her power, 
Her melancholy power—l said, 
‘Then be it so; if back to heayen 
‘T must unloved, unpitied, fly, 
‘Without one blest memorial giv’n 
since found that Mariti’s version of the tale 
(which differs also from that of Dr, Prideaux, 
in his Life of Mahomet) is taken from the 
French ebay in which work, under the 
head ‘ Arot et Marot,” the reader will find it 
* The Bahardanush tells the fable differently 


564 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


ou 


‘To soothe me in that lonely sky ; 
“One look, like those the young and fond 
‘Give when they’re parting—which 
would be, 
«Tiv'n in remembrance, far beyond 
‘All heay’n hath left of bliss for me! 


τ Oh, but to see that head recline 
“A minute on this trembling arm, 
“ And those mild eyes look up to mine, 
‘ Without a dread, a thought of harm! 
“To meet, but once, the thrilling touch 
‘Of lips too purely fond to fear me— 
‘ Or, if that boon be all too much, 
“ν᾿ thus to bring their fragrance 
near me! 
‘Nay, shrink not so—a look—a word— 
‘Give them but kindly and I fly ; 
“ Already, see, my plumes have stirr’d, 
‘ And tremble for their home on high. 
‘ Thus be our parting —cheek to cheek— | 
“One minute’s lapse will be forgiv’n, 
« And thou, the next, shalt hear me speak 
‘The spell that plumes my wing for 
heay’n!’ 


While thus I spoke, the fearful maid, 

Of me, and of herself, afraid, 

Had shrinking stood, like flow’rs beneath 

The scorching of the south-wind’s 
breath : 

But when I named—alas, too well, 

I now recall, though wilder’d then, — 
Instantly, when I named the spell, 

Her brow, her eyes, uprose again, 
And, withan eagerness, that spoke 
The sudden light that o’er her broke, 

‘ The spell, the spell !—oh, speak it now, 

‘And I will bless thee! she ex- 

claim’d— 

Unknowing what I did, inflamed, 
And lost already, on her brow 

I stamp’done burning kiss, and named 
The mystic word, till then ne’er told 
To living creature of earth’s mould! 
Scarce was it said, when, quick 

thought, 
Her lips from mine, like echo, caught 
The holy sound—her hands and eyes 
Were instant lifted to the skies, 
And thrice to heay’n she spoke it out 

With that triumphant look Faith 

wears, 
When not a cloud of fear or doubt, 

A vapor from this vale of tears, 

Between her and her God appears ! 
That very moment her whole frame 
All bright and glorified became, 


as | 


And at her back I saw unclose 
Two wings, magnificent as those 

That sparkle around ALLA’s Throne, 
Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose, 

Above me, in the moonbeam shone 
With a pure light, which—from its hue, 
Unknown upon this earth—I knew 
Was light from Eden, glist’ning through ! 
Most holy vision! ne’er before 

Did aught so radiant—sinee the day 
When EBLIs, in his downfall, bore 

The third of the bright stars away— 
Rise, in earth’s beauty, to repair 
That loss of light and glory there ! 


But did I tamely view her flight ? 
Did not J, too, proclaim out thrice 
The pow’rful words that were, that 
night, — 


| Oh, ev’n for heay’n too much delight !— 


Again to bring us, eyes to eyes, 
And soul to soul, in Paradise ? 


_I did—I spoke it o’er and o’er— 


I pray’d, I wept, but all in vain; 
For me the spell had pow’r no more. 
There seem’d around me some dark 
Which still, as I essay’d to soar, [chain 
Baffled, alas, each wild endeavor: 
Dead lay my wings, as they have lain 
Since that sad hour, and will remain— 
So wills th’ offended God—for ever! 


It was to yonder star I traced 
Her journey up th’ illumined waste— 
That isle in the blue firmament, 
To which so oft her faney went 
In wishes and in dreams before, 


| And which was now—such, Purity, 
| Thy bless’d reward—ordain’d to be 


Her home of light for evermore! 
Once—or did 1 but faney so ?— 

Ky’n in her flight to that fair sphere 
’Mid all her spirit’s new-felt glow, 
A pitying look she turn’d below 

On him who stood in darkness here ; 
| Him whom, perhaps, if vain regret 
Can dwell in heaven, she pities yet; 
| And oft, when looking to this dim 
| And distant world, remembers him. 


| But soon that passing dream was gone; 
| Farther and farther off she shone, 
| Till lessen’d to a point, as small 

Asare those specks that yonder burn, — 
Those vivid drops of light, that fall 

The last from Day’s exhausted urn. 
And when at length she merged, afar, 
Into her own immortal star, 


) 


| 
| 
| 


- 
Ρ. 
᾿ 


- 


"i 
4 
᾿ 
ἢ 
' 
Ἢ 
; 
5 
; 


δι 


"SS 


a eee 


And when at length my straining sight 
Had caught her mines last fading ray, 
That minute from my soul the light 
Of heay’n and love both pass’d away ; 
_ And I forgot my home, my birth, 
Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, 
And revell’d in gross joys of earth, 
Till I became—what I am now!” 


The Spirit bow’d his head in shame ; 
A shame, that of itself would tell— 


Were there not ev’n those breaks of 


flame, 
Celestial, through his clouded frame— 
How grand the height from which he 
fell! 
That holy Shame, which ne’er forgets 
Th’ unblench’d renown it used to 
wear ; 
Whose blush remains, when Virtue sets, 
To show her sunshine has been there. 


Once only, while the tale he told, 

Were his eyes lifted to behold 

That happy, stainless star, where she 

Dwelt in her bower of purity ! 

One minute did he look, and then— 
As though he felt some deadly pain 
From its sweet light through heart and 

brain— 
Shrunk back, and never look’d again. 


Who was the Second Spirit? he 
With the proud front and piercing 
glance, [expanse, 
Who seem’d, when viewing heayen’s 
As though his far-sent eye could see 
On, on into th’ Immensity 
Behind the veils of that blue sky, 
Where ALLA's grandest secrets lie?— 
His wings, the while, though day was 
gone, 
Flashing with many a various hue 
Of light they from themselves alone, 


Instinct with Nden’s brightness, drew. | 
£ 


“Twas RuBt—once among the prime 
And flow’r of those bright creatures, 
named 
Spirits of Knowledge,* who o’er Time 
And Space and Thought an empire 
claim’d, 
Second alone to Him, whose light 
Was, ev’n to theirs, as day to night; 
’Twixt whom and them was distance far 
And wide as would the journey be 


* The Kerubiim, as the Mnussulmans call 
them, are often joined indiscriminately with the 


Asrafil or Seraphim, under one common name | 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


| To reach from any island star 
The vague shores of Infinity ! 


’Twas Rust, in whose mournful eye 
Slept the dim light of days gone by; 
Whose voice, though sweet, fell on the 
Like echoes, in some silent place, [ear 
When first awaked for many a year; 
And when he smiled, if o'er his face 
Smile ever shone, ’twas like the grace 
Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, 
The sunny life, the glory gone, [same, 
Ev’n o’er his pride, though still the 
| A soft’ning shade from sorrow came; 
And though at times his spirit knew 
The kindlings of disdain and ire, 
Short was the fitful glare they threw— 
Like the last flashes, fierce but few, 
Seen through some noble pile on fire ! 


Such was the Angel, who now broke 
The silence that had come o’er all, 
When he, the Spirit that last spoke, 
Closed the anf hist’ry of his fall ; 
And, while a sacred lustre, flown 
For many a day, relumed his cheek— 
Beautiful, as in days of old; 
And not those eloquent lips alone, 
But every feature seem’d to speak 
Thus his eventful story told :— 


SECOND ANGEL’S STORY. 


“You both remember well the day, 
When unto Eden's new-made bow’rs, 
ALLA convoked the bright array 
Of his supreme angelic pow’rs, 
To witness the one wonder yet, 
| Beyond man, angel, star, or sun, 
He must achieve, ere he could set 
His seal upon the world, as done— 
To see that last perfection rise, 
| That crowning of creation’s birth, 
When, mid the worship and surprise 
Of circling angels, Woman's eyes 
First open’d upon heay'n and earth; 
And from their lids a thrill was sent, 
| That through each living spirit went, 
| Like first light through the firmament ! 


Can you forget how gradual stole 

The fresh-awaken’d breath of soul 
Throughout her perfect form—which 
seem’d 

To grow transparent, as there beam’d 
That dawn of Mind within, and caught 


of Azazi), by which all spirits who approach 
near the throne of Alla are designated. 


566 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


New loveliness from each new thought ? 
Slow as o’er summer seas we trace 

The progress of the noontide air, 
Dimpling its bright and silent face 
Each minute into some new grace, 

And. varying heav’n’s reflections 

there — 
Or, like the light of evening, stealing 

O’er some fair temple, which all day 
Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing 

Its several beauties, ray by ray, 

Till it shines out, a thing to bless, 

All full of light and loveliness. 

Can you forget her blush, when round 

Through Eden’s lone, enchanted ground 

She look’d, and saw, the sea—the skies— 
And heard the rush of many a wing, 
On high behests then vanishing ; 

And saw the last few angel eyes, 

Still ling’ring—mine among the rest,— 

Reluctant leaving scenes so blest ? 

From that miraculous hour, the fate 

Of this new, glorious Being dwelt 
Forever, with a spell-like weight, 

Upon my spirit—early, late, 

Whate’er I did, or dream’d, or felt, 
The thought of what might yet befall 
That matchless creature mix’d with all. — 
Nor she alone, but her whole race 

Through ages yet to come—whate’er 

Of feminine, and fond, and fair, [face, 
Should spring from that pure mind and 

All wak’d my soul’s intensest care ; 
Their forms, suuls, feelings, still to me 
Creation’s strangest mystery ! 


It was my doom—ev’n from the firs', 
When witnessing the primal burst 
Of Nature’s wonders, I saw rise 
Those bright creations in the skies, - - 
Those worlds instinct with life and hght, 
Which man, remote, but sees by night,— 
It was my doom still to be haunted 
By some new wonder, some sublime 
And matchless work, that, for the time 
Held all my soul, enchain’d, enchanted, 


*“C’est un fait indubitable que la plupart 
des anciens philosophes, soit Chaldéens, soit 
Grees, nous ont donné les astres comme animés, 
et ont soutenu que les astres, qui nous éclairent, 
n’étoient que ou les chars, ou méme les navi- 
res, des Intelligences qui les conduisoient. 
Pour les Chars, cela se lit partout ; on n'a 
guwouvrir Pline, St. Clément,” &e., &¢c.—Mé- 
moire ITistorique, sur le Sabiisme, par M. 
Fourmont. 

A belief that the stars are either spirits or 
the vehicles of spirits, was common to all the 
religions and heresies of the East. Kircher has 


And left me not a thought, a dream, 
A word, but on that only theme ! 


The wish to know—that endless thirst, 
Which ey’n by quenching is awaked, 
And which becomes or bless’d or cursed, 
As is the fount whereat ’tis slaked— 
Still urged me onward with desire 
Insatiate, to explore, inquire— 
Whate’er the wondrous things might be - 
That waked each new idolatry— 
Their cause, aim, source, whence-ever 
sprung— 
Their inmost pow’rs, as though for me 
Existence on that knowledge hung. 


Oh what a vision were the stars, 

When first I saw them burn on high, 
Rolling along, like living cars 

Of light, for gods to journey by !* 
They were my heart’s first passion—days 
And nights, unwearied, in their rays 
Have I hung floating, till each sense 
Seem/’d full of their bright influence. 
Innocent joy ! alas, how much 

Of misery had I shunn’d below, 
Could I have still lived bless’d with such ; 

Nor, proud and restless, burn’d to 

know [ wo. 

The knowledge that brings guilt and 
Often—so much I loved to trace 
The secrets of this starry race— 

Have I at morn and evening run 
Along the lines of radiance spun 

Like webs, between them and the sun 
Untwisting all the tangled ties 

Of light into their different dyes— 
Then fleetly wing’d I off in quest 

Of those, the farthest, loneliest, 

That watch, like winking sentinels, t 
The void, beyond which Chaos dwells ; 
And there, with noiseless plume, pursued 
Their track through that grand solitude, 
Asking intently all and each 

What soul within their radiance dwelt, 
And wishing their sweet light were 

speech, 

That they might tell me all they felt. 
given the names and stations of the seven arch- 
angels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews 
distributed through the planets. 

t According to the cosmogony of the ancient 
Persians, there were four stars set as sentinels 
in the four quarters of the heavens, to watch 
over the other fixed stars, and superintend the 
lanets in their course. The names of these 
four sentinel stars are, according to the Boun- 
desh, Taschter, for the east ; Satevis, for the 


west; Venand, for the south; and Haftorang, 
for the north. 


΄ 


Nay, oft, so 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 


567 


assionate my chase 
Of these res endent heirs of space, 
Oft did I follow—lest a ray 
Should ’scape me in the farthest 
Some pilgrim Comet, on his way [night— 
To yisit distant shrines of light, 
And well remember how I sung 
BPxultingly, when on my sight 
New worlds of stars, all fresh and young, 
As if just born of darkness, sprung! 


Such was my pure ambition then, 

My sinless transport, night and morn ; 
Ere yet this newer world of men, 

And that most fair of stars was born 
Which I, in fatal hour, saw rise 
Among the flow’rs of Paradise ! 
Thenceforth my nature all was changed, 

My heart, soul, senses turn’d below ; 
And he, who but so lately ranged 

Yon wonderful expanse, where glow 
Worlds upon worlds, —yet found his mind 
Ev’n in that luminous range confined, — 
Now bless’d the humblest, meanest sod 
Of the dark earth where Woman trod ! 
In vain my former idols glisten’d [ears 

From their far thrones; in vain these 
To the once-thrilling music listen’d, 

That hymn’d around my favorite 

spheres— 


To earth, to earth each thought was giy’n, | 


That in this half-lost soul had birth ; 
Like some high mount, whose head’s in 
heay’n, 
While its whole shadow rests on earth ! 


Nor was it Love, ev’n yet, that thrall’d 
My spirit in his burning ties ; 

And less, still less could it be call’d 
That grosser flame, round which Love 
Nearer and nearer, till he dies— [flies 

No, it was wonder, such as thrill’d 
At all God’s works my dazzled sense ; 

The same rapt wonder, only fill’d 
With passion more profound, in- 

tense,— 

A vehement, but wand’ring fire, 

Which, though nor love, nor yet desire— 

Though through all womankind it took 
Its range, as lawless lightnings run, 

Yet wanted but a touch, a look, 

To fix it burning upon One. 


Then, too, the ever-restless zeal, 

Th’ insatiate curiosity 
To know how shapes, so fair, must feel— 
To look, but once, beneath the seal 

Of so much loveliness, and see 


What souls belong’d to such bright eyes— 
Whether, as sunbeams find their way 
Into the gem that bidden lies, [ray, 
Those looks could inward turn their 
And make the soul as bright as they : 
All this impell’d my anxious chase, 
And still the more I saw and knew 
Of Woman’s fond, weak, conqu’ring race, 
Th’ intenser still my wonder grew. 


I had beheld their First, their Eve, 
Born in that splendid Paradise, 

Which sprung there solely to receive 
The first light of her waking eyes. 

I had seen purest angels lean 

| In worship o’er her from above ; 

/And man—oh yes, had envying seen 

Proud man possess’d of all her love. 


| I saw their happiness, so brief, 
So exquisite—her error, too, 
That easy trust, that prompt belief 
| In what the warm heart wishes true ; 
That faith in words, when kindly said, 
By which the whole fond sex is led— 
Mingled with—what I durst not blame, ἡ 
For ’tismy own—that zeal to know, 
Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of wo; [came, 
Which, though from heav’n all pure it 
Yet stain’d, misused, brought sin and 
On her, on me, on all below! [shame 


T had seen this ; had seen Man, arm’d, 
As his soul is, with strength and sense, 

| By her first words to ruin charm’d ; 

His vaunted reason’s cold defence, 

| Like an ice-barrier in the ray 

| Of melting summer, siniled away ; 

Nay, stranger yet, spite of all this— 
Though by her counsels taught to ert, 
Though driv’n from Paradise for her, 

(And with her—that, at least, was bliss, ) 

' Had 1 not heard him, ere he cross’d 
The threshold of that earthly heay’n, 

Which by her wildering smile he lost— 
So quickly was the wrong forgiv’n !— 

Had I not heard him, as he press’d 

The frail, fond trembler to a breast 

Which she had doomed to sin and strife, 

Call her—ev’n then—his Life ! his Life !* 

Yes, such the love-taught name, the first, 
That ruin’d Man to Woman gave, 

Ev’n inhis outcast hour, when cursed 

By her fond witchery, with that worst 
And earliest boon of love, the grave! 
* Chavah, or, as it is in Arabic, Havah, (the 


name by which Adam called the woman after 
their transgression,) means * Life.” 


568 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


She, who brought death into the world, 
There stood before him, with the light 
Of their lost Paradise still bright 

Upon those sunny locks, that eurl’d 

Down her white shoulders to her feet— 

So beautiful in form, so sweet 

Tn heart and voice, as to redeem 
The loss, the death of all things dear, 

Except herself—and make it seem 
Life, endless Life, while she was near! 

Could I help wond’ring at a creature, 
Thus circled round with spells so 

strong— (ture, 

One, to whose ey’ry thought, word, fea- 
In joy and wo, through right and 

wrong, 

Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave, 

To bless or ruin, curse or save ? 


ΝΟΥ did the marvel cease with her— 
New Hves in all her daughters came, 

As strong to charm, as weak to err, 

As sure of man through praise and 
blame, [ shame, 
Whate’er they brought him, pride or 

He still th’ unreasoning worshipper, 

And they, throughout all time the 
same, 
Enchantresses of soul and frame, 

Into whose hands, from first to last, 
This world with all its destinies, 

Devotedly by heay’n seems cast, 

To save or ruin, as they please ! 

Oh, ’tis not to be told how long, 

How restlessly I sigh’d to find 

Someone, from out that witching throng, 
Some abstract of the form and mind 

Of the whole matchless sex, from which 
In my own arms beheld, possess’d, 

I might learn all the powers to witch, 
To warm, and (if my fate unbless’d 
Would have it) ruin, of the rest! 

Into whose inward soul and sense 
I might descend, as doth the bee 

Into the flower’s deep heart, and thence 
Rifle, in all its purity, 

The prime, the quintessence, the whole 

Of wondrous Woman’s frame and soul! 


Atlength, my burning wish, my prayer— 

(For such—oh what will tongues not 
dare, [ ferr’d )— 

When hearts go wrong ?—this lip pre- 

At length my ominous prayer was 
heard— 

But whether beard in heaven or hell, 

Listen—and thou wilt know too well. 


There was a maid, of all who move 
Like visions o’cr this orb, most fit 
To be a bright young angel’s love, 
Herself so bright, so exquisite ! 
The pride, too, of her step, as light 
Along th’ unconscious earth she went, 
Seem’d that of one, born with a right 
To walk some heavenlier element, 
And tread in places where her feet 
A star at ev’ry step should meet. 
*T was not alone that loveliness [caught— 
By which the wilder’d sense is 
Of lips, whose very breath could bless ; 
Of playful blushes, that seem’d naught 
But luminous escapes of thought ; 
Of eyes that, when by anger stirr’d, 
Were fire itself, but, at a word 
Of tenderness, all soft became, [bird, 
As theugh they could, like the sun’s 
Dissolve away in their own flame— 
Of form, as pliant as the shoots 
Of a young tree, in vernal flower ; 
Yet round and glowing as the fruits 
That drop from it in summer’s hour ;— 
’Twas not alone this loveliness 
That falls to loveliest Woman’s share, 
Though, even here, her form could 
spare 
From its own beauty’s rich excess 
Enough to make ev’n them more fair— 
But ’twas the Mind, outshining clear 
Through her whole frame—the soul, still 
near, 
To light each charm, yet independent 
Of what it lighted, as the sun Ν 
That shines on flowers, would be re- 
splendent 
Were there no flowers to shine upon— 
’Twas this, all this, in one combined— 
Th’ unnumber’d looks and arts that 
The glory of young woman-kind, [form 
Taken in their perfection, warm, 
Ere time had chill’d a single charm, 
And stamp’d with such a seal of Mind, 
As gave to beauties, that might be 
Too sensual else, too unrefined, 
The impress of Divinity! 


’T was this—a union, which the hand 
Of Nature kept for her alone, 
Of every thing most playful, bland, 
Voluptuous, spiritual, grand, 
In angel-natures and her own— 
Oh this it was that drew me nigh 
One, who seem’d kin to heaven as I, 
A bright twin-sister from on high— 
One, in whose love, I felt, were given 


a 


THE LOVES OF 


THE ANGELS. 569 


The mix’d delights of either sphere, Catches of radiance, lost when caught, 


All that the spirit seeks in heaven, 
And all the senses burn for here. 


Had we—but hold—hear every part 
Of our sad tale—spite of the pain 
Remembrance gives, when the fix’d dart 
Is stirr’d thus in the wound again — 
lear every step, so full of bliss, 
And yet so ruinous, that led 
Down to the last, dark precipice, 
Where perish’d both—the fallen, the 
dead ! 


From the first hour she caught my sight, | 
T never left her—day and night 
Hovering unseen around her way, 
And ’mid her loneliest musings near, | 
I soon could track each thought that lay, 
Gleaming within her heart, as clear 
As pebbles within brooks appear; 
And there, among the countless things 
That keep young hearts forever glow- 
Vague wishes, fond imaginings, — (ing, 
Love-dreams, as yet no object know- 
ing— [bid, 
Light, winged hopes, that come when 
And rainbow joys that end in weep- 
ing ; 
And passions, among pure thoughts hid, 
Like serpents under flowerets sleep- 
ing :— 
*Mong all these feelings—felt where’er 
Young hearts are beating—I saw there 
Proud thoughts, aspiring high beyond 


Whate’er yet dwelt in soul so fond— 
Glimpses of glory, far away 
Into the bright, vague future given ; 
And fancies, free and grand, whose play, 
Like that of eaglets, is near heaven ! 
With this, too—what a soul and heart 
To fall beneath the the tempter’s art !— 
A zeal for knowledge, such as ne’er 
Wnshrined itself in-form so fair, 
Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve 
With every fruit of Eden bless’d, 
Save one alone—rather than leave 
That one unreach’d, lost all the rest. 


It was in dreams that first I stole 

With gentle mastery o’er her mind— 
In that rich twilight of the soul, 

When reason’s beam, half hid behind 
The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds 
Hach shadowy shape the Faney builds— 
*Twas then, by that soft light, I brought 

Vague, glimmering visions to her 

view ;— 


| Gright labyrinths, that led to naught, 
| And 


vistas, with 
through ;— 
Dwellings of bliss, that 
Then closed, dissolve 
trace— 
All that, in short, could tempt Hope on, 
But give her wing no resting-place ; 


no pathway 


opening shone 
i and left no 


| Myself the while, with brow, as yet, 


Pure asthe young moon’s coronet, 

Through every dream still in her sight, 
Th’ enchanter of each mocking scene, 

Who gave the hope, then brought the 

blight, 

Who said, ‘ Behold yon world of light,’ 
Then sudden dropp’d a veil between! 

At length, when I perceived each 

thought, 


| Waking or sleeping, fix’d on naught 


But these illusive scenes, and me— 
The phantom, who thus came and went, 
In half revealments only meant 

To madden curiosity— 

When by such various arts I found 

Her fancy to its utmost wound, 

One night—’twas in a holy spot, [grot 
Which she for prayer had chosen—a 
Of purest marble, built below 

Her garden beds, through which a glow 
From lamps invisible then stole, 

Brightly pervading all the place— 
Like that mysterious light the soul, 

Itself unseen, sheds through the face— 
There, at her altar, while she knelt, 
And all that woman ever felt, [sighs— 

When God and man both claim’d her 
Every warm thought, that ever dwelt, 

Like summer clouds, ’twixt earth and 

skies, 

Too pure to fall, too gross to rise, 

Spoke in her gestures, tones, and 

eyes— 
Then, as the mystic light’s soft ray 
Grew softer still, as though its ray 
Was breathed from her, I heard her 
say :— 


‘Oh idol of my dreams! whate’er 
‘Thy nature be—human, divine, 

‘Or but half heay’nly—still too fair, 
‘Too heavenly to be ever mine! 

‘Wonderful Spirit, who dost make 
‘Slumber so lovely that it seems 

‘No longer life to live awake, (dreams, 
‘Since heaven itself descends in 


370 


‘Why do I ever lose thee? why 
‘When on thy realms and thee I gaze 

‘Still drops that veil, which I could die, 
‘Oh gladly, but one hour to raise ? 


‘Long ere such miracles as thou [thirst 
‘And thine came o’er my thoughts, a 

‘For light was in this soul, which now 
‘Thy looks have into passion nursed. 


‘There’s nothing bright above, below, 
‘In sky — earth—ocean, that this 
breast 
‘ Doth not intensely burn to know, 
‘ And thee, thee, thee, o’er all the rest! 


‘Then come, oh Spirit, from behind 
‘The curtains of thy radiant home, 
‘If thou wouldst be as angel shrined, 


‘Or loved and clasp’d as mortal, come ! | 


‘Bring all thy dazzling wonders here, 
‘That I may, waking, know and see; 
‘Or waft me hence to thy own sphere, 
‘Thy heaven, or—ay, even that with 
thee ! 


‘Demon or God, who hold’st the book 
‘Of knowledge spread beneath thine 
eye, [look 
‘Give me, with thee, but one bright 
‘Into its leaves, and let me die! 


‘ By those ethereal wings, whose way 
‘ Lies through an element, so fraught 
‘ With living Mind, that, as they play, 
‘Their every movement is a thought! 


‘By that bright, wreathed hair, between 
‘ Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind 
‘Of Paradise so late hath been, 
‘And left its fragrant soul behind! 


‘By those impassion’d eyes, that melt 
‘Their light into the inmost heart : 

‘ Like sunset in the waters, felt 
‘As molten fire through every part— 


‘IT do implore thee, oh most bright 
‘And worshipp’d Spirit, shine but o’er 

‘My waking, wondering eyes this night, 
‘This one blest night —I ask no more "ἢ 


Exhausted, breathless, as she said 
These burning words, her languid head 
Upon the altar’s steps she cast, 

As if that brain-throb were its last— 


Till, startled by the breathing, nigh, 
Of lips, that echeed back her sigh, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Sudden her brow again she raised ; 
And there, just. lighted on the shrine, 
Beheld me—not as I had blazed 
Around her, full of light divine, 
| In her late dreams, but soften’d down 
Into more mortal grace ;—my crown 
Of flowers, too radiant for this world, 
Left hanging on yon starry steep; 
My wings shut up, like banners furl’d, 
When Peace hath put their pomp to 
sleep ; 
Or like autumnal clouds, that keep 
Their lightnings sheath’d, rather than 
mar 


[same ; 
whose madness was the 
And whose soul lost, in that one hour, 

or her and for her love—oh more 
Of heaven’s light than ev’n the power 
Of heay’n itself could now restore ! 


And yet, that hour "ἢ" 


The Spirit here. 
Stopp’d in his utterance, as if words 
Gave way beneath the wild career 
Of bis then rushing thoughts—like 
chords, 
Midway in some enthusiast’s song, 
Breaking beneath a touch too strong ; 
| While the clench’d hand upon the brow 
Told how remembrance throbb’d there 
now ! 
But soon ’twas o’er—that casual blaze 
From the sunk fire of other days— 
That relic of a flame, whose burning 
Had been too fierce to be relumed 
Soon pass’d away, and the youth, turn- 
ing 
To his bright listeners, thus resumed:— 
‘Days, months elapsed, and though what 
most 
On earth 1 sigh’d for was mine, all— 
Yet—was I happy ? God, thou know’st, 
Howe’er they smile, and feign, and boast, 
What happiness is theirs, who fall ! 
’Twas bitterest anguish—made more 
keen 
Ev’n by the love, the bliss, between 
Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell 
In agonizing cross-light given 
Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell 


_s 


In purgatory* catch of heaven ! 
The only feeling that to me 

Seem’d joy—or rather my sole rest 
From aching misery—was to see [blest. 

My young, proud, blooming LILts 
She, the fair fountain of all ill 

To my lost soul—whom yet its thirst 
Fervidly panted after still, 

And found the charm fresh as at 
To see her happy—to reflect 

Whatever beams still round me play’d 
Of former pride, of glory wreck’d, 

On her, my Moon, whose light I made 


And whose soul worshipp’d even my | 


shade— 
This was, I own, enjoyment—this 
My sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss. 
And proud she was, fair creature !— 
proud, 
Beyond what ev’n most queenly stirs 
In woman’s heart, nor eat have bow’d 
That beautiful young brow of bers 
To aught beneath the First above, 
So high she deem’d her Cherub’s love ! 


Then, too, that passion hourly growing 
Stronger and stronger—to which even 
Her love, at times, gave way—of know- 
ing [en; 
Every thing strange in earth and heay- 
Not only all that, full reveal’d, 
Th’ eternal ALLA loves to show, 
But all that He hath wisely seal’d 
In darkness, for man not to know— 
Ey’n this desire, alas, ill-starr’d 
And fatal as it was, I sought 
To feed each minute, and unbarr’d 
Suchrealms of wonder on her thought, 
As ne’er, till then, had let their light 
Escape on any mortal’s sight! 
In the deep earth—beneath the sea— 
Through caves of fire—through wilds 
Wherever sleeping Mystery [οἵ air— 
* Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf—a sort 
of wall or partition which, according to the 7th 
chapter of the Koran, separates hell from para- 


dise, and where they, who have not merits 
suflicient to gain them immediate admittance 


into heaven, are supposed to stand for a certain | 


etre alternately tantalized and tormented 
»y the sights that are on either side presented 
to them. 

Manes, who borrowed in many instances 
from the Platonists, placed his purgatories, or 
oe of purification, iu the Sun and Moon.— 

eausobre, liv. iii, chap. 8. 

t “Quelques gnomes désirenx de devenir im- 
mortels, ayoient voulu gagner Jes bonnes graces 
ale nos filles, et leur avoient apporté des pier- 
rerios dont ils sont gardiens naturels et ces au- 


[first— | 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 571 


Had spread her curtain, we wero 
there — 
_ Love still beside us, as we went, 
| At home in each new element, 
And sure of worship everywhere ! 


Then first was Nature taught to lay 
| The wealth of all her kingdoms down 
| At woman’s worshipp’d feet, and say, 
‘Bright creature, this is all thine 
own "ἢ {nightt 
| Then first were diamonds, from the 
| Of earth’s deep centre, brought to light, 
And made to grace the conquering way 
Of proud young beauty with their ray. 


Then, too, the pearl from out its shell 
Unsightly, in the sunless sea, 
(As ’twere a spirit, forced to dwell 
In form unlovely,) was set free, 
And round the neck of woman threw 
A light it lent and borrow’d too. 
For never did this maid—whate’er 
| Th’ ambition of the hour—forget 
| Her sex’s pride in being fair : 
Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare, 
Which makes the mighty magnet, set 
In Woman’s form, more mighty yet. 
Nor was there aught within the range 
Of my swift wing in sea or air, 
Of beautiful, or grand, or strange, 
That, quickly as her wish could change, 
I did not seek, with such fond care, 
That when I’ve seen her look above 
At some bright star admiringly, 
I’ve said, ‘ Nay, look not there, my love, 
‘ Alas, I cannot give it thee!’ 


But not alone the wonders found 
Through Nature’s realm—th’junveil’d, 

Visible glories, that abound, [material, 

Through all hervast, enchanted ground— 
But whatsoe’er unseen, ethereal, 

| Dwells far away from human sense, 


teurs ont cru, s'appnyant sur le livre d’Enoch 
mal entendu, que c’étoient des piéges que les 
| anges amoureux,” &c. &c.—Comte de Gabalis, 
| <As the fiction of the loves of angels with 
women gave birth to the fanciful word of sylphs 
and gnomes, so we owe to it alsothe invention 
| of those beautiful Genii and Peris, which em- 
bellish so much the mythology of the East; 
for in the fabulous histories of Caiéumarath, of 
Thamurath, &c., these spiritual creatures are 
always represented as the descendants of Seth, 
and called the Bani Alginn, or children of Giann, 
t Iam aware that this happy saying of Lord 
| Albemarle’s loses much of its grace and play- 
| fulness, by being ~ut into the mouth of any but 
! a human lover. 


572 


Wrapp’d in its own intelligence— 

The mystery of that fountain-head, 
From which all vital spirit runs, 

All breath of Life, where’er ’tis spread, 
Through men or angels, flowers or 

suns— 

The workings of th’ Almighty Mind, 

When first o’er Chaos he design’d 

The outlines of this world; and through 
That depth of darkness,—like the 

bow, 

Call’d out of rain-clouds, hue by hue*— 

Saw the grand, gradual picture 
OW ;- . 

The covenant with human kind 
By ALLA madet—the chains of Fate 

He round himself and them hath twined, 
Till his high task he consummate ;— 
Till good from evil, love from hate, 

Shall be work’d out through sin and pain, 

And Fate shall lose her iron chain, 

And all be free, be bright again ! 


Such were the deep-drawn mysteries, 
And some ey’n more obscure, pro- 
found, 
And wildering to the mind than these, 
Which—far as woman’s thought could 
sound, 
Or a fall’n, outlaw’d spirit reach— 
She dared to learn, and 1 to teach. 
Till—fill’d with such unearthly lore, 
And mingling the pure light it brings 
With much that fancy had, before, 
Shed in false, tinted glimmerings— 
Tl’ enthusiast girl spoke out, as one 
Inspired, among her own dark race, 
Who from their ancient shrines would 
Leaving their holy rites undone — [run, 
To gaze upon her holier face. [spoke, 
And, though but wild the things she 
Yet, ’mid that play of error’s smoke 
Into fair shapes by fancy eurl’d, 
Some gleams of pure religion broke — 
Glimpses that have not yet awoke, 
But startled the still dreaming world! 
Oh, many a truth, remote, sublime, 
Which Heay’n would from the minds 
of men 
Have kept conceal’d, till its own time, 
Stole out in these revealments then 
* According to Whitehurst’s theory, the 
mention of rainbows by an antediluvian angel 
is an anachronism; as he says, “There was no 
rain before the flood, and consequently no rain- 
bow, which accounts for the novelty of this 
sight after the Deluge.” 
t For the terms of this compact, of which the 
angels were supposed to be witnesses, see the 


——— 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Revealments dim, that have forerun, 
By ages, the great, Sealing One "1 
Like that imperfect dawn, or light§ 
Escaping from the Zodiac’s signs, 
Which makes the doubtful east half 
bright 
Before the real morning shines ! 


Thus did some moons of bliss go by— 

Of bliss to her, who saw but love 
And knowledge throughout earth and 
To whose enamor’d soul and eye, [sky ; 
I seem’d—as is the sun on high— 

The light of all below, above, 
The spirit of sea, and land, and air, 
Whose influence, felt everywhere, 
Spread from its centre, her own heart, 
Ev’n to the world’s extremest part ; 
While through that world her reinless 

mind 

Had now career’d so fast and far, 
That earth itself seem’d left behind, 
And her proud fancy. unconfined, 

Already saw Heaven’s gates ajar! 


Happy enthusiast! still, oh still, 
Spite of my own heart’s mortal chill, 
Spite of that double-fronted sorrow, 
Which looks at once before and back, 
Beholds the yesterday, the morrow, 
And sees both comfortless, both 
black — 
Spite of all this, I could have still 
In her delight forgot all ill ; 
Or, if pain would not be forgot, 
At least have borne and murmu?’d not. 
When thoughts of an offended Heayen, 
Of sinfulness, which I—ey’n I, 
While down its steep most headlong 
driven— 
Well knew could never be forgiven, 
Came o’er me with an agony 
Beyond all reach of mortal wo—: 
A torture kept for those who know, 
Know every thing, and—worst of all— 
Know and love Virtue while they fall ! 
Even then, her presence had the power 
To soothe, to warm—nay, even to 
bless— 
If ever bliss could graft its flower 
On stem so full of bitterness— 


chapter of the Koran, entitled Al Araf, and the 
article ‘* Adam” in D’Herbelot. 

tIn acknowledging the anthority of the 
great Prophets who had preceded him, Ma- 
homet represented his own mission as the final 
“ Seal,” or consummation of them all. 

§ The Zodiacal Light. 


rr 


"Se eee, Ψ Ὺ 


Even then her glorious smile to me [balm ; 
Brought warmth and radiance, if not 

Like moonlight o’er a troubled sea, 
Brightening the storm it cannot calm. 


Oft, too, when that disheartening fear, 
Which all who love, beneath yon sky, 
Feel, when they gaze on what is dear— 
The dreadful thought that it must die ! 
That desolating thought, which comes 
Into men’s happiest hours and homes ; 
Whose melancholy boding flings 
Death’s shadow o’er the brightest things, 
Sicklies the infant’s bloom, and spreads 
The grave beneath young lovers’ heads ! 
This fear, so sad to all—to me 
Most full of sadness, from the thought 
That I must still live on,* when she 
Would, like the snow that on the sea 
Fell yesterday, in vain be sought ; 
That heaven to me this final seal 
Of all earth’s sorrow would deny, 
And I eternally must feel [die ! 
_ The death-pang, without power to 
Ey’n this, her fond endearments—fond 
As ever cherish’d the sweet bond [away ; 
’Twixt heart and heart—could charm 
Before her look no clouds could stay, 
Or, if they did, their gloom was gone, 
Their darkness put a glory on! 
But tis not, ’tis not for the wrong, 
The guilty, to be happy long; 
And she, too, now, had sunk within 
The shadow of her tempter’s sin, 
Too deep for ev’n Omnipotence 
To snatch the fated victim thence ! 


Listen, and, if a tear there be 
Left in your hearts, weep it for me. 


*Twas on the evening of a day, 

Which we in love had dreamt away ; 

In that same garden, where—the pride 

Of seraph splendor laid aside, 

And those wingsfurl’d, whose open light 

For mortal gaze were else too bright— 

I first had stood before her sight, 

And found myself—oh, ecstasy, 
Which even in pain I ne’er forget— 

Worshipp’d as only God should be, 
And loved as never nan was yet ! 

In that same garden were we now, 
Thoughtfully side by side reclining, 
Her eyes turn’d upward, and her brow 
With its own silent fancies shining, 

* Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion 


of the Mahometan doctors, that all souls, not 
only of men and of animals, living either on 


It was an evening bright and still 
As ever blush'd on wave or bower, 
Smiling from heaven, as if naught ill 
Could happen in so sweet an hour. 
Yet, [ remember, both grew sad 
In looking at that light—even she, 
Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad, 
Felt the still hour’s solemnity, 
And thought she saw, in that repose, 
The death-hour not alone of light, 
But of this whole fair world—the close 
Of all things beautiful and bright— 
The last grand sunset, in whose ray 
Nature herself died calm away ! 


Atlength, as thoughsome livelierthought 
Ifad suddenly her fancy caught, 
She turn’d upon me her dark eyes, 
Dilated into that full shape 
They took in joy, reproach, surprise, 
As ’twere to let more soul escape, 
And, playfully as on my head [said :-— 
Her white hand rested, smiled and 


‘T had, last night, a dream of thee, 
‘Resembling those divine ones, given, 
‘ Like preludes to sweet minstrelsy, 
‘Before thou cain’st, thyself from 
heaven. 


‘The same rich wreath was on thy brow, 
‘ Dazzling as if of starlight made ; 
‘ And these wings, lying darkly now, 
‘Like meteors round thee flash’d and 
play’d. 


‘Thou stood’st all bright, as in those 
dreams, 
‘As if just wafted from above ; 
‘Mingling earth’s warmth with heaven’s 
“A creature to adore and love. [ beams, 


‘Sudden I felt thee draw me near 
‘To thy pure heart, where, fondly 
‘Tseem’d within the atmosphere [ placed, 
“ΟΥ̓ that exhaling light embraced ; 


‘ And felt, methought, th’ ethereal flame 
‘Pass from thy purer soul to mine ; 

‘ Till—oh, too blissful—I became, 
‘ Like thee, all spirit, all divine ! 


‘Say, why did dream so Dless’d come 
o’er me, 
‘Tf, now I wake, ’tis faded, gone ? 
‘When will my Cherub shine before me 
‘Thus radiant as in heav’n he shone ἴ 


land or in the sea, but of the angels also, must 
necessarily taste death. 


Ὅ74 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


‘When shall I, waking, be allow’d 
‘To gaze upon those perfect charms, 

‘And clasp thee once, without a cloud, 
“A chill of earth, within these arms? 


‘Oh what a pride to say, this, this 
‘Is my own Angel—all divine, 
“ And pure, and dazzling as he is, 
‘And fresh from heay’n—he’s mine, 
he’s mine ! 


*Think’st thou, were Liuts in thy place, 
‘A creature of yon lofty skies, 

«She would have hid one single grace, 
‘One glory from her lover’s eyes ? 


ΝΟ, no—then, if thou loy’st like me, 
‘Shine out, young Spirit, in the blaze 

“ Ofthy most proud divinity, [gaze. 
‘Nor think thow’lt wound this mortal 


‘Too long and oft I’ve look’d upon 
‘Those ardent eyes, intense θυ Ἢ 
thus— [gone, 
‘Too near the stars themselves have 
‘To fear aught grand or luminous. 


“Then doubt me not—oh, who can say, 
‘But that this dream may yet come 
true, 
‘And my bless’d spirit drink thy ray 
‘ Till it becomes all heavenly too ? 


‘Let me this once but feel the flame 
‘Of those spread wings, the very pride 

* Willchange my nature, and this frame 
‘By the mere touch, be deified !’ 


Thus spoke the maid, as one not used 
To be by earth or heaven refused 
As one who knew her influence o’er 

All creatures, whatsoe’er they were, 
And,though to heaven she could not soar, 

At least would bring down heaven to 
Little did she, alas, or I— [her. 

Ey’n I, whose soul, but half-way yet 
Immerged in sin’s obscurity, 

Was as the earth whereon we lie, 

O’er half whose disk the sun is set— 
Little did we foresee the fate, 

The dreadful—how can it be told ? 
Such pain, such anguish to relate 

Is o’er again to feel, behold ! 

*The Dove, or pigeon which attended Ma- 
homet as his Familiar, and was frequently seen 
to whisper in his ear, was, if I recollect right, 
one of that select number of animals (ineluding 
also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven 
Sleepers, ὅθ.) which were thought by the 
Prophet worthy of admission into Paradise. 

“The Moslems have a tradition that Ma- 
homet was sayed (when he hid himself in ἃ 


But, charged as ’tis, my heart must 
Its sorrow out, or it will break! [speak 
Some dark misgivings had, I own, 
Pass’d for a moment through my 
breast— 

Fears of some danger, vague, unknown, 
To one, or both—something unbless’d 
To happen from this proud request. 

But soon these boding fancies fled ; 

Nor saw Taught that could forbid 

My full revealment, save the dread 
Of that first dazzle, when, unhid, 
Such light should burst upon a lid 

Ne’er Wed in heaven ;—and even this 

glare 

She might, by love’s own nursing care, 

Be, like young eagles, taught to bear. 

For well I knew, the lustre shed [spread, 

From Cherub wings, when proudliest 

Was, in its nature, lambent, pure, 

And innocent as is the light 

The glow-worm hangs out to allure 
Her mate to her green bower at night. 

Oft had I, in the mid-air, swept [slept, 

Through clouds in which the lightning 

As in its lair, ready to spring, [ wing 

Yet waked it not—though from my 

A thousand sparks fell glittering! 

Oft too when round me from above 
The feather’d snow, in all its white- 

ness, [Dove,—* 

Fell, like the moultings of heayen’s 
So harmless, though so full of bright- 

ness, [shake 

Was my brow’s wreath, that it would 

From off its flowers each downy flake 

As delicate, unmelted, fair, 

And cool as they had lighted there. 


Nay ev’n with Litis—had I not 
Around her sleep all radiant beam/’d, 
Hung o’er her sliunbers, nor forgot 
To kiss her eyelids, as she dream’d? 
And yet, at morn, from that repose, 
Had she not waked, unscathed and 
bright, 
As doth the pure, unconscious rose, 
Though by the fire-fly kiss’d all night? 


Thus havying—as, alas, deceived 

By iy sin’s blindness, 1 belieyed— 
eave in Mount Shur) by his pursuers finding 
the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's 
web, and a nest built by two pigeons at the 
entrance, with two eggs unbroken in it, which 
made them think no one could have entered it. 
In consequence of this, they say, Mahomet 
enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as 
sacred, and never to kill a spider.”—Modern 
Universal History, vol. i. 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 575 


No cause for dread, and those dark eyes 
Now fix’d upon me, eagerly 
As though th’ unlocking of the skies 
Then waited but a sign from me— 
How could I pause? how ev’n let fall 
A word, a whisper that could stir 
In her proud heart a doubt, that all 
T brought from heaven belong’d to her. 
Slow from her side I rose, while she 
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly, 
But not with fear—all hope, and pride, 
She waited for the awful boon, 
Like priestesses, at eventide, 
Watching the rise of the full moon, 
Whose light, when once its orb hath 
shone, 
’T will madden them to look upon ! 


Of all my glories, the bright crown, 
Which, when I last from heaven came 
down, 
Was left behind me in yon star 

That shines from out those clouds afar, — 

Where, relic sad, ’tis treasured yet, 

The downfallen angel’s coronet !— 

Of all my glories, this alone [brow, 
Was wanting:—but th’ illumined 
The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now 

Had love’s spell added to their own, 

And pour'd a light till then unknown;— 
Th’ unfolded wings, that, in their play, 

Shed sparkles bright as ALLA’s throne ; 
All I could bring of heaven’s array, 
Of that rich panoply of charms 

A Cherub moves in, on the day 

Of his best pomp, I now put on; 

And, proud that in her eyes I shone 
Thus glorious, glided to her arms ; 
eet ee tuough, at a sight so splen- 

id, + 
Her dazzled brow had, instantly, 

Sunk on her breast) were wide extended 
To clasp the form she durst not see !* 

Great Heaven! how could thy venge- 

ance light 

So bitterly on one so bright? (charms, 

How could the hand, that gave such 

Blast them again, in loye’s own arms? 

Scarce had I touch’d her shrinking frame 
When—oh most horrible !—I felt 

That every spark of that pure flame— 
Pure, while among the stars I dwelt— 

Was now, by my transgression, turn’d 

Into gross, earthly fire, which burn d, 

Burn’d all it touch’d, as fast as eye 


** Mohammed, (says Sale,) though a prophet, 
was not able to bear the sight of Gabriel, when 
’ 


Could follow the fierce, 
flashes ; 
Till there—oh God, I still ask why 
Such doom was hers ? —I saw her lie 
Blackening within my arms to ashes! 
That brow, a glory but to see— [first 
Those lips, whose touch was what the 
Fresh cup of immortality 
Is to a new-made angel’s thirst ! 
Those clasping arms, within whose 
round— 
My heart’s horizon—the whole bound 
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found ! 
Which, even in this dread moment, fond 
As when they first were round me 
cast, 

Loosed not in death the fatal bond, 
But, burning, held me to the last! 
All, all, that, but that morn, had seem’d 
As if Love’s self there breathed and 

beam’d 
Now, parch’d and black, before me lay, 
Withering in agony away; 
And imine, oh misery! mine the flame, 
From which this desolation came ;— 
I, the cursed spirit, whose caress 
Had blasted all that loveliness ! 


"Twas maddening !—but now hear even 
worse— 
Had death, death only, been the curse 
I brought upon her—had the doom 
But ended here, when her young bloom 
Lay in the dust—and did the spirit 
No part of that fell curse inherit, 
’T were not so dreadful —but, come near— 
Too shocking ’tis for earth to hear— 
Just when her eyes, in fading, took 
Their last, keen, agonized farewell, 
And look’d in mine with—oh, that look ! 
Great vengeful Power, whate’er the 
hell 
Thou mayst to human souls assign, 
The memory of that look is mine !— 


rayening 


In her last struggle, on my brow 
Her ashy lips a kiss impress’d, 
So withering !—I feel it now— [bless’d 
’Twas fire—but fire, ev’n more un- 
Than was my own, and like that flame, 
The angels shudder but to name, 
Hell’s everlasting element ! 
Deep, deep it pierced into my brain, 
Madd’ning and torturing as it went ; 
And here—mark here, the brand, the 
stain 
he appeared in his proper form, much less 
would others be able to support it.”’ 


576 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


It left upon my front—burnt in 

By that last kiss of love and sin— 

A brand, which all the pomp and pride 
Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide ! 


But is it thus, dread Providence— 

Can it, indeed, be thus, that she, 

Who, (but for one proud, fond offence, ) 
Had honor’d heaven itself, should be 

Now doom’d—I cannot speak it—no 

Merciful ALLA! ’tis not so— 

Never could lips divine have said 

The fiat of a fate so dread. 

And yet, that look—so deeply fraught 
With more than anguish, with de- 

spair— 

That new, fierce fire, resembling naught 
In heaven or earth—this scorch I 

bear !— 

Oh—for the first time that these knees 
Have bent before thee since my fall, 
Great Power, if ever thy decrees [call, 

Thou couldst for prayer like mine re- 

Pardon that spirit, and on me, 

On me, who taught her pride to err, 

Shed out each drop of agony 
Thy burning vial keeps for her! 

See, too, where low beside me kneel 
Two other outcasts, who, though gone 

And lost themselves, yet dare to feel 
And pray for that poor mortal one. 

Alas, too well, too well they know 

The pain, the penitence, the wo 

That Passion brings upon the best, 

The wisest, and the loveliest.— 

Oh, who is to be saved, if such 
Bright, erring souls are not forgiven ; 

So loath they wander, and so much 
Their very wand’rings lean towards 

heaven ! 

Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer 
That creature’s sufferings all to me— 
Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be, 

To save one minute’s pain to her, 

Let mine last all eternity !” 


He paused, and to the earth bent down 
His throbbing head ; while they, who 
That agony as ’twere their own, [felt 
Those angel youths, beside him knelt, 
And, in the night’s still silence there, 
While mournfully each wand’ring air 
Play’d in those plames, that never more 
‘To their lost home in heaven must soar, 
Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer, 
Unheard by all but Merey’s ear— 
And which if Merey did not hear, 


Oh, God would not be what this bright 


And glorious universe of His, 
This world of beauty, goodness, light, 
And endless love, proclaims He is / 


Not long they knelt, when, from a wood 
That crown’d that airy solitude, 

They heard a low, uncertain sound, 

As from a lute, that just had found 
Some happy theme, and murmur’d round 
The new-born fancy, with fond tone, 
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own ! 
Till soon a voice, that match’d as well 

That gentle instrument, as suits 
The sea-air to an ocean-shell, 

(So kin its spirit to the Iute’s, ) 
Tremblingly follow’d the soft strain, 
Interpreting its joy, its pain, 

And lending the light wings of words 
To many a thought, that else had lain 

Unfledged and mute among the chords, 


All started at the sound—but chief 
The third young Angel, in whose face, 

Though faded like the others, grief 
Had left a gentler, holier trace ; 

As if, even yet, through pain and ill, 

Hope had not fled him—as if still 

Her precious pearl, in sorrow’s cup, 
Unmelted at the bottom lay, 

To shine again, when, all drunk up, 
The bitterness should pass away. 

Chiefly did he, though in his eyes 

There shone more pleasure than surprise, 

Turn to the wood, from whence that 
Of solitary sweetness broke; [sound 

Then, listening, look delighted round 
To his bright peers, while thus it 

spoke :— 

“Come, pray with me, my seraph love, 
‘*My angel-lord, come pray with me ; 

“Τὴ vain to-night my lip hath strove 

*“To send one holy prayer above— 

“The knee may bend, the lip may move, 
“But pray I cannot, without thee ! 

“‘T’ve fed the altar in my bower [tree; 
“With droppings from the incense 

“T’ve shelter’d it from wind and shower, 

“But dim it burns the livelong hour, 

‘As if, like me, it had no power 
‘Of life or lustre without thee ! 


“A boat at midnight sent alone 

“«To drift upon the moonless sea, 
“A lute, whose leading chord is gone, 
“A wounded bird, that hath but one 
““Tmperfect wing to soar upon, 

“ Are like what I am, without thee ! 


ΤΥ 


ΧΑ «ὦ “Ὁ: δὰ, 7 
he et? 
Me ; 


“Then ne’er, my spirit-love, divide, 
“Tn life or death, thyself from me ; 
** But when again, in sunny pride, 


THE LOVES, OF THE ANGELS. 


| 


“Thou walk’st through Eden, let me | 


glide, 
ΕΑ prostrate shadow, by thy side— 
“Oh happier thus than without thee !” 


The song had ceased, when, from the 
wood [ height, 
Which, sweeping down that airy 
Reach’d the lone spot whereon they 
stood— 

There suddenly shone out a light 
From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed, 
Across the brow of one, who raised 
Its flame aloft, (as if to throw 
The light upon that group below, ) 
Display’d two eyes, sparkling between 
The dusky leaves, such as are seen 
By fancy only, in those faces, 

That haunt a poet’s walx at even, 
Looking from out their leafy places 

Upon his dreams of love and heaven. 
’T was but a moment—the blush, brought 
O’er all her features at the thought 

Of being seen thus, late, alone, 

By nd but the eyes she sought, 
Had searcely for an instant shone 
Through the dark leaves, when she 
was gone 
Gone, like a meteor that o’erhead 
Suddenly shines, and, ere we’ve said, 
“ Behold, how beautiful !”’—'tis fled. 


Yet, ere she went, the words, ‘‘ I come, 
“41 come, my NAMA,” reach’d her ear, 
In that kind voice, familiar, dear, 

Which tells of confidence, of home,— 


*Seth is a favorite personage among the 
Orientals, and acts a conspicuous part in many 
of their most extravagant romances. ‘The 
Syrians pretended to have a Testament of this 
ΑΣΑ ΙΕ in their possession, in which was ex- 
plained the whole theology of angels, their 
different orders, &e, &c. The Curds, too, (as 
Hyde mentions in his Appendix,) have a book, 
Which contains all the rites of their religion, 
and which they call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book 
of Seth. 

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are 
supposed to have preserved these memorials of 
antediluvian knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in 
Chaldwan fable to have deposited in Siparis, 
the city of the Sun, those monuments of science 
which he had saved out of the waters of a 


deluge.—See Jablouski’s learned remarks upon | 


these columns or tablets of Seth, whieh he sup- 
poses to be the same with the pillars of Mer- 
cury, or the Egyptian Thoth.—Pantheon, 
Equpt. lib. v., cap. 5. 

Lhe Mussulmans, says D’Herbelot, apply 


the general name, Mocarreboun, to all those | 


577 


Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, 
Till they grow one,—of faith sincere, 
And all that Love most loves to hear ; 
A music, breathing of the past, 

The present, and the time to be, 
Where Hope and Memory, to the last, 

Lengthen out life’s true harmony ! 
Nor long did he, whom call so kind 
Summon’d away, remain behind ; 

Nor did there need much time to tell 

What they—alas, more fall’n than he 
From happiness and heayen—knew well, 

His gentler love’s short history ! 


Thus did it ran—not as he told 

The tale himsel’, but as ’tis graved 
Upon the tablets that, of old, 

By Sreru* were from the deluge saved, 
All written over with sublime 

And sad@’ning legends of th’ unbless’d, 
But glorious Spirits of the time, 

And this young Angel’s’mong the rest. 


THIRD ANGEL’S STORY. 


Amoné the Spirits, of pure flame, 

That in th’ eternal heavens abide— 
Circles of light, that from the same 

Unclouded centre sweeping wide, 

Carry its beams on every side— 
Like spheres of air that waft around 
The undulations of rich sound, 
Till the far-circling radiance be 
Diffused into infinity ! 
First and immediate near the Throne 
Of ALLA,t as if most his own, 
The Seraphs stand{—this burning sign 
Spirits ‘‘ qui approchent le plus prés le Tréue.” 
Of this nuinber are Mikail and Gebrail. 

t The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. 

‘here appears to be, among writers on the 
East, as well as among the Orientals them- 
selyes, considerable indecision with regard to 
the respective claims of Seraphim and Cheru- 
bim to the highest rank in the celestial hierar. 
chy. The derivation which Hyde assigus to 
the word Cherub seems to determine the pre- 
cedence in favor of that order of spirits :— 
“Cherubim, ¢. ὁ. Propingui Angeli, qui se. 
Deo proprius quam alii accedunt; nam Charab 
est t.g. Karab, appropinguare.” (P. 263.) Al 
Beidawi, too, one of the commentators of the 
Koran, on that passage, “ the angels, who bear 
the throne, and those who stand abvut it,” 
(chap. xl.) says, ‘ These are the Cherubim, the 
highest order of angels.” On the other hand, 
we have seen, in a preceding note, that the 
Syrians place the sphere in which the Seraphs 
dwell at the very summit of all the celestial 
systems; and cren, among Muhometins, tho 
words Azazil and Mocarreboun (which mean 


578 MOORE’S WORKS. 


Traced on their banner, ‘‘ Love divine !” 
Their rank, their honors, far above 
Ey’n those to high-brow’d Cherubs 
given, [love 
Though knowing all;—so much doth 
Transcend all Knowledge, evn in 
heaven ! 


’Mong these was ZARAPH once—and 
Wer felt affection’s holy fire, [none 
Or yearn’d toward th’ Eternal One, 
With half such longing, deep desire. 
Love was to his impassion’d soul 
Not as with others, a mere part 
Of its existence, but the whole— 
The very life-breath of his heart! 
Oft, when from ALLA’s lifted brow 
A lustre came, too bright to bear, 
And all the seraph ranks would bow, 
To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare 
To look upon th’ effulgence there— 
This Spirit’s eyes would court the blaze, 
(Such pride he in adoring took, ) 
And rather lose, in that one gaze, 
The power of looking, than not look! 
Then, too, when angel voices sung 
The merey of their God, and strung 
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet, 
That moment, watch’d for by all eyes, 
When some repentant sinner’s feet 
First touch’d the threshold of the 
skies, 
Oh then how clearly did the voice 
Of ZARAPH above all rejoice ! 
Love wasin evry buoyant tone— 
Such love, as only could belong 
To the blest angels, and alone [song ! 
Could, ev’n from angels, bring such 


Alas, that it should e’er have been 
In heay’n as ’tis too often here, 
Where nothing fond or bright is seen, 
But it hath pain and peril near ;— 
Where right and wrong so close resem- 
ble, 
That what we take for virtue’s thrill 
Is often the first downward tremble 
Of the heart’s balance unto ill ; 
Where Love hath not a shrine so pure, 
So holy, but the serpent, Sin, 
In moments, ey’n the most secure, 
Beneath his altar may glide in! 


So was it with that Angel—such 

The charm, that sloped his fall along, 
From good to ill, from loving much, 
the spirits that stand nearest to the throne of 
Alla) are indiscriminately applied to both Sera- 
phim aud Cherubim. 


----..-.-.---:.---.-...--ὄ.- -- SS SSS SE ey 


Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.— 
Ky’n so that amorous Spirit, bound 
3y beauty’s spell, where’er twas found, 
I'rom the bright things above the moon. 
Down to earth’s beaming eyes de- 
scended, 
Till love for the Creator soon 
In passion for the creature ended. 


"Twas first at twilight, on the shore 

Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute 
And voice of her he loved steal o’er 

The silver waters, that lay mute, 

As loath, by ev’n a breath, to stay 
The pilgrimage of that sweet lay, 

Whose echoes still went on and on, 
Till lost among the light that shone 
iar off, beyond the ocean’s brim— 

There, where the rich cascade of day 
Had o’er th’ horizon’s golden rim, 

Into Elysium roll’d away! 

Of God she sung, and of the mild 

Attendant Mercy, that beside 
His awful throne forever smiled, 

Ready, with her white hand, to guide 
His bolts of vengeance to their prey— 
That she might quench them on the 
Of Peace, of that Atoning Love, [way ! 
Upon whose star, shining above 
This twilight world of hope and fear, 

The weeping eyes of Faith are fix’d 
So fond, that with her every tear 

The light of that love-star is mix’d!— 
All this she sung, and such a soul 

Of piety was in that song, 

That the charm’d Angel, as it stole 

Tenderly to his ear, along 
Those lulling waters where he lay, 
Watching the daylight’s dying ray, 
Thought twas a voice from out the waye 
Anecho, that some sea nymph gaye 
To Eden’s distant harmony, 

Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea ! 


Quickly, however, to its source, 

Tracing that music’s melting course, 

He saw, upon the golden sand 

Of the sea-shore, a maiden stand, 

Before whose feet th’ expiring waves 
Flung theirlast offering with a sigh— 

As, in the Hast, exhausted slaves [die— 
Lay down the far-brought gift, and. 

And, while herlute hung by her, hush’d, 
As if unequal to the tide 

Of song, that from her lips still gush’d, 
She raised, like one beatified, [given 

Those eyes, whose light seem’d rather 
To be adored than to adore— 


ὃ 


THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 579 


Such eyes, as may have look’d from 
heay’n, 
But ne’er were raised to it before ! 


Oh Love, Religion, Music*—all 
That's left of Eden upon earth— 
The only blessings, since the fall 
Of our weak souls, that still recall 
A trace of their high, glorious birth— 
How kindred are the dreams you bring ! 
How Love, though unto earth so 
Delights to take religion’s wing, [ prone, 
When time or grief hath stain’d his 
own! 
How near to Lovye’s beguiling brink, 
Too oft, entranced Religion lies! 
While Music, Music is the link 
They both still hold by to the skies, 
The language of their native sphere, 
Which they had else forgotten here. 


How then could ZArapu fail to feel 
= a moment’s witcheries ?—one, so 

air, 

Breathing out music, that might steal 
Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer 
That seraphs might be proud to share ! 

Oh, he did teel it; all too well— [cost— 
With warmth, that far too dearly 

Nor knew he, when at last he fell, 

To which attraction, to which spell, 

Love, Musie, or Devotion, most 

His soul in that sweet hour was lost. 


Sweet was the hour, though dearly won, 
And pure, as aught of earth could be. 
For then first did the glorious sun 
Before religion’s altar see 
Two hearts in wedlock’s golden tie 
Self-pledged, in love to live and die. 
Blest union! by that Angel wove, 
And worthy from such hands to come; 
Safe, sole asylum, in which Love, 
When fall’n or exiled from above, 
In this dark world can find a home. 


And, though the Spirit had transgress’d, 
Had, from his station ’mongst the bless’d 
Won down by woman’s smile, allow’d 

Terrestrial passion to breathe o'er 
The mirror of his heart, and cloud 

God’s image, there so bright before— 
Yet never did that Power look down 

On error with a brow so mild ; 

Never did Justice wear a frown, 

*“ Les Egyptiens disent que la Musique est 
Scur de la Religion. — Voyages de Pythagore, 
tom. i., p. 422. 

t Sara. 


Through which so gently Mercy 
smiled. 
For humble was their loye—with awe 
sai trembling like some treasure 
ept, 
That was not theirs by holy law— 
Whose beauty with remorse they saw, 
And o’er whose preciousness they 
wept. 
Humility, that low, sweet root, 
From which all heavenly virtues shoot, 
Was in the hearts of both—but most 

In NAMA’s heart, by whom alone 
Those Leer for which a heaven was 

ost, 

Seem’d all unvalued and unknown; 
And when her seraph’s eyes she caught, 
And hid hers glowing on his breast, 
Even bliss was humbled by the thought— 

‘What claim have I to be so bless’d ?” 
Still less could maid so meek, haye 

nursed 
Desire of knowledge—that vain thirst, 
With which the sex hath all been cursed, 
From luckless Eve to her, who near 
The Tabernacle stole to hear 
The secrets of the angels ;+ no— 

To love as her own Seraph loved, 
With Faith, the same through bliss and 

wo— 

Faith, that, were even its light re- 

moved, 
Could, like the dial, fix’d remain, 
And wait till it shone out again; 

With Patience that, though often bow’d 
By the rude storm, can rise anew ; 
And Hope that, even from Eyil’s cloud, 

Sees sunny Good half breaking 

through ! 

This deep, relying Love, worth more 
In heaven than all the Cherub’s lore— 
This Faith, more sure than aught beside, 
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride 
Of her fond heart—th’ unreasoning scope 

Of all its views, above, below— 
So true she felt it that to hope, 

To trust, is ee than to know. 
And thus in humbleness they trod : 
Abash’d, but pure before their God; 
Nor e’er did earth behold a sight 

So meekly beautiful as they, 

When, with the altar’s holy light 

Full on their brows, they knelt to pray, 
Hand within hand, and side by side, 
Two links of love, awhile untied 
From the great chain above, but fast 
Holding together to the last!— > 


= 


50 


MOORE’S WORKS. : 


Two fallen Splendors,* from that tree, 
Which buds with such eternally, ἡ 
Shaken to earth, yet keeping all 

Their light and freshness in the fall. 


Their only punishment, (as wrong, 
However sweet, must bear its brand, ) 

Their only doom was this—that, long 
As the green earth and ocean stand, 

They both shall wander here—the 

same, 

Throughout all time, in heart and frame— 

Still looking to that goal sublime, 
Whose light remote, but sure, they 

see ; 

Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, 
Whose home isin Eternity ! 

Subject, the while, to ali the strife, 

True Love encounters in this life— 

The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain ; 
The chill, that turns his warmest sighs 
To earthly vapor, ere they rise ; 

The doubt he feeds on, and the pain 
That in his very sweetness lies :-— 

Still worse, th’ illusions that betray 
His footsteps to their shining brink; 

That tempt him, on his desert way 
Through the bleak world, to bend and 

drink, . 

Where nothing meets his lips, alas,— 

But he again must sighing pass 

On to that far-off home of peace, 

In which alone his thirst will cease. 


All this they bear, but, not the less, 
Have moments rich in happiness— 
Bless’d meetings, after many a day 

Of widowhood pass’d far away, 

When the loved face again is seen 
Close, close, with not a tear between— 
Confidings frank, without control, 
Pour’d mutually from soul to soul ; 

As free from any fear or doubt 

As is that light from chill or stain, 
The sun into the stars shed out, 

To be by them shed back again !— 
That happy minglement of hearts, Lare, 

Where, changed as chymic compounds 

* An allusion to the Sephiroths or Splendors 
of the Jewish Cabbaia, represented as a tree, 
of which God is the crown or summit. 

The Sephiroths are the higher orders of 
emanative beings in the strange and incompre- 
hensible system of the Jewish Cabbula. They 
are called by various names, Pity, Beauty, 
&e., &e.; and their influences are supposed to 
act through certain canals, which communicate 
with each other. 

i The reader may judge of the rationality of 
this Jewish system by the following explanation 


Hach with its own existence parts, 
To find a new one, happier far ! 
Such are their joys—and, crowning all, 
That blessed hope of the bright hour, 
When, happy and no more to fall, 
Their spirits shall, with freshen’d 
Rise up rewarded for their trust [power, 
In Him, from whom all goodness 
springs, 
And, shaking off earth’s soiling dust 
From their emancipated wings, 
Wander forever through those skies 
Of radiance, where Love never dies ! 


In what lone region of the earth 
These Pilgrims now may rcam or 
dwell, 
God and the Angels, who look forth 

To watch their steps, alone can tell. 
But should we, in our wanderings, 

Meet ayoung pair, whose beauty wants 
But the adornment of bright wings, 

To look like heaven’s inhabitants— 
Who shine where’er they tread, and yet 

Are humble in their earthly lot, 

As is the wayside violet, 

That shines unseen, and were it not 

For its sweet breath would be forgot— 
Whose hearts, in every thought, are one, 

Whose voices utter the same wills— 
Answering, as Echo doth some tone 

Of fairy music ’mong the hills, 

So like itself, we seek in vain 
Which is the echo, which the stv:in— 
Whose piety is love, whose love, 
Though close as ’twere their souls’ em- 
brace, 
Ts not of earth, but from above— 

Like two fair mirrors face to face, 
Whose light from one to th’ other thrown, 
Is heaven’s reflection, not their own— 
Should we e’er meet with aught so pure, 
So perfect here, we may be sure 

’Ms ZARAPH and his bride we see; 
And call young lovers round, to view 
The pilgrim pair, as they pursue 

Their pathway towards eternity. 
of part of the machinery :—‘‘ Les canaux qui 
sortent de la Miséricorde et de la Foree, et qui 
vontaboutir ala Beauté, sont chargés d'un grane 
nombre d'Anges. Il y en a trente-cing sur le 
canal dela Miséricorde, qui recompensent et qui 
couronnent la vertu des Saints,” &e., &e.—For 
a concise account of the Cabalistie Philosophy, 
see Enfield’s very useful compendium of * On 
les représente quelquefois sous la figure d’un 
arbre. ..1'Ensoph quwon met au-dessus de 
larbre Sephirotique ou des Splendeurs divins, 
est VInfini.’— 7 Histoire das ΩΣ, liv. ix. 11. 


᾿ SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. | 


BEL 


A = ee ee ea ὦ 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Tue following trifles, having enjoyed, 
in their cirewation through the newspa- 
pers, all the celebrity and length of life 
to which they were entitled, would have 
been suffered to pass quietly into obliy- 
ion without pretendiug to any further 
distinction, had they not already been 
published, in a collective form, both in 
London and Paris, and, in each case, 
been mixed up with a number of other 

roductions, to which, whatever may 
e their merit, the author of the follow- 
ing pages has no claim. A natural de- 
sire to separate his own property, worth- 
less as it is, from that of others, is, he 


begs to say, the chief motive of the pub- 


lication of this volume. 


TO SIR HUDSON LOWE. 


Effare causam nominis, 
Utrumne mores hoe tui 
Nomen dedere, an nomen hoe 
Secuta morum regula, AUSONIUS. 
1810. 
srr Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Lovw, 
(By name, and ah! by nature so,) 

As thou art fond of persecutions, 
Perhaps thou’st read, or heard repeated, 
How Captain Gulliver was treated, 

When thrown among the Lilliputians. 


They tied him down—these little men 

And having valiantly ascended [(did— 
Upon the Mighty Man’s protuberance, 

They did so strut !—upon my soul, 

It must have been extremely droll 


To see their pigmy pride’s exuberance! | 


And how the doughty mannikins 

Amused themselves with sticking pins 
And needles in the great 

breeches : 

And how some very little things, 

That pass’d for Lords, on scaffoldings 
Got up, and worried him with speeches. 
x “An hour 

Of love, of worldly matter and direction.” 


+ It appears, however, that Ovid was a friend 
to the resumption of payment in specie :— 


man’s | 


| Alas, alas! that it should happen 

To mighty men to be caught napping !— 
Though different, too, these persecu- 
For Gulliver, there, took the nap [tions ; 
| While, here the Nap, oh sad mishap, 

15 taken by the Lilliputians ! 


AMATORY COLLOQUY BETWEEN 

BANK AND GOVERNMENT. 

1826, 
BANK, 

Is all then forgotten? those amorous 
pranks {ernment, play’d; 
You and 1,in our youth, my dear Goy- 
When you call’d me the fondest, the 
truest of Banks, {I made! 
And enjoy’d the endearing advances 


| When left to ourselves, unmolested and 

| free, {ple should do, 

To do all that a dashing young cou- 

| A law against paying was laid upon me, 

But none against owing, dear help- 
mate, on you. 


And is it then vanish’d ?—that ‘‘ hour 
(as Othello [veetion 2”* 

So happily calls it) of Love and Di- 

| And must we, like other fond doves, my 
dear fellow, [connection ? 

Grow goodin our old age, and cut the 

GOVERNMENT, 

Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must 
be; [with wooing :t 

This paying in cash plays the devil 
We've both had our swing, but I plainly 
foresee [ing and cooing. 

There must soon be a stop to our bill- 


Propagation in reason—a small child or 
two [friend to; 

Even Reverend Malthus himself is a 
The issue of some folks is moderate and 
few— [there’s no end to! 

But owrs, my dear corporate Bank, 


‘“‘finem, specie cmleste resumtd, 
Luctibus imposuit, venitque salutifer urbi." 
Met. 1. xv. ¥. 743. 


582 


So—hard though it be on a pair, who’ve 
already [and pence; 
Disposed of so many pounds, shillings, 
And, in spite of that pink of prosperity, 
Freddy,* [sense— 

So lavish of cash and so sparing of 


The day is at hand, my Papyriat Venus, 

When—high as we once used to carry 

our capers— [between us, 

Those soft billet-doux we’re now passing 

Will serve but to keep Mrs. Coutts in 
curl papers : 


And when—if we still must continue 
our love, [it is clear, 
(After all that has pass’d, )—our amour, 
Like that which Miss Danie managed 
with Jove, [dear ! 
Must all be transacted in bullion, my 
February, 1826. 
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SOVER- 
EIGN AND A ONE POUND NOTE. 


“Ὁ ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres 
Agna lupos, caprezeque leones.” Hor, 


SAID a Soy’reign to a Note, 
In the pocket of my coat, [leather, 
Where they met in a neat purse of 
“How happens it, [ prithee, 
“That, though I’m wedded with 
thee, [gether ? 
“Fair Pound, we can never live to- 


“ Like your sex, fond of change, 
“With silver you can range, 

“And of lots of young sixpences be 

mother ; 

“While with me—upon my word, 
“ΕΝ οὔ my Lady and my Lord 

“Of W—stm—th see so little of each 

other "Ὁ 


The indignant Note replied, 
(Lying crumpled by his side, ) 
““Shame, shame, it is yourself thatroam, 
“One cannot look askance, [Sir— 
“ But, whip! you’re olf to France, 
“VLeaving nothing but old rags at home, 
Sir. 


*“Your scampering began 
“Prom the moment Parson Van, 
““Poor man, made us one in Love’s fet- 
“«« Por better or for worse’ [ter ; 
* Honorable Frederick R—b—ns—n. 
Τ So called, to distinguish her from the 


“ Aurea”’ or Golden Venus. 
} See the proceedings of the Lords, Wednes- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Ts the usual marriage curse, 
ἐς But ours is all ‘ worse’ and no ‘ better.’ 


“Tn yain are laws pass’d, 
“‘There’s nothing holds you fast, 
“Tho’ you know, sweet Sovereign, I 
adore you— : 
“ At the smallest hint in life, 
‘© You forsake your lawful wile, 
“* As other Sovereigns did before you. 


“T flirt with Silver, true— 
‘¢But what can ladies do, [tectors ? 
‘“When disown’d by their natural pro- 
“« And as to falsehood, stuff! 
“1 shall soon be false enough, 
“When I get among those wicked Bank 
Directors.” 


The Sovereign, smiling on her, 
Now swore, upon his honor, 

To be henceforth domestic and loyal ; 
But, within an hour or two, 
Why—lI sold him to a Jew, 

And he’s now at No. 10 Palais Royal. 


AN EXPOSTULATION TO LORD 


KING. 
“Quem das finem, Rex magne, laborum ?” 
VIRGIL. 
1826. 


How can you, my Lord, thus delight to 
torment all [ening their corn, 

The Peers of the realm about cheap- 
When you know, if one hasn’t a very 
high rental, [high born ? 

Tis hardly worth while bemg very 


Why bore them so rudely, each night of 
your life, [much to abhor in ? 

On a question, my Lord, there’s so 
A question—like asking one, ‘‘ How is 
your wife ?”?— [ foreign. 

At once so confounded domestic and 


As to weavers, no matter how poorly 
they feast ; [for show, 

But Peers, and such animals, fed up 
(Like the well-physick’d elephant, lately 
deceased, ) [ming, you know. 

Take a wonderful quantum of cram- 


You might see, my dear Baron, how 

bored and distress’d 
Were their high noble hearts by your 

merciless tale, 

day, March 1, 1826, when Lord sri was 

severely reproved by several of the noble Peers, 

for making 80 many speeches against the Corn 

Laws. 


ty SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


When the force of the agony wrung even 
a jest 
From the frugal Scotch wit of my 
Lord L-d-d-le !* 


Bright peer! to whom Nature and Ber- 
wickshire gave [voking, 
A humor, endow’d with effects so pro- 
That, when the whole House looks un- 
usually grave, 
You may always conclude that Lord 
L-d-d-le’s joking. 


And then, those unfortunate weavers of 

Perth— {dence dooms 

Not to know the vast difference Provi- 

Between weavers of Perth and Peers of 
high birth, 


’Twixt those who have heir-looms, and | 


those who’ve but looms ! 


“To talk now of starving !’—as great 
Ath—I saidt— 
(And the nobles all cheer’d, and the 
bishops all wonder’d,) [had fed 
‘When, some years ago, he and others 
‘Of these same hungry devils about 
fifteen hundred !” 


It follows from hence—and the Duke’s 
very words 
Should be publish’d wherever poor 
rogues of this craft are — 
That weavers, once rescued from starv- 
ing by Lords, [ever after. 
Are bound to be starved by said Lords 


When Rome was uproarious, her know- 
ing perioians 
Made ‘‘ Bread and the Circus” a cure 
for each row ; 
But not so the plan of our noble physi- 
cians, 
“No Bread and the Tread-mill’s” the 
regimen now. 


So cease, my dear Baron of Ockham, 
your prose, [vinces ; 

As I shall my poetry— neither con- 
And all we have spoken and written but 

shows, 

When you tread on a nobleman’s 

corn,t how he winces. 

* This noble Earl said, that ‘* when he heard 
the petition came from ladies’ boot and shoe- 
makers, he thought it must be against the 
‘eorns ’ which they inflicted on the fair sex.” 

+t The Duke of Athol said, that “ at a former 

eriod, when these weavers were in great dis- 

ress, the landed interest of Perth had sup- 
ported 1500 of them. It was a poor return for 


583 


THE SINKING FUND CRIED. 


“ Now what, we ask, is become of this Sink- 
ing Fund—these eight millions of surplus above 
expenditure, which were to reduce the interest 
of the national debt by the amount of four hun- 
dred thousand pounds annually?) Where, in- 
deed, is the Sinking Fund itself ?”—Zhe Times. 

TAKE your bell,.take your bell, 
Good Crier, and tell 
To the Bulls and the Bears, till their 
ears are stunn’d, 
That, lost or stolen, 
Or fall’n through a hole in 
The Treasury floor, is the Sinking Fund! 


O yes! O yes! 
Can anybody guess 
What the deuce has become of this 
Treasury wonder ? 
It has Pitt’s name on’t, 
All brass, in the front, 
And R—b—ns—n’s scrawl’d with a 
goose-quill, under. 


Folks well knew what 
Would soon be its lot, 
When Frederick and Jenky set hob- 
nobbing, § 
And said to each other, 
“ Suppose, dear brother, 
‘We make this funny old Fund worth 
robbing.” 


We are come, alas ! 
To a very pretty pass— 
Eight Hundred Millions of score to pay, 
With but Five in the till, 
To discharge the bill, 
And even that Five, too, whipp’d away! 


Stop thief! stop thief !— 
From the Sub to the Chief, 
These Gemmen of Finance are plunder- 
ing cattle — 
Call the watch—call Brougham, 
Tell Joseph Hume, (tle. 
That best of Charleys, to spring his rat- 


Whoever will bring 
This aforesaid thing 
To the well-known house of Robinson 
and Jenkin, 
Shall be paid, with thanks, 


these very men now to petition against the 
persons who had fed them.” 

t An improvement, we flatter ourselves, on 
Lord L.'s joke. 

§ In 1824, when the Sinking Fund was raised 
by the imposition of new taxes to the sum of 
five millions. 


584 


MOORHE’S WORKS, 


In the notes of banks, 
Whose funds have all learn’d “ the Art 
of Sinking.”’ 


O yes! Oyes! 
Can anybody guess 
What the devil has become of this 
Treasury wonder ? 
It has Pitt’s name on’t, 
All brass, in the front, 
R—b—ns—n’s scrawl’d with a 
goose-quill, under. 


And 


ODE TO THE GODDESS CERES. 


BY SIR TH—M—S L—THBR—E. 


‘* Legiferze Cereri Phoeboque. VIRGIL. 


DEAR Goddess of Corn, whom the an- 
cients, we know, [ical bodies, ) 
(Among other odd whims of those com- 
Adorn’d with somniferous poppies, to 
show [Gentleman’s Goddess. 

Thou wert always a true Country- 


Behold, in his best shooting-jacket, be- 
fore thee, [bly beseeches, 
An eloquent ’Squire, who most hum- 
Great Queen of Mark-Lane, (if the 
thing doesn’t bore thee, ) 
Thowlt read o’er the last of his— 
never-last speeches. 


Ah! Ceres, thou know’st not the slan- 
der and scorn [archy, so boasted ; 

Now heap’d upon England’s ’Squire- 
Improving on Hunt,* ’tis no longer the 
Corn, Lalas ! roasted. 

’Tis the growers of Corn that are now, 


In speeches, in books, in all shapes they 
attack us— {| doubt, 
Reviewers, economists—fellows, no 
That you, my dear Ceres, and Venus, 
and Bacchus, {about. 

And Gods of high fashion know little 


There’s B—nth—m, whose English is 
all his own making,— 
Who thinks just as little of settling 
a nation {taking 
As he would of smoking his pipe, or of 
(What he, himself, calls) his ‘‘ post- 
prandial vibration.” Ὁ 


* A sort of ‘‘ breakfast-powder,”’ composed of 
roasted corn, was about this time introduced 
by Mr. Hunt, as a substitute for coffee. 


+The venerable Jeremy’s phrase for his after- 
dinner walk. 


There are two Mr. M lls, too, whom 
those that love reading 
Through all that’s unreadable call 
very clever— 
And, whereas M——ll Senior makes 
war on good breeding, 
M——1l Junior makes war on all 
breeding whatever ! 


In short, my dear Goddess, Old Eng- 

land’s divided [fine sages ; 

Between ultra blockheads and super- 

With which of these classes we, land- 
lords, have sidea 

Thouw’lt find in my Speech, if thow’lt 
read a few pages. 


For therein I’ve proved, to my own 
satisfaction, [honor of meeting, 
And that of all Squires I’ve the 
That ’tis the most senseless and foul- 
mouthed detraction 
To say that poor people are fond of 
cheap eating. 


On the contrary, such the ‘‘ chaste no- 
tions ’t of food {turer’s heart, 
That dwell in each pale manufac- 
They would scorn any law, be it ever 
so good, 
That would make thee, dear God- 
dess, less dear than thou art! 


And, oh! for Monopoly what ἃ blest 
day, [in fond combination, 
When the Land and the Silkg shall, 
(Like Sulky and Silky, that pair in the 
play, ||) {and Starvation ! 

Cry out, with one voice, for High Rents 


Long life to the Minister !—no matter 
who, [nified spirit, he 

Or how dull he may be, if, with dig- 
Keeps the ports shut—and the people’s 
mouths too,— [dy’s prosperity. 

We shall all have a long run of Fred- 


And, as for myself, who’ve, like Hanni- 
bal, sworn 
To hate the whole erew who would 
take our rents from us, 
Had England but One to stand by thee, 
Dear Corn, [be Sir Th—m—s! 
That last, honest Uni-Corn! would 


tA phrase in one of Sir T—m—s's last 
speeches. 

§ Great efforts were, at that time, making 
for tlie exclusion of foreign silk. 

| * Road to Ruin.” 

{| This is meant not so much fora pun, as in 


τὰ ‘ts 4 γὴν Ὧν ἝἜ . 
- δι.» ἣν > " 4 . . 
es δ 5 . > 

» ἣ 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


A HYMN OF WELCOME AFTER 
THE RECESS. 


* Animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo.” 


AND now—cross-buns and pancakes | 


o’er — 
Hail, Lords and Gentlemen, once more! 
Thrice hail and welcome, Houses 
The short eclipse of April-Day (Twain! 
Having (God grant it!) pass’d away, 
Collective Wisdom, shine again ! 


Come, Ayes and Noes, through thick 
and thin, — 
With Paddy H—Imes for whipper-in,— 
Whate’er the job, prepared to back it; 
Come, voters of Supplies—bestowers 
Of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, 
At eighty mortal pounds the jacket !* 


Come —tree, at length, from Joint-Stock 
eares— 
Ye Senators of many Shares, 
Whose dreams of premium knew no 
boundary 
So fond of aught like Company, 
That you would even have taken tea 


(Had you been ask’d) with Mr. | 


Goundry.t 


Come, matchless country-gentlemen ; 
Come, wise Sir Thomas—wisest then, 


When creeds and corn-laws are de-| 


bated ; 
Come, rival even the Harlot Red, 
And show how wholly into bread 
A Squire is transubstantiated. 


Come, L—derd-—e, and tell the world, 
That—surely as thy scratch is curl’d, 
As never seratch was eurl’d before— 
Cheap eating does more harm than good, 
And working-people, spoil’d by food, 
The less they eat, will work the more. 


Jome, G—Ib—rn, with thy glib defence 
(Which thou’dst have made for Peter's 
. Pence) 
Of Church-Rates, worthy of a halter ; 
Tio pipes of port (old port, ’twas said 


| 
allusion to the natural history of the Unicorn, 


which is supposed to be something between the 
Bos and the Asinus, and, as Rees's Cyclopedia 
asses us, has a particular liking for every 
thing “ chaste.” 

* An item of expense which Mr. Hume in 
vain endeavored to get rid of:—trumpeters, it 
uppears, like the men of All-Souls, must be 
“bene vestiti.” 

+The gentleman, lately before the public, 
who kept his Joint-Stock Tea Company all to 
himself, singing “ΤῈ solo adoro.” 


585 


By honest Newport{) bought and paid 
By Papists for the Orange Altar !§ 


Come, H—rt—n, with thy plan, so 
merry, 
For peopling Canada from Kerry— 
Not so much rendering Ireland quiet 
As grafting on the dull Canadians 
That liveliest of earth’s contagions, 
The bull-pock of Hibernian riot! 


| Come all, in short, ye wondrous men 
Of wit and wisdom, come again; 2 
Though short your absence, all de- 
plore it— 
Oh, come and show, what’er men say, 
That you can, after April-Day, 
Be just as—sapient as before it. 


MEMORABILIA OF LAST WEEK. 
MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826. 
|THE Budget — quite charming and witty 
—no hearing, 

For plaudits and laughs, the good 
things that were in it ;— 

| Great comfort to find, though the Speech 
isn’t cheering, (minute. 

That allits gay auditors were, evely 


| What, still more prosperity !—mercy 
upon us, [as, already, 
“This boy’ll be the death of me ”—oft 
Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly 
undone us, {like Freddy. 
For Ruin made easy there’s no one 
TUESDAY. 
Much grave apprehension express’d by 
the Peers, 
Lest—calling to life the old Peachums 
and Lockitts - {three years, 
The large stock of gold we're to have in 
Should all find its way into highway- 
men’s pockets ἢ} 
- * -. " . 


WEDNESDAY, 

| Little doing—for sacred, oh Wednesday, 
thou art [a table— 

To the seven-o’clock joys of full many 

| | Sir John Newport. 

§ This charge of two pipes of port for the 
sacramental wine is a precious specimen of the 
sort of rates levied upon their Catholic fellow- 
parishioners by the Irish Protestants. 

“The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
Doth ask a drink divine.” 

| ‘*‘ Another objection to a metallic currency 
was, that it produced a greater number of high- 
' way robberies.’'— Debate in the Lords. 


580 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


When the Members all meet, to make 
much of that part, [in the Fable. 
With which they so rashly fell out, 


It appear’d, though, to-night, that—as 
chureh-wardens, yearly, 
Eat up a small baby—those cormo- 
rant sinners, [nearly 
The Bankrupt-Commissioners, bolt very 
A moderate-sized bankrupt, tout 
chaud, for their dinners !* 


Nota bene—a rumor to-day, in the City, 

“Mr. R—b—ns—n just has resign’d ”— 
what a pity! [ bing, 

The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sob- 

When they heard of the fate of poor 
Cock Robin; [pretty, 

While thus, to the nursery tune, 80 

A murmuring Stock-dove breathed her 
ditty :— 


Alas, poor Robin, he crow’d as long 
And as sweet as a prosperous Cock 
could crow ; | finch’s song 
But his note was small, and the gold- 
Was a pitch too high for Robin to go. 
Who’ll make his shroud ? 


“JT,” said the Bank, “ though he play’d 
me a prank, [be roll’d in ’t, 
“While I have a rag, poor Lob shall 
““With many a pound [ll paper him 
round, {gold in’t.” 
τι Like a plump rouleau—without the 

* * * 


ALL IN THE FAMILY WAY. 


A NEW PASTORAL BALLAD. 
(SUNG IN THE CHARACTER OF BRITANNIA.) 


“The Public Debt is due from ourselves, to 
ourselves, and resolves itself into a Family 
Account.’’--Sir Robert Peel's Letter. 


Tune.—My banks are all furnish'd with bees. 

My banks are all furnish’d with rags, 
So thick, even Freddy can’t thin ’em ; 

V’ve torn up my old money-bags, 
Having little or naught to put in ’em. 


My tradesmen are smashing by dozens, | 


3ut this is all nothing, they say ; 
For bankrupts, since Adam, are cou- 
So, it’s all m the family way. [sins,— 
My Debt not a penny takes frem me, 
As sages the matter explain ;— 
* Mr. Abercromby’s statement of the enor- 


mous tavern bills of the Commissioners of 
3ankrupts. 


Bob owes it to Tom, and then Tommy 
Just owes it to Bob back again. 

Since all have thus taken to owing, 
There’s nobody left that can pay ; 

And this is the way to keep going,— 
All quite in the family way. 


My senators vote away millions, 
To put in Prosperity’s budget ; 
And though it were billions or trillions, 
The generous rogues wouldn’t grudge 
Tis all but a family hop, Lit. 
"Twas Pitt began dancing the hay; 
Hands round !—why the deuce should 
’Tis all in the family way. [we stop? 


My laborers used to eat mutton, 
As any great man of the State does ; 
And now the poor devils are put on 
Small rations of tea and potatoes. 
But cheer up, John, Sawney, and Paddy, 
The King is your father, they say ; 
So, ev’n if you starve for your Daddy, 
’Tis all in the family way. 


My rich manufacturers tumble, 
My poor ones have nothing to chew ; 
And, even if themselves do not grumble, 
Their stomachs undoubtedly do. 
But coolly to fast en famille, 
Is as good for the soul as to pray ; 
And famine itself is genteel, 
When one starves in a family way. 


T have found out a secret for Freddy, 
A secret for next Budget day ; 

Though, perhaps, he may know it al- 
As he, too, ’s a sage in his way. [ready, 

When next for the Treasury scene he 
Announces ‘‘ the Devil to pay,” 

Let him write on the bills, “ Nota bene, 
‘Tis all in the family way.” 


|'BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE 


BLECTION. 
«Ὁ authorized my Committee to take the step 
which they did, of proposing a fair comparison 
of strength, upon the understanding that which- 


| ever of the two should prove to be the weakest, 
| should give way to the other.’—Hatract from 


Mr. W. J. B—kes’s Letter to Mr. G—lb—n. 
B—KEs is weak, and G—lb—n too, 
No one e’er the fact denied ;— 
Which is the ‘‘ weakest” of the two 
Cambridge can alone decide. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


G—lb—n of the Pope afraid is, 
B—kes, as much afraid as he ; 


. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


587 


Never yet did two old ladies 

On this point so well agree. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


Each a different mode pursues, 

Bach the same conclusion reaches ; 
B—kes is foolish in Reviews, 

G—Ib—n, foolish in his speeches. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


Each a different foe doth damn, 
When his own affairs have gone ill ; 
B—kes he damneth Buckingham, 
G—lb—n damneth Dan O’Connell. 
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray, 
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. 


Once, we know, a horse’s neigh 

Fix’d th’ election to « throne, 
So, whichever first shall bray, 

Choose him, Cambridge, for thy own. 
Choose him, choose bim by his bray, 
Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray. 

June, 1826, 


MR. ROGER DODSWORTH. 
1826, 
TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES. 


Sm—Having just heard of the wonderful res- 
urrection of Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under 
an avalanche, where he had remained, bien 
frappé, it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten 
to impart to youa few reflections on the sub- 
ject. . 

Yours, &¢e. 


Wuart a lucky turn up !—just as El- 
d—n’s withdrawing, {year 

To find thus a gentleman, froz’n in the 
Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only 
wants thawing, [asthe Peer ;— 

To serve for our times quite as well 


To bring thus to light, not the Wisdom 
alone {on our shelves, 

Of our Ancestors, such as ’tis found 
But, in perfect condition, full-wigg'd and 
full-grown, 

To shovel up one of those wise bucks 


Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth, and send him 
safe home— {on the way ; 


LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI. 


Let him learn nothing useful or new | 


With his wisdom kept snug from the light 
let him come, 
And our Tories will hail him with 
“ Hear!” and “ Hwra "ἢ" 


{ themselves! | 


1 
| What a God-send to them /—a good, ob- 
solete man, [been a reader ;— 
Who has never of Locke or Voltaire 
Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you 
can, [shall choose him for leader. 
And the L—nsd—les and H—rtf—rds 


Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their 
chosen ; [row, good men, 

And deeply with thee will they sor- 
To think that all Europe has, since thou 
wert frozen, [ again. 

So alter’d, thou hardly wilt know it 


And Eld—n will weep o’er each sad in- 
novation {that he 

Such oceans of tears, thou wilt faney 
Has been also laid up in a long congela- 
tion, (er, like thee. 

And is only now thawing, dear Rog- 


COPY OF AN INTERCEPTED DIS- 
PATCH. 


FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABO- 
LO, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC 
MAJESTY. 

St. James's Street, July 1, 1826. 

GREAT Sir, having just had the good 

luck to catch [to go, 

An official young Demon, preparing 
Ready booted and spurr’d, with a black- 
leg dispatch, [| to our Hell, below— 

From the Hell here, at Cr—ckt—rd’s, 


I write these few lines to your Highness 
Satanic, { directions, 

To say that, first having obey’d your 
And done all the mischief I could in 
“the Panic,” { Elections. 

My next special care was to help the 


Well knowing how dear were those times 
to thy soul, [his brother, 
When every good Christian tormented 
And caused, in thy realm, such a saving 
of coal, [by each other ; 

From all coming down, ready grill’d 


Rememb’ring, besides, how it pain’d thee 
to part [@a@uvre of Law, 

With the Old Penal Code—that chef- 
In which (though to own it too modest 
thou art) {touch of thy claw ; 
| We could plainly perceive the fine 


1 thought, as we ne’er can those good 
times revive, 

(Though Eld—n, with help from your 
Highness, would try, ) 


588 MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


’T would still keep a taste for Hell’s music | 
alive, 


Could we get up a thund’ring No-Po- | 


pery: cry 5 


That yell which, when chorus’d by laics | 


and clerics, 
So like is to owrs, in its spirit and tone, 
That I often nigh laugh myself into 
hysterics, [it her own. 
To think that Religion should make 


So, having sent down for th’ original 
notes [ty’s choir, 
Of a chorus, as sung by your Majes- 
With afew pints of lava, to gargle the | 
throats Εἰ ΠΕ ΤΠ, Ὁ! 

Of myself and some others, who sing 


Thought I, “if the Marseillais Hymn 
could command 

“‘Such audience, though yell’d by a 

Sans-culotie crew, [in our band, 

“© What wonders shall we do, who’ve men 


“That not only wear breeches, but 


petticoats too.” 


Such then were my hopes; but, with 
sorrow, your Highness, 

T’m forced to confess—be the cause 

what it will, [mess, or shyness,— 

Whether fewness of voices, or hoarse- 


Ow Beelzebub chorus has gone off 


but ill. 


The truth is, no placeman now knows | 


his right key, [various ; : 
The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is 50. 


And certain base voices, that look’d for | 


a fee [it precarious. 


At the York music-meeting, now think | 


Even some of our Reverends might have 
been warmer, — [we’ve had; 

Though one or two capital roarers | 

Doctor Wiset is, for instance, a charm- | 

ing performer, 

And Huntingdon Maberly’s yell was 


Altogether, however, the thing was not 
hearty ;— [50 80; 

Even Eld—n allows we got on but 
And when next we attempt a No- Pope- | 
ry party, [eruit from below. 

We must, please your Highness, re- 


* Con fuoco—a musie-book direction. 


t This reverend gentleman distinguished him- 
self at the Reading election. 
ΠΑ measure of wheat for a penny, and 


three measures of barley for a penny.”’— tev. vi. 


[not bad ! | 


But hark, the young Black-leg is erack- 
| ing his whip— [to be civil ;— 
Excuse me, Great Sir—there’s no time 
The next opportunity shan’t be let slip, 
But, till then, 

I’m, in haste, your most dutiful 
| DEVIL. 
July, 1826. 


THE MILLENNIUM. 


SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REY- 
| EREND MR. IRV—NG “ΟΝ PROPHECY.” 


1826: 
A MILLENNIUM at hand!—I’m delighted 
to hear it— [now go, 


___As matters, both public and private, 
With multitudes round us all star ving, 
or near it, [ἃ propos. 

A good rich Millennium will come 


Only think, Master Fred, what delight 

to behold, [of Rags, 

Instead of thy bankrupt old City 

| A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold, 

Sound bullion throughout, from the 
roof to the flags-— 


| A City, where wine and cheap cornt 
shall abound— [tery shelves 

A celestial Cocaigne, on whose but- 

| We may swear the best things of this 
world will be found, 

-As your Saints seldom fail to take 
care of themselves ! 


Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures 
Ilysian, § [in reach 
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed with- 
Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of 
your vision, [look at each ; 
Can cast, at the same .time, a sly 


Thanks, thanks for the hopes thou af- 
fordest, that we [lee share, 

May, ev’n in our own times, a Jubi- 

| Which so long has been promised by 
prophets like thee, [ despair. 
And so often postponed, we began to 


There was Whiston,|| who learnedly 
took Prince Hugene 

For the man who must bring the 
| Millennium about ; 


| ὃ See the oration of this reverend gentleman, 
where he describes the connubial joys of Para- 

| dise, and paints the angels hoyering round 

“each happy pair.’ 

' || When Whiston presented to Prince Eu- 


pow TF 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


589 


There’s Faber, whose pious productions 
have been 
All belied, ere his book’s first edition 
was out ;— 


There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an 
Trish M. P., [signal éclat, 

Who discoursed on the subject with 
And, each day of his life, sat expecting 
to see - 


[of Armagh !* | 


Gan dose us with stuff like the one, 
Ay, and doze us with stuff like the 
other. 


Doctor Eady good company keeps 
With ‘*No Popery” scribes on the 
walls ; 3 
_ Doctor S—th—y as gloriously sleeps 
With Ἶ oi Popery ”’ scribes, on the 
stalls. 


A Millennium break out in the town | 


There was also—but why should I bur- 
den iny lay 
With your Brotherses, Southcotes; 
and names less deserving, 
When all past Millenniums henceforth 
must give way [Irv—ng. 
To the last new Millennium of Orator 


Go on, mighty man,—doom them all to 
the shelf, — 

And when next thou with Prophecy 

troublest thy sconce, 


Art the Beast (Chapter iy.) that sees 
- nine ways at once. 


THE THREE DOCTORS. 


Doctoribus letamur tribus. 


1826. 
THOUGH many great Doctors there be, 
There are three that all Doctors out- 
top, 
Doctor Hady, that famous M. D., 
Doctor S—th—y, and dear Doctor 
Slop.t 


The ioe proser—the bard— 
All quacks in a different style ; 
Doctor S—th-—y writes books by the 
yard, 
Doctor Eady writes puffs by the mile "ἢ 


Doctor Slop, in no merit outdone 
By his seribbling or physicking brother, 


gene the Essay in which he attempted to | 


connect his victories over the Turks with Reve- 
lation, the Prince is said to have replied, that 
‘*he was not aware he had ever had the honor 
of being known to St. John.” 

* Mr. Dobbs was τὰ member of the Irish Par- 
liament, and, on all other subjects but the Mil- 
lennium, a very sensible person: he chose 
Armagh as the scene of his Millennium, on ac- 
count of the nume Armageddon, mentioned in 
Revelation. 

t The editor of the Morning Herald, so nick- 
named. 

: Alluding to the display of this doctor's 
name, in chalk, on all the walls round the me- 
tropolis. . 


¢ 


[thyself | 
Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that | 


Doctor Slop, upon subjects divine, 
Such bedlamite slaver lets drop, 

That, if Hady should take the mad line, 
He’ll be sure of a patient in Slop. 


Seven millions of Papists, no less, 
Doctor S—th—y attacks, like a Turk;§ 

Doctor Eady, less bold, I confess, 
Attacks but his maid-of-all-work.|] 


Doctor S—th—y, for his grand attack, 
Both a laureate and pensioner is ; 
While poor Doctor Eady, alack, 
Has been had up to Bow-street for his ! 


| And truly, the law does so blunder, 
That, though little blood has been 
spill’d, he 
May probably suffer, as under 
The Chalking Act, known to be guilty. 


So much for the merits sublime [stop) 

(With whose catalogue ne’er should 1 
| Of the three greatest fiehts of our time, 
Doctor Eady, and S—th—y, and Slop! 


Should you ask me to which of the three 
Great Doctors the preference should 

| As a matter of course, I agree (fall, 

Doctor Eady must go to the wall, 


But as S—th—y withlanrels is crown’d, 
And Slop with a wig and a tail is, 

Let Eady’s bright temples be bound 
With ἃ swingeing ‘Corona Muralis/"F 


δ᾽ This seraphic doctor, in the preface to his 
| last work, (Vindicie DLecclesie Anglican) is 
peed to anuthematize not only all Catholies, 
yut all advocates of Catholics:—*' They have 
for their immediate allies (ie says) every fac- 
tion that is banded against the State, every 
demagogue, every irreligious and seditious 
journalist, every open and every insidious 
enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity.” 
|| See the late accounts in the newspapers of 
the appearance of this gentleman at one of the 
Police-oftices, in consequence of an alleged 
assault on his δ maid-of-all-work.” 
Ἴ A crown granted as a reward among the 
Romans to persons who performed any extra. 
‘ordinary exploits upon walls, such as sealing 


590 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. 


LAMENT, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, 

Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, 
For here lies one, who ne’er preferr’d 

A Viscount to a Marquis yet. 


Beside him place the God of Wit, 
Before him beauty’s rosiest girls, 
Apollo for a star he’d quit, 
And Loyve’s own sister for an Earl’s. 


Did niggard fate no peers afford, 

He took, of course, to peers’ relations ; 
And, rather than not sport a Lord, 

Put up with ev’n the last creations. 


Even Irish names, could he but tag ’em | 
With ‘‘Lord” and ‘‘ Duke,” were 
sweet to call; 
And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum 
Was better than no Lord at all. 


Heaven grant him now some noble nook, 
For, rest his soul! he’d rather be 
Genteelly damn’d beside a Duke, 
Than saved in vulgar company. 


ODE TO A HAT. 


“‘altum 
JUVENAL. 
1826. 
Hain, reverend Hat !—sublime ’mid all 
The minor felts that round thee gro- 


ARdificat caput.” 


vel ;— 
Thou, that the Gods ‘‘a Delta” call, 
While meaner mortals call thee 


““ Shovel.” 


When on thy shape (like pyramid, 
Cut horizontally in two), * 

I raptured gaze, what dreams, unbid, 
Of stails and mitres bless my view ! 


That brim of brims, so sleekly good— 
Not flapp’d, like dull Wesleyans’, 
down, 
But looking (as all churchmen’s should) 
Devoutly upward—towards the crown. 


Gods! when I gaze upon that brim, 
So redolent of Church all over, 
What swarms of Tithes, in vision dim,— 
Some pig-tail’d, some like Cherubim, 
With ducklings’ wings—around it 
hover! 


them, battering them, &e.—No doubt, writing 
upon them, to the extent Dr. Τα αν does, would 


Tenths of all dead and living things, 
That Nature into being brings, ; 
from calves and corn to chitterlings. 


Say, holy Hat, that hast, of cocks, 
The very cock most orthodox, 
To which, of all the well-fed throng 
Of Zion,} joy’st thou to belong ? 
Thow rt not Sir Harcourt Lee’s—no— 
For hats grow like the heads that. 
wear ’em ; 
And hats, on heads like his, would grow 
Particularly harwm-scarum. [ pate: 
Who knows but thou may’st deck the 
Of that famed Doctor Ad—mth—te, 
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand 
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland, ) 
Who changed so quick from blue to yel- 
low, 
And would from yellow back to blue, 
And back again, convenient fellow, 
If ’twere his interest so to do. 


Or, baply, smartest of triangles, 
Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow—n; 
The hat that, to his vestry wrangles, 
That venerable priest doth go in,— 
And, then and there, amid the stare 
Of all St. Olave’s, takes the chair, 
And quotes, with phiz right orthodox, 
Th’ example of his reverend brothers, 
To prove that priests all fleece their 
flocks, 
And he must fleece as well as others. 


Bless’d Hat! (whoe’er thy lord may be) 


| Thus low I take off mine to thee, 


The homage of a layman’s castor, 
To the spruce delta of his pastor. 
Oh may’st thou be, as thou proceedest, 
Still smarter cock’d, still brush’d the 
brighter, 
Till; bowing all the way, thou leadest 
Thy sleek possessor to a mitre! 


NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. 
1826. 


DEAR Coz, as I know neither you nor 
Miss Draper, [ paper, 
When Parliament’s up, ever take in a 
3ut trust for your news to such stray 
odds and ends [ friends— 
As you chance to pick up from political 


section of a pyramid.”—GRraAnt's JTistory of 
the English Church. 


equally establish a claim to the honor. 
* So described by a Reverend Historian of 
the Church :—‘' A Delta hat, like the horizontal | 


+t Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the 
Church Establishment of Ireland ‘the little 
Zion.” 


που. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Being one of this well-inform’d class, I 
sit down {that’s in town. 


| "This is all forthe 


present—witnt vile pens 


and i he Miss Draper. 


To transmit you the last newest news | Yours truly, dear Cousin—best love to 


As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things 
*  couldn’t look better— 

His Lordship (who promises now to 

fight faster) 

Has just taken Rhodes, and ae ei ἃ 

To Daniel O’Connell, to make him 


Grand Master ; [ean, 


Engaging to change the old name, if he | 


From the Knights of St. John to the 
Knights of St. Dan;— + [ whim) 


Or, if Dan should prefer (as a still better | 
Being made the Colossus, ’tis all one to | 


him. 


From Russia the last accounts are that | 
[reigus are, | 


the Czar— 
Most generous and kind, as all sove- 
And whose first princely act (as you 
know, I suppose) [old clothes*— 


Was to give away all his late brother's | 


Is now busy collecting, with brotherly 
care, [thinks of bestowing 
The late Emperor’s night-caps, and 
One nightcap apiece (if he has them to 
spare) 
On all the distinguish’d old ladies now 
(While 1 write, an arrival from Riga— 
the “ Brothers” — 
πλέα ἢ nightcaps on board for Lord 
Hld—n and others.) 


Last advices from India—Sir Archy, ’tis 
thought, Lever caught 
‘Was near catching a Tartar, (the first 
In N. Lat. 21.)—and His Highness Bur- 
mese, 
‘Being very hard press’d to shell out the 
rupees, {say, meant 
And not having rhino sufficient, they 
To pawn his august Golden Foott for 
the payment, [when they choose, 
(How lucky for monarchs, that thus, 


Can establish a running account with | 


the Jews !) [ealls ‘* goot,” 
The security being what Rothschild 
A loan will be shortly, of course, set on 
Soot; 
The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring 


With three other great pawnbrokers: | 


each takes a toe, 
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give 
us leg-bail, [the nail. 


As he did once before) to pay down on. 


* A distribution was made of the Emperor 
Alexander's military wardrobe by his successor. 


[off a letter | 


[ going. | 


{and Co. | 


September, 1826. 


A VISION. 


BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL. 


|‘ Up!” said the Spirit, and, ere I could 
| One hasty orison, whirl’d me away [pray 
To a Limbo, lying—I wist not where— 
Above or below, in earth or air; [light, 
For it glimmer’d o’er with a doub(ful 
| One couldn’t say whether ’twas day or 
night ; 
And’twas cross’d by many a mazy track, 
One didn’t know how to get on or back; 
And I felt like a needle that’s going 
astray {of hay ; 
(Witb its one eye out) through a bundle 
When the Spirit he grinn’d, and whis- 
per’d me, {cery !” 
“Thourt now in the Court of Chan- 


Around me flitted unnumber’d swarms 
Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms; 
(Like bottled-up babes, that grace the 
room { Home)— 
Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard 
All of them, things half-kill’d inrearing; 
Some were lame—some wanted hearing; 
Some had through half a century run, 
Though they hadn’t a leg to stand upon. 
Others, more merry, as just beginning, 
Around on a pointof law were spinning ; 
Or balanced aloft, ’twixt Billand Answer, 
Lead at each end, like a fight-rope dan- 
cer. [please ’em ;— 
Some were so cross, that nothing could 
Some gulp’d down affidavits to ease _ 
7em ;— 
All were in motion, yet never a one, [on. 
Let it move as it might, could ever move 
“These,’’ said the Spirit, ‘‘ you plainly 
see, 
‘* Are what they call Suits in Chancery !” 


‘I heard a loud screaming of old and 
young, 

Like a chorus by fifty Vellutis sung ; 

Or an Irish Dump (‘the words by 
Moore’’) [score ; 

At an amateur. concert scream’d in 

So harsh on my ear that wailing fell 

Of the wretches who in this Limbo 

dwell! 
| This potentate styles himself the Monarch 
of the Golden Foot. 


592 


It seem’d like the dismal symphony 
Ofthe shapes neasin hell did see; [cook 
Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous 
Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook, 
To ery all night, till life’s last dregs, 
“Give us our legs !—give us our legs !” 
Touch’d with the sad and sorrowful 
scene, 
Τ ask’d what all this yell might mean, 
When the Spirit replied, with the grin 
of glee, [cery 1" 
‘OTis the ery of the Suitors in Chan- 


I look’d, and I saw a wizard rise, * 
Witha wig like a cloud before men’s eyes. 
In his aged hand he held a wand, 
Wherewith he beckon’d his embryo band, 
And they moved and moved, as he 
waved it o’er, [ more. 
But they never got on one inch the 
And still they kept limping to and fro, 
Like Ariels round old Prospero— 
Saying, ‘“ Dear Master, let us go,” 
But still old Prospero answer’d ‘* No.” 
And I heard, the while, that wizard elf 
Muttering, muttering spells to himself, 
While o’er as many old papers he turn’d, 
As Hume e’cr moved for, or Omar burn’d. 
He talk’d of his virtue—‘“ though some, 
less nice, [ Vice,”— 
(He own’d with a sigh) preferr’d his 
And he said, “1 think’—‘‘I doubt’— 
“1 hope,” [ Pope ; 
Call’d God to witness, and damn’d the 
With many more sleights of tongue and 
hand [ stand. 
T couldn’t, for the soul of me, under- 
Amazed and posed, I wasjust about [out, 
‘To ask hisname, when the screams with- 
The merciless clack of the imps within, 
And that conjuror’s mutterings, made 
such a din, [bed— 
That, startled, I woke—leapd up in my 
Found the Spirit, the imps, and the con- 
juror fled, [ see, 
And bless’d my stars, right pleased to 
That I wasn’t, as yet, in Chancery. 


THE PETITION OF THE ORANGE- 
MEN OF IRELAND. 


1826. 
To the people of England, the humble 
Petition [showing— 


Of Treland’s disconsolate Orangemen, 

*The Lord Chancellor Eld—n. 

{ Lo such important discussions as these the 
greater part of Dr. Southey’s Vindiciw Ecele- 
sie Anglicane is devoted. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


That sad, very sad, is our present ccu- 
dition ;— [selves going ;— 
Our jobbing all gone, and our noble 


That, forming one seventh, within a few 
fractions, [heads and hearts, 

Of Ireland’s seven millions of hot 
We hold it the basest of all base trans- 
actions [six parts ;— 

To keep us from murd’ring the other 


That, as to laws made for the good of 
the many, [less true ; 

We humbly suggest there is nothing 
As all human laws (and our own more 
than any) [few ;— 

Are made by and for a particular 


That much it delights every true 
Orange brother, Levince, 
To see you, in England, such ardor 
In discussing which sect most torment- 
ed the other 
And burn’d with most gusto, some 
hundred years since. 


That we love to behold, while Old En- 
gland grows faint, [ing to blows, 
Messrs. Southey and Butler nigh com- 
To decide whether Dunstan, that 
strong-bodied Saint, _[il’s nose ; 

Ever truly and really pull’d the Dey- 


Whether t’other Saint, Dominic, burnt 
the Devil’s paw— 
Whether Edwy intrigued with Elgi- 
vas old mother—f 
And many such points, from which 
Southey can draw [each other. 
Conclusions most apt for our hating 


That ’tis very well known this devout 
Trish nation [ly on, 
Has now, for some ages, gone happi- 


| Believing in two kinds of Substantia- 


tion, {in Con.t 
One party in Trans and the other in 


That we, your petitioning Cons, have, 
in right {Jands, 
Of the monosyllable, ravaged the 
And embezzled the goods, and annoy’d, 
day and night, 
Both the bodies and souls of the 
sticklers for Trans ; — 


+ Consubstantiation—the true Reformed be- 
lief; at least, the belief of Luther, and, as 
Mosheim asserts, of Melancthon also. 


other such sages, [state of mind ; 

For keeping us still in the same 
Pretty much as the world used to be in 
those ages, — [den’d mankind ;— 
When still smaller syllables mad- 


When the words ex and per* served as 
well, to annoy 
One’s neighbors and friends with, as 
con and trans now ; 
And Christians, like S—th—y, who 
stickled for οἱ, 
Cut the throats of all Christians who 
stickled for οἱ, ἢ 


That, relying on England, whose kind- 
ness already [game o’er, 

So often has help’d us to play this 
We have got our red coats and our 
carabines ready, {as before. 

And wait but the word to show sport, 


That, as to the expense—the few mil- 
lions or so, ~— [Bull has to pay— 
Which for all such diversions John 
'Tis, at least, a great comfort to John 
Bull to know, [all find its way. 

That to Orangemen’s pockets ’twill 
For which your petitioners ever will 


pray, 
&ec., &., &e., &e., de. 
COTTON AND CORN. 


A DIALOGUE. 


Sa’> Cotton to Corn, t’other day, 
As they mot and exchanged a sa- 
lute— 
ἐπ απο Corn in his carriage so gay, 
oor Cotton, half famish’d, on foot :) 


“Great Squire, if it isn’t uncivil 
“To hint at starvation before you, 
“ Look down on a poor hungry devil, 
“And give him some bread, I im- 
plore you!” 


Quoth Corn then, in answer to Cotton, 
Perceiving he meant to make free— 

** Low fellow, you've surely forgotten 
‘The distance between you and me! 


““ΠῸ expect that we, Peers of high birth, 
‘Should waste our illustrious acres, 


* When John of Ragu:a went to Constanti- 
nople, (ut the time this dispute between ‘ex” 
and ** per”? was going on.) he found the Turks, 
we are told, ‘laughing at the Christians for 
being divided by two such insignificant purti- 
cles. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


593 


That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and) ‘ For no ether purpose on earth 


“Than to fatten cursed calico-ma- 


kers !— 
“That Bishops to bobbins should 
bend— [sublimity, 


“Should stoop from their Bench’s 
“ Great dealers in /awn, to befriend 
“Such contemptible dealers in dim- 
ity ! 

‘‘No—vile Manufacturer! ne’er harbor 
“A hope to be fed at our boards ;— 
“Base olfspring of Arkwright the bar- 

ber, {Lords ? 
‘What claim canst thou have upon 


No—thanks to the taxes and debt, 
‘And the triumph of paper o’er 
guineas, 
“Οὐ race of Lord Jemmys, as yet, 
‘““May defy your whole rabble of 
Jennys !” 


So saying—whip, crack, and away 
Went Corn in his chaise through the 
throng, 
So headlong, I heard them all say, 
“Squire Corn would be down before 
long.” 


THE CANONIZATION OF SAINT 
B —-TT—RW—RTH. 


“A Christian of the best edition.”"—RABELAIS. 


CANONIZE him !—yea. verily, we'll can- 
onize him ; {dling his bliss, 
Though Cant is his hobby, and med- 
Though sages may pity, and wits may 
despise him, [Saint for all this. 

He’ll ne’er make a bit the worse 


Descend, all ye Spirits, that ever yet 
spread {and o’er sea, 

The Dominion of Humbug o’er land 
Descend on our B—tt—rw—rth’s bibli- 
cal head, (M.P. 
Thrice-Great Bibliopolist, Saint, and 


Come, shade of Joanna, come down 
from thy sphere, { far— 

And bring ttle Shiloh—if ’tisn’t too 
Such a sight will to B—tt—rw—tth’s 
bosom be dear, {on ἃ par. 

His conceptions and thine being much 


+The Arian controversy.—Before that time, 
says Hooker, ‘in urder to be a sound believing 
Ciristian, men were not curious what syllables 
or particles of speech they used.” 


594 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Nor blush, Saint Joanna, once more to| And, though wise men may pity and 


behold [ing so many; 
A world thou hast honovr’d by cheat- 
Thow'lt find still among us one Person- 
age old, 
Who also by tricks and the Seals* 
makes a penny. 


‘Thou, too, of the Shakers, divine Mother 
Lee !f 
Thy smiles to beatified B—tt—r- 
w—tth deign; 
Two “lights of the Gentiles” are thou, 
Anne, and he, [Toad Lane !{ 
One hallowing Fleet Street, and other 


‘The Heathen, we know, made their 
Gods out of wood, 
And Saints may be framed of as 
handy materials ;— 
Old women and B—tt—rw—rths make 
just as good [ Ethereals. 
As any the Pope ever book’d as 


Stand forth, Man of Bibles !—not Ma- 
homet’s pigeon, 
When, perch’d on the Koran, he 
dropp’d there, they say, 
Strong marks of his faith, ever shed 
o’er religion Levery day. 
Such glory as B—tt—rw—1rth sheds 


Great Galen of souls, with what vigor 
he crams [they crack again, 
Down Erin’s idolatrous throats, till 
Bolus on bolus, good man !—and then 
damns 
Both their stomachs and souls, if they 
dare cast them back again. 


How well might his shop—as a type re- 
presenting [fied clan, 

The creed of himself and his sancti- 
‘On its counter exhibit ‘‘the Art of Tor- 
menting,” [ Duty of Man !” 
Bound neatly, and letter’d “ Whole 


Canonize him !—by Judas, we will can- 
onize him ; [his bliss ; 
For Cant is his hobby and twaddling 


* A great partof the income of Joanna South- 
cott arose from the Seals of the Lord’s protec- 
tion which she sold to her followers. 

} Mrs. Anne Lee, the ‘‘ chosen vessel ” of the 
Shakers, and ‘* Mother of all the children of 
regeneration.” 

{Load Lane, in Manchester, where Mother 
Lee was born. In her ‘‘ Address to Young 
Believers,” she says, that ‘‘ it is a matter of no 
importance with them from whence the means 
of their deliverance come, whether from a 


wits may despise hin, 
He'll make but the better shop-saint 
for all this. 


Call quickly together the whole tribe of 
Canters, [the nation ; 
Convoke all the serious Tag-rag of 
Bring Shakers and Snufflers and Jump- 
ers and Ranters, [onization ! 

To witness their B—tt—rw—th’s Can- 


Yea, humbly I’ve ventured his merits 
to paint, [portray, 

Yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to” 
And they form a sum-total for making 
a Saint, {not gainsay. 
That the Devil’s own Advocate could 


Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Ranters 
all roar, [raised from your eyes, 
While B—tt—rw—tth’s spirit, up- 
Like a kite made of foolscap, in glory 
shall soar, {the skies! 

With a long tail of rubbish behind, to 


AN INCANTATION. 
SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT. 


Air.—Come with me, and we will go 
Where the rocks of coral grow. 


Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles, as we go; 
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope 
Drew from fanecy—or from soap ; 
Bright as e’er the South Sea sent 
From its frothy element ! 

Come with me, and we will blow 
Lots of bubbles as we go. 

Mix the lather, Johnny W—lks, 
Thou, who rhym’st so well to bilks;§ 
Mix the lather—who can be 
Fitter for such task than thee, 
Great M. P. for Sudsbury ! 


Now the frothy charm is ripe, 
Pufting Peter,|| bring thy pipe,— 
Thou, whom ancient Coventry 
Once so dearly loved, that she 


stable in Bethlehem, or from Toad Lane, Man- 
chester.” 


§ Strong indications of character may be 
sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. 
Marvell thought so, when he wrote 

‘*Sir Edward Sutton, 
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton.” 


|| The member, during a long period, for Coy- 
entry. 


Knew not which to her was sweeter, 
Peeping Tom or Pufting Peter ;— 
Putt the bubbles high in air, 

Puff thy best to keep them there. 


Bravo, bravo, Peter M—re! 

Now the rainbow humbugs* soar, 
Glitt’ring all with golden hues, 
Suchas haunt the dreams of Jews;— 
Some, reflecting mines that lie 
Under Chili’s glowing sky, 

Some, those virgin pearls that sleep 
Cloister’d in the southeru deep; 
Others, as if lent a ray 

From the streaming Milky Way, 
Glist’ning o’er with curds aud whey 
From the cows of Alderney. 


Now’s the moment—who shall first 
Catch the bubbles, ere they burst ? 
Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, 
Br—gd—n, T—ynh—m, P—Im—- 
᾿ t—n ;— 
John W—lks junior runs beside ye! 
Take the good the knaves provide 
γ6 
See, with upturn’d eyes and hands, 
Where the Shareman,t Br—gd—n, 
Gaping for the froth to fall [stands, 
Down his gullet—lye and all. 
See !—— {out— 
_ But, hark, my time is 
Now, like some great water-spout, 
Scatter’d by the cannon’s thunder, 
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder ! 
[Here the stage darkens—a discordant crash 
ts heard from the orchestra—the broken bubbles 
descend in a saponaceous but uncleanly mist 
over the heads of the Dramatis Persone, and the 


scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters—all in 
the suds.) 


A DREAM OF TURTLE. 


BY SIR W. CURTIb. 


1826. 
’TWAs evening time, in the twilight 
sweet [meet 


I sail’d along, when—whom should | 


* An humble imitation of one of our modern 
poets, who, in a poem against war, after de- 
scribing the splendid habiliments of the soldier, 
thus apostrophizes him— ‘thou rainbow ruftian!”’ 

t ** Lovely Thais sits beside thee : 

5 Take the good the Gods provide thee."’ 

Ὁ So called by a sort of Tusean dulcification 
of the ch, in the word ‘ Chairman.” 

§ We are told that the passport of this grand 
diplomatic Turtle (sent by the Secretary for 


Ψη 


a. 


595 


But a Turtle journeying o’er the sea, 
“On the service of his Majesty.’$ 


When spying him first through twilight 
dim, 

I didn’t know what to make of him; 

But said to myself, as slow he plied 

His fins, and roll’d from side to side 

Conceitedly o’er the watery path— 

“Tis my Lord of St—w—ll taking a 
bath, 

** And [hear him now, amongthe fishes, 

“Quoting Vatel and Burgersdicius !” 


But, no—twas, indeed, a Turtle, wide 
And plump as ever these eyes descried ; 
A Turtle, Juicy as ever yet κ 
Glued up the lips of a Baronet! 

And much did it grieve my soul to see 
That an animal of such dignity 

Like an absentee abroad should roam, 
When he ought to stay and be ate at 

home. 


But now ‘‘a change came o’er my 
dream,” {der ;— 
Like the magic lantern’s shifting §sli- 
[ look’d, and saw, by the evening beam, 
On the back of that Turtle sat a ri- 
der— 
A goodly man, with an eye so merry, 
I knew ’twas our Foreign Secretary, || 
Who there, at his ease, did sit and 
smile, 
Like Waterton on his crocodile ;{ 
Cracking such jokes, at ev’ry motion, 
As made the Turtle speak with glee, 
And own they gave him a lively notion 
Of what his forced-meat balls would 
be. 


So, on the See. in his glory went, 

Over that briny element, 

Waving his hand, as he took farewell, 
With graceful air, and bidding me tell 
Inquiring friends that the Turtle and he 
Were gone on a foreign enibassy— 

To soften the head of a Diplomate, 
Who is known to doat upon verdant fat, 
And to let admiring Hurope see, 


Foreign Affairs to a certain noble envoy) de- 
seribed him as *‘ on his majesty’s service.” 


—— dapibus supremi 
Grata testudo Jovis. 


|| Mr. Canning. 

“ Wanderings in South America. “It was 
the first and last time (says Mr. Waterton) I 
Was ever on a crocodile’s back.” 


596 


That calipash and calipee 
Ave the English forms of Diplomacy. 


THE DONKEY AND HIS PAN- 
NIERS. 


A FABLE. 


“fessus jam sudat asellus, 
“Parce illi; vestrum delicium est asinus. 
VIRGIL, Copa. 


A DONKEY, whose talent for burdens 
was wondrous, {in a load, 

So much that you'd swear he rejoiced 
One day had to jog under panniers so 
pond’rous, [smack on the road ! 
That—down the poor Donkey fell 


His owners and drivers stood round in 
amaze— [perous Neddy, 
What! Neddy, the patient, the pros- 
So easy to drive, through the dirtiest 
ways, [ready ! 

For every description of job-work so 


One driver (whom Ned might have 
“hail’d as a brother”’*) 
Had just been proclaiming his Don- 
key’s renown [other— 
For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or 
When, lo, mid his praises, the Donkey 
came down ! 


But, how to upraise him—one shouts, 
other whistles, {all, 


While Jenky the Conjuror, wisest of | 
Declared that an ‘ over-production of 


thistles,’{—- [cause of his fall.” 
(Here Ned gave a stare) ‘was the 


Another wise Solomon cries, as he 
passes— [ will soon cease ; 
“There, let him alone, and the fit 
“The beast has been fighting with 
other jack-asses, [ to peace.’ ” 

““ And this is his mode of ‘ transition 


Some look’d at his hoofs, and, with 
learned grimaces, 


Pronounced that too long without | 


shoes he had gone— 
“Let the blacksmith provide him a 
sound metal basis, [te jog on.” 


(The wise-acres said,) and he’s sure | 


* Alluding to an early poem of Mr. Cole- | 


ridge’s, addressed to an Ass, and beginning, 
“T hail thee, brother!” 

{ A certain country gentleman haying said 
in the House “that we must return at last to the 
food of our ancestors,’’ somebody asked Mr. T. 
“what food the gentleman meant ?”’—" Thistles, 
I suppose,”’ answered Mr. T, 


MOORE'S 


WORKS. 


Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture 
and fear, [to groan ; 

Lay under his panniers, scarce able 
And—what was still dolefuller—lend- 
ing an ear [match for his own. 

To advisers, whose ears were a 


At length, a plain rustic, whose wit 
went so far [as he pass’d— 

As to see others’ folly, roar’d out 
‘* Quick, off with the panniers, all dolts 
as ye are, kick his last !” 

“ΟΥ̓ your prosperous Neddy will soon 


October, 1826. 


ODE TO THE SUBLIME PORTE. 
1826. 

GREAT Sultan, how wise are thy state 
compositions ! [Decree, 

And oh, above all, I admire that 
In which thou command’st, that all she 
politicians [in the sea. 

_ Shall forthwith be strangled and cast 


Tis my fortune to know a lean Ben- 
thamite spinster— [puts ; 

A maid, who her faith in old Jeremy 
Who talks with a lisp, of “ the last new 
Westminster.” [upon Gluts ;” 

And hopes yowre delighted with “ Mill 


Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun- 
blank is, [Nobility ;— 

How charming his Articles ’gainst the 

| And assures you that even agentleman’s 
| rank is, [ity. 
In Jeremy’s school, of no sort of wtil- 


To see her, ye Gods, a new Number pe- 
rusing — [by Pl—e ὁ 

ART. 1.—‘‘ On the Needle’s variations, 

| ART. 2.—By her fav’rite Fun-blank$ — 
so amusing ! [a Law case.” 
“Dear man! he makes Poetry quite 


ArT, 3.—‘‘ Upon Fallacies,’ Jeremy’s 
own— [readers ;)— 

| (Chief Fallacy being, his hope to find 
/ Art. 4.-- Upon Honesty,” author un- 
known ;— [ ‘‘ Hints to Breeders.” 
ART. 5.—(by the young Mr. M ) 


ΤΑ celebrated political tailor. 


§ This pains-taking gentleman has been at 
the trouble of counting, with the assistance of 
Cocker, the number of metaphors in Moore's 
‘Life of Sheridan,” and has found them to 
amount, as nearly as possible, to 2235—and 

' some fractions. 


eS ee a, ee απ; 


a 

!. | 

. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 597 
: l το ee es 
_ Oh, Sultan, oh; Sultan, though oft for Οἱ, too, the Corn grows animate, 


4 


As a clog, as a sinker, far better than | 


ἜΝ 


the bag [tempted to call— 

And the bowstring, like thee, I am 
Though drowning’s too good for each 
blue-stocking hag, [of them all! 
I would bag this she Benthamite first 


And, lest she should ever again lift her 
head [to renew— 
From the watery bottom, her clack 


lead 


{darling Review. 
1 would hang round 


her neck her own 


CORN AND CATHOLICS. 


Utrum horum 

Dirius borum ἢ 

Waar! still those two infernal ques- 

tions, [mix— 

That with our meals, our slumbers 

That spoil our tempers and digestions— 
Eternal Corn and Catholics ! 


Incerti Auctoris. 


Gods! were there ever two such bores? 
__ Nothing else talk’d of night or morn— 
Nothing in doors, or out of doors, 

But endless Catholics and Corn ! 


Never was such a brace of pests— 
While Ministers, still worse than either, 

Skill’d but in feathering their nests, 
Plague us with both, and settle neither. 


So addled in my cranium meet 
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt, 
Whether, this year, ’twas bonded Wheat, 
Or bonded Papists, they let out. 


Here, landlords, here, polemics nail yo 


And a whole crop of heads appears, 

Like Papists, bearding Church 
State— τ 

Themselves, together by the ears ! 


and 


In short, these torments never cease ; 
And oft I wish myself transferr’d off 
To some far, lonely land of peace, 
Where Corn or Papists ne’er were 
heard of. 


| Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole; 
For—if my fate is to be chosen 

*Twixt bores and icebergs—on my soul, 
Τὰ rather, of the two, be frozen! 


A CASE OF LIBEL. 
‘The greater the truth, the worse the libel.”’ 


A CERTAIN Sprite, who dwells below, 
(‘Twere a libel, perhaps, to mention 
where, ) 
Came up incog., some years ago, 
To try, for a change, the London air. 


So well he look’d, and 
talk'd, 

And bid his tail and horns so handy, 

You'd hardly have known him as he 
walk’d, 


From C——e, or any other Dandy. 


and dress’d, 


(His horns, it seems, are made t’ un- 
screw ; [the socket, 
So, he has but to take them out of 
And—just as some fine husbands do— 
| Conveniently clap them into his pock- 
et.) 


U, | 


Arm’d with all rubbish they can raké | In short, he look’d extremely natty, 


up; 
Prices and Texts at once assail you— 
From Daniel these, and those from Ja- 
cob.* 


And when you sleep, with head still | 


torn { mix, 
Between the two, their shapes you 
Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn— 
Then Corn again seems Catholics. 


Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats— 
Now, Jesuits from California— 
Now Ceres, link’d with Titus Oats, 
Comes dancing through the ‘ Porta 
Cornea,’ t 


* Author of the late Report on Foreign Corn. 
t The Horn Gate, through which the ancients 


5 


| And even contrived—to his own great 
wonder— 

| By dint of sundry scents from Gattie, 

| ΤῸ keep the sulphurous hogo under. 


And so my gentleman hoof’d about, 
Unknown to all but a chosen few 
At White’s and Crockford’s, where, no 
doubt, 
He had many post-obits falling due. 


Alike a gamester and a wit, [erew, 
At night he was seen with Crockford’s 
At mor with learned dames would 
sit— [ blue. 

So pass'd his time ‘twixt black and 


supposed all true dreams (such as those of the 
' Popish Plot, &c.) to pass. 


598 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Some wish’d to make him an M. P., 
But, finding W—lks was also one, he 
Swore ina rage, “he’d be d—4, if he 
“Would ever sit in one house with 
Johnny !” 


At length, as secrets travel fast, 
And devils, whether he or she, 

Are sure to be found out at last, 
The affair got wind most rapidly. 


The Press, the impartial Press, that 
snubs 
Alike a fiend’s or an angel’s capers— 
Miss Paton’s soon as Beelzebub’s— 
Fired off a squib in the morning pa- 
pers: 


““We warn good men to keep aloof 
“From a grim old Dandy, seen about, 
“With a fire-proof wig and a cloven 
hoof [out.” 
‘Through a neat-cut Hoby smoking 


Now—the Devil being a gentleman, 
Who piques himself on well-bred 
dealings, — [he ran, 
You may guess, when o’er these lines 
How much they hurt and shock’d his 
feelings. 


Away he posts to a Man of Law, 
And ’twould make you laugh could 
you have seen’em, [paw, 
As paw shook hand, and hand shook 
And ’twas ‘hail, good fellow, well 
met,” between ’em. 


Straight an indictment was preferr’d— 
And much the Devil enjoy’d the jest, 
When, asking about the Bench, he heard 
That, ofall the Judges, his own was 

Best.* 


In vain the Defendant proffer’d proof 
That Plaintiff's self was the Father of 
Evil— [hoof, 
Brought Hoby forth, to swear to the 
And Benite to speak to the tail of the 
Devil. 


The Jury (saints, all snug and rich, 
And readers of virtuous Sunday pa- 
pers) [which 
Found for the plaintiff—on hearing 
The Devil gave one of his loftiest ca- 
pers. 
* A celebrated Judge, so named. 


+ This lady also favors us, in her Memoirs, 
with the address of those apothecaries, who 


For oh, ’twas nuts to the Father of Lies 
(As this wily fiend is named in the 
Bible) 
To find it settled by laws so wise, 
That the greater the truth, the worse 
the libel! 


LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT, 


WantTEp—Authors of all-work, to job 
for the season, (neither ; 

No matter which party, so faithful to 
Good hacks, who, if posed for a rhyme 
or a reason, [out either. 


Can manage, like ******, to do with- 
If in jail, all the better for out-o’-door 
topics ; [retreat ; 
Your jail isfor Travellers a charming 
They can take a day’s rule for a trip to 
the Tropics, 
And sail round the world at their 
ease, in the Fleet. 


For a Dramatist, too, the most useful of 
schools— — [Bench community, 

He can study high life in the King’s 
Aristotle could scarce keep him more 
within rules, [to the unity. 

And of place he, at least, must adhere 


Any lady or gentleman, come to anage 
To have good ‘‘ Reminiscences,” 
(three-score or higher, ) 
Will meet with encouragement—so 
(much, per page, 
And the spelling and grammar both 
found by the buyer. 


No matter with what their remem- 
brance is stock’d, [twm desired ;— 

So they’ll only remember the quan- 
Enough to fill handsomely Two Vol- 
umes, oct., | that’s required. 

Price twenty-four shillings, 15. all 


They may treat us, like Kelly, with old 
jeu-@ esprits, [cal frolic; 

Like Dibdin, may tell of each farei- 
Or kindly inform us, like Madame Gen- 
lis, t [them the colic. 

That gingerbread-cakes always give 


Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets 

on Corn, [(worthies whose lands 

By “ Farmers” and ‘ Landholders,”— 

have, from time to time, given her pills that 

agreed with her; always desiring that the 
pills should be ordered ‘‘ comme pour elle.” 


a ee a 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


599 


Enclosed all in bow-pots, their attics | 


adorn, [seen on their hands. ) 
Or, whose share of the soil may be 


No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dulla 
vein, [who pen ’em, 

Sure of a market; should they, too, 
Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh 
o’S—ll—v—n,* [tional venom. 
Something extra allow’d for th’ addi- 


Funds, Physic, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, 
Romance, [penny ;— 

All excellent subjects for turning a 
To write upon all is an author's sole 
chance {edge of any. 

For attaining, at last, the least know!l- 


Nine times out of ten, if his ¢t/e is good, 

The material within of small conse- 

quence is ;— [ derstood, 

Let him only write fine, and, if not un- 

Why—that’s the concern of the rea- 
der, not his. 


Nota Bene—an Essay, now printing, to 
show, [ express it) 

That Horace (as clearly as words could 
Was for taxing the Fund-holders, ages 
ago, [in Fund is, assess it.’’t 
When he wrote thus—‘‘ Quodcunque 


THE IRISH SLAVE.} 
1827. 
I HEARD, as I lay, a wailing sound, 
“Ἢρ is dead—he is dead,” the rumor 
flew ; [round, 
And I raised my chain, and turn’d me 
And ask’d, through the dungeon-win- 
dow, ‘‘ Who?” 


, 
I saw my livid tormentors pass ; 
Their grief ’twas bliss to hear and see ! 
For, never came joy to them, alas, 
That didn’t bring deadly bane to me. 


Rager I look’d through the mist of night, 

And ask’d, ‘‘ What foe of my race 
hath died ? 

“*Ts it he--that Doubter of law and right, 


“* Whom nothing but wrong could e’er | 


decide— 


“Who, long as he sees but wealth to win, 
‘Hath nevér yet felt a qualm or doubt, 


* A gentleman who distinguished himself by 
his evidence before the Irish Committees. Ὁ 

t According to the common reading, “ quod- 
eunqgue in fundis, acescit.” 

t Written on the death of the Duke of York. 


‘‘ What suitors for justice he’d keep in, 
“Oy what suitors for freedom he’d 
shut out— 


“Who, a clog forever on Truth’s advance, 
“Hangs round her, (like the Old Man 
of the Sea {chance 
‘‘Round Sinbad’s neck,§) nor leaves a 
“ Of shaking him off—is’t he? is’t he ?” 


Ghastly my grim tormentors smiled, 
And thrusting me back to my den of 
Wo, { wild 
With alaughter even more fierce and 
Than their funeral howling, answer'd 
ΠΟΣΌΝ 


But the ery still pierced my prison-gate, 
And again I ask’d, ‘‘ What scourge is 
gone ? 
«Ts it he—that Chief, so coldly great, 
“Whom Fame unwillingly shines 
upon— 


| ‘‘ Whose name is one of th’ ill-omen’d 
words [plains ; 
“They link with hate, on his native 

“ And why ?—they lent him hearts and 
swords, {chains ! 

“ And he, in return, gave scoffs and 


“Ts it he? is it he ?” I loud inquired, 
_ When, hark !—there sounded a Royal 
| knell; 

And I knew what spirit had just expired, 
And, slave as I was, my triumph fell. 


He had pledged a hate unto me and 

mine, [ choice, 

He had left to the future nor hope nor 

, But seal’d that hate with a Name Divine, 

/ Andhe now was dead, and—I couldi’t 
rejoice ! 

He had fann’d afresh the burning brands 
Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim ; 
He had arm’d anew my torturer’s hands, 
And them did I curse—but sigh’d for 

him. 


For, his was theerror of head, notheart ; 
And—oh, how beyond the ambush’d 
foe, 
Who to enmity adds the traitor’s part, 
And carries a smile, with a curse be- 
low ! 


| § ‘You fell, said they, into the hands of the 

Old Man of the Sea, and are the first who ever 
| escaped strangling by his malicious trieks.”— 
' Story of Sinbad. 


000 


If ever a heart made bright amends 
For the fatal fault of an erring head— 
Go, lean his fame from the lips of 
friends, 
In the orphan’s tear be his glory read. 


A Prince without pride, a man without 
guile, 

Tothe last unchanging, warm, sincere, 

For Worth he had ever a hand and a 

smile, [ tear. 

And for Misery ever his purse and a 


Touch’d to the heart by that solemn toll, 
T calmly sunk in my chains again ; 
While, still as I said, ‘‘ Heaven rest his 

soul!” “4 Amen !” 
My mates of the dungeon sigh’d 
January, 1827. 


ODE TO FERDINAND. 
1827. 

Quit the sword, thou King of men, 
Grasp the needle once again ; 
Making petticoats is far 
Safer sport than making war ; 
Trimining is a better thing, 
Than the being trimm’d, oh King! 
Grasp the needle bright with which 
Thou didst for the Virgin stitch 
Garment, such as ne’er before 
Monarch stitch’d or Virgin wore. 
Not for her, oh semster nimble ! 
Do I now invoke thy thimble; 
ΝΟΥ for her thy wanted aid is, 
But for certain grave old ladies, 
Who now sit in England’s cabinet, 
Waiting to be clothed in tabinet, 
Or whatever choice étoffe is 
Fit for Dowagers in office. 
First, thy care, ob King, devote 
To Dame Eld—n’s petticoat. 
Make it of that silk, whose dye 
Shifts forever to the eye, 
Just as if it hardly knew 
Whether to be pink or blue. 
Or— material fitter yet— 
If thou couldst a remnant get 
Of that stuff, with which, of old, 
Sage Penelope, we’re told, 
Still by doing and undoing, 
Kept her suitors always wooing— 
That’s the stuff which I pronounce, is 
Fittest for Dame Eld—n’s flounces. 
After this, we'll try thy hand, 
Mantua-making Ferdinand, 
Por old Goody W—stm—l—d; 


MOORE’S WORKS, 


One who loves, like Mother Cole, 
Church and State with all her soul; 
And has pass’d her life in frolies 
Worthy of your Apostolies. 

Choose, in dressing this old flirt, 
Something that won’t show the dirt, 
As, from habit, every minute 

Goody W—stm—l—d is in it. 


This is all Τ now shall ask, 

Hie thee, monarch, to thy task; 
Finish Eld—n’s frills and borders, 
Then return for further orders. 

Oh what progress for our sake, 
Kings in millinery make ! 
Ribands, garters, and such things, 
Are supphed by other Kings,— 
Ferdinand his rank denotes 

By providing petticoats. 


HAT VERSUS WIG. 
1827, 


“At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord _ 


Eld—n, in order to guard against the effects of 
the damp, stood upon his hat during the whole 
of the ceremony.” 


—— metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 
Subjeeit pedibus, 
avari. 
Twrxt Eld—n’s Hat and Eld—n’s Wig 
There lately rose an altercation,— 

Bach with his own importance big, 
Disputing which most serves the na- 
tion. 


Quoth Wig, with consequential air, 
‘Pooh! pooh! you surely can’t design, 
‘““My worthy beaver, to compare 
** Your station in the state with mine. 


“Who meets the learned legal crew ? 
“Who fronts the lordly Senate’s pride? 

“The Wig, the Wig, my friend, while you 
‘Hang dangling on some peg outside. 


‘Oh, ’tis the Wig, that rules, like Love, 
“Senate and Court, with like éelat— 

“And wards below, and lords above, 
“For Law is Wig and Wig is Law !* 


“Who tried the 
suit, 
‘Which tried one’s patience in return? 


long W—LL—sLy 


* “Love rules the court, the eamp, the grove, 

And men below and gods aboye, 
Fer Love is Heaven and Heayen is Loye.”” 
—ScortT. 


strepitumque Acherontis — 


- 


; SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


601 


“Not thou, oh Hat!—though, could’st 
thou do’t, {learn. 


“© Of other brims* than thine thou’dst 


‘Twas mine our master’s toil to share; 
“When, like ‘Truepenny,’ in the 
play, t 


| 


| 
| 


“Oh think, how Canning and the Pope 
‘* Would then have play’d up ‘ Hell 
and Tommy! ~ 


| 
“ At sea, there’s but a plank, they say, 


“He, every minute, cried out ‘Swear,’ | 
“Oh!!!—— 


“ And merrily to swear went they ;—t 


“When, loath poor W—LL—sL—y to 
condemn, he 
‘With nice discrimination weigh’d, 
“Whether twas only ‘ Hell and Jem- 
my,’ [play’d. 
“Or ‘Hell and Tommy, that he 


**No, no, my worthy beaver, no— 


“Though cheapen’d at the cheapest | ) ended ¢ 
Ε I I | And Wig lay snoring in bis box, 


hatter’s, 
“« And smart enough, as beavers go, 
“Thou ne’er wert made for public 
matters.” 


Here Wig concluded his oration, 
Looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise; 

While thus, full cock’d for declamation, 
The veteran Hat enraged replies :— 


“Ta! dost thou then so soon forget 
“What thou, what England owes to 
me? 
“Ungrateful Wig!—when will a debt 
“So deep, so vast, be owed to thee ἢ 


«Think of that night, that fearful night, 
“When, through the steaming vault 
below, ὃ 
“Our master dared, in gout’s despite, 
“To venture his podagric toe ! 


““Who was it then, thou boaster, say, 
“When thou hadst to thy box 
sneak’d off, 
“ Beneath his feet protecting lay, 
“And saved him froma mortal cough ? 


“Think, if Catarrh had quenched that 

sun, {thee ! 

“* How blank this world had been to 
“* Without that head to shine upon, 


“You, too, ye Britons,—had this hope 
“ Of Church and state been πόαν τ 
from ye, 


ἘΠ“ Brim—a ΠΑΤΡΌΣ woman."’—GROSE. 
t “ Ghost (beneath)}.—Swear! 
“ Hamlet—ha, ha! say’st thou so? Art thou 
there, Truepenny ἢ Come on.” 


᾿ 


Which 


| 
' 


: | So, on they went, a 
“Oh Wig, where would thy glory be ? | C 
| And God help those, like me and you, 


| 


| Or 


‘Twixt seamen and annihilation ; 
‘A hat, that awful moment, lay 
“?Twixt England and Emancipation! 


At this “Oh!!!” 
Reporter 
Was taken poorly, and retired : 
made him cut Hat’s rhetoric 
shorter 
Than justice to the case required. 


The Times’ 


On his return, he found these shocks 
Of eloquence all ended quite ; 


And Hat was—hung up for the night. 


THE PERIWINKLES AND THE 
LOCUSTS. 
A SALMAGUNDIAN HYMN. 

“To Panurge was assigned the Lairdship of 
Salmagundi, which was yearly worth 6,789,- 
106,789 ryals, besides the revenue of the Locusts 
and Pervwinkles, amounting one year with an- 
other to the value of 2,435,768," &c., &e.—Ra- 
BELAIS. 

“ Hurra ! hurra!’”’ I heard them say, 
And they cheer’d and shouted all the 
As the Laird of Salmagundi went, [ way, 
To open in state his Parliament. 


The Salmagundians once were rich, 

thought they were—no matter 
which— 

For, every year the Revenue$ 


| From their Periwinkles larger grew ; 
| And their rulers, skill’d in all the trick 


And legerdemain of arithmetic, 
Knew how to place 1, 2, 3, 4, 
5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 and 10, 
Such various ways, behind, before, 
That they made a unit seem a score, 
And proved themselves most wealthy 
men ! 
rosperous crew, 
The people wise, the rulers clever— 


Who dared to doubt (as some now do) 
That the Periwinkle Revenue 
Would thus go flourishing on forever- 


t His Lordship’s demand for fresh affidayits 
Was incessant. 
§ Accented as in Swift's line— 
“ Not so a nation’s revenues are paid.” 


602 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Hurra! hurra !” I heard them say, 

And they cheer’d and shouted all the 
way, 

As the Great Panurge in glory went 

To open his own dear Parliament. 


But folks at length began to doubt 

What all this conjuring was about ; 

For, every day, more deep in debt 

They saw the wealthy rulers get :— 

“Let’s look (said they) the items 

through, 

“And see if what we’re told be true 

“ Of our Periwinkle Revenue.” [tittle 

But, Lord! they found there wasn’t a 
Of truth in aught they heard before; 

For, they gain’d by Periwinkles little, 
And lost by Locusts ten times more ! 

These Locusts are a lordly breed 

Some Salmagundians love to feed. 

Of all the beasts that ever were born, 

Your Locust most delights in corn ; 

And, though his body be but small, 

To fatten him takes the devil and all ! 

“Oh fie! ohfie!”’ was now the cry, 

As they saw the gaudy show go by, 

And the Laird of Salmagundi went 

To open his Locust Parliament ! 


NEW CREATION OF PHERS. 
BATCH THE FIRST. 


“ His ’prentice han’ 
He tried on man, 
And then he made the lasses.” 
δι 1827. 

“ΑΝ now,” quoth the Minister, (eased 
of his panics, [ affords, ) 

And ripe for each pastime the summer 

“ Having had our full swing of destroy- 
ing mechanics, [Lords. 

“By way of set-off, let us make a few 


“Tis pleasant—while nothing but mer- 
cantile fractures, 
“Some simple, some compound, is 
dinn’d in our ears— 
“To think that, though robb’d of all 
coarse manufactures, [ of Peers ;— 
“We still have our fine manufacture 


“Those Gobelin productions, which 
Kings take a pride 

“Tn engrossing the whole fabrication 

and trade of ; [on one side, 

“Choice tapestry things, very grand 

‘*But showing, on t’other, what rags 
they are made of,” 


The plan being fix’d, raw material was 
sought, — [the creed be: 
No matter how middling, if Tory 
And first, to begin with, Squire 
W. , twas thought, 
For a Lord was as raw a material as 
“need be. 


Next came, with his penchant for paint- 
ing and pelf, 
The tasteful Sir Charles,* so re- 
nown’d, far and near, [himself— 
For purchasing pictures, and selling 
And both (as the public well knows) 
very dear. 


Beside him Sir John comes, with equal 
éclat, in ;— 
Stand forth, chosen pair, while for 
titles we measure ye; 
Both connoisseur baronets, both fond of 
drawing, [the Treasury. 
Sir John after nature, Sir Charles, on 


But, bless us !—behold anew candidate 

come— [tion, new written ; 

In his hand he upholds a preserip- 

He poiseth a pill-box ’twixt finger and 

thumb, [ Peers of Great Britain !! 

And he asketh a seat ’mong the 

“Forbid it,” cries Jenky—‘‘ye Vis- 
counts, ye Karls !— 

“Oh Rank, how thy glories would 

fall disenchanted, [of pearls, 

“Ὁ Τῇ coronets glisten’d with pills ’stead 

“ And the strawberry-leaves were by 
rhubarb supplanted ! 


“ No—ask it not, ask it not, dear Doc- 

tor H—If—rd— [thy life, 

“Tf naught but a Peerage can gladden 

“And young Master H—If—rd as yet. 
is too small for’t, 

“Sweet Doctor, well make ἃ she 
Peer of thy wife. 


“Next to bearing a coronet on our own 
brows, [of another ; 
“Ts to bask inits light from the brows 
““And grandeur o’er thee shall reflect 
from thy spouse, 
“ΑΒ over V—y F—tz—d ’twill shine 
through his mother.”t 
Thus ended the /irst Batch—and Jenky, 


much tired, [heap, ) 
(It being no joke to make Lords by the: 


* Created Lord F—rnb—gh. 
t Among the persons mentioned as likely to 


> 


| 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


ΓΑ 


603 


i » not SS 


Took a large dram of ether—the same 
that inspired [prosed off to sleep. 
His speech ’gainst the Papists—and 


SPEECH ON THE UMBRELLA* 
QUESTION. 


BY LORD ELD—N. 

“Vos inumbrelles video." t—Ex. Juvenil. 

GEORGIL CANNINGIL 

1827. 
' My Lords, I’m accused of a trick that, 
God knows, is [could fall— 
The last into which, at my age, I 
Of leading this grave House of Peers, by 
their noses, 
Whenever I choose, princes, bishops, 


My Lords, on the question before us at 
resent, [cursed old fellow, 

No doubt I shall hear, “’Tis that 
“*That bugbear of all that is lib’ral and 
leasant, [man his umbrella !” 

““Who won’t let the Lords give the 


God forbid that your Lordships should 
knuckle to me ; (King Priam, 

T am ancient—but were I as old as 
Not much, I confess, to your credit 
’twould be, {as | am. 

To mind such a twaddling old Trojan 


I own, of our Protestant laws I am jeal- | 


ous, [ways maintain, 

And, long as God spares me, will al- 
That, once having taken men’s rights, 
or umbrellas, {them again. 

We ne’er should consent to restore 


What security have you, ye Bishops and 
Peers, otis, 


If thus you give back Mr. Bell’s para- | 


That he mayn’t, with its stick, come 
about all your ears, 


And then—where would your Protes- | 


tant periwigs be ? 


No, heaven be my judge, were I dying | 


to-day, [lar that’s mellow, 
Ere I dropp’d in the grave, like a med- 


be raised to the Peerage, are the mother of Mr. 
F F—tz—d, &e. 

*A case which interested the public very 
much at this period. A gentleman, of the 
name of Bell, having left his umbrella behind 
him in the House of Lords, the doorkeepers 


ο΄ dstanding. no doubt, on the privileges of that 


BS 


[and all. | 


“Ror God’s sake”—at that awful mo- 
ment Τ᾿ ἃ say— __— [his umbrella.” 
| “For God’s sake, don’t give Mr. Bell 


iP This address,” says a tinisterial journal, 

“delivered with amazing emphasis and earnest- 

| ness, occasioned an extraordinary sensation in 
the House. Nothing since the memorable ad. 
dress of the Duke of York has produced 80 re- 
markable an impression.'’) 


A PASTORAL BALLAD. 
BY JOHN BULL. 


|" Dublin, March 12, 1827.—Friday, after the 
| arrival of the packet bringing the account of 

the defeat of the Catholic Question, in the 
| House of Commons, orders were sent to the 
Pigeon House to forward 5,000,000 rounds of 
musket-ball cartridge to the different garri- 
aay round the country.”—Freeman's Jour- 
nal, 


I HAVE found out a gift for my Erin, 
A gift that will surely content her ;— 
Sweet pledge of a love so endearing ! 
Five millions of bullets I’ve sent her. 


| 


She ask’d me for Freedom and Right, 
| But ill she her wants understood ;— 
Ball cartridges, morning and night, 

Is a dose that will do her more good. 


There 1s hardly a day of our lives 
But we read, in some amiable trials, 
How husbands make love to their wives 
aie the medium of hemp and of 
vials. 


One thinks, with his mistress or mate 
A good halter is sure to agree— 

That love-knot which, early and late, 
I have tried, my dear Erin, on thee. 


| While another, whom Hymen has bless’d 
With a wife that is not over placid, 

Consigns the dear charmer to rest, 
With a dose of the best Prussic acid. 


| Thus, Erin! my love do I show— 
| Thus quiet thee, mate of my bed! 


_And, as poison and se are too slow, 
Do thy business with bullets instead. 


Should thy faith in my medicine be 
shaken, 
Ask R—d—n, that mildest of saints ; 


noble body) refused to restore it to him; and 
the above speech, which may be considered as 
a pendant to that of the Learned Earl on the 
Catholic Question, arose out of the transaction. 
t From Mr. Canning's translation of Jekyl'’s— 
| “Tsay, my good fellows, 
As you've no umbrellas.” 


604 


He’il tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, 
Alone can remove thy complaints ;— 


That, blest as thou art in thy lot, 
Nothing’s wanted to make it more 
pleasant 
But being hang’d, tortured, and shot, 
Much cftener than thou art at present. 


Even W—l]—t—n’s self hath averr’d 
Thou art yet but halfsabred and hung, 

And I loved him the more when 1 heard 
Such tenderness fall from his tongue. 


So take the five millions of pills, 
Dear partner, I herewith enclose ; 
’Tis the cure that all quacks for thy ills, 
From Cromwell to Eld—n, propose. 


And you, ye brave bullets that go, 
How I wish that, before you set out, 
The Devil of the Freischutz could know 
The good work you are going about. 


For he’d charm ye, in spite of your lead, 
Into such supernatural wit, 

That you'd all of you know, as you sped, 
Where a bullet of sense ought to hit. 


A LATE SCENE AT SWANAGE.* 

VIG. 
1827 

To Swanage —that neat little town, m 

whose bay [slippers — 

Fair Thetis shows off, in her best silver 

Lord Bagst took his annual trip t’other 

day, {with the dippers. 

To taste the sea breezes, and chat 


Regnis Ex-sul ademtis. 


There—learn’d as he 1s m conundrums 
and laws— _ [plays the wag on,) 
Quoth he to his dame, (whom he oft 
‘“Why are chancery suitors like bath- 
ers ?”—** Because 
“Their suits are put off, till—they 
haven’t arag on.” 
Thus on he went chatting—but, lo, 
while he chats, | [him he looks ; 
With a face full of wonder around 
For be misses his parsons, his dear shovel 
hats, [age like rooks. 
Who used to flock round him at Swan- 


* A small bathing-place on the coast of Dor- 
setshire, long a favorite summer resort of the 
ex-nobleman in question, and, till this season, 
much frequented also by gentlemen of the 
Church. 

+ The Lord Chancellor Eld—n. 


~MOORH’S WORKS. 


= 


How is this, Lady Bags?—to this re- 
gion aquatic * 
‘« Last year, they came swarming, to 
make me their bow, 
“As thick as Burke’s cloud o’er 
vales of Carnatic, 
“Deans, Rectors, ἢ. D.’s—where the 
devil are they now ?” 


‘“‘My dearest Lord Bags!” saith the 
dame, ‘‘c¢an you doubt ? 
“Tm loath to remind you of things so 
unpleasant ; 
“But dont you perceive, dear, the 
Church have found out - 
‘¢That youre one of the people called 
Hx’s, at present ?” 


the 


“¢ Ah, true—you have hit it—I am, in- 
deed, one [replies, ) 

** Of those ill-fated Za’s, (his Lordship 
«And with tears, I confess—God for- 
give me the pun!— [to be Y’s.” 

‘We X’s have proved ourselves not 


WO! Wott 


Wo, wo unto him who would cheek or 
disturb it— [on its way ; 
That beautiful Light, which is now 


Which, beaming, at first, o’er the bogs — 


of Belturbet, [its ray ! 
Now brightens sweet Ballinatad with 


Oh F—rmh—m, Saint F—rmh—m, how 
much do we owe thee! 
How form’d to all tastes are thy var- 
ious employs ! | thee, 
The old, as a catcher of Catholics, know 
The young, as an amateur scourger of 
boys. 


Wo, wo to the man, who such doings 
would smother !— 


With whip in one hand, and with Bible 
in t’other, [ee and floggee.” 
Like Mungo’s tormentor, both ‘‘preach- 


| Come, Saints from all quarters, snd mar- 


shal his way ; [fane erudition, 
Come, L—rt—n, who, scorning pro- 
Popp’d Shakspeare, they say, in the riv- 
er, one day, { lutt edition. 


Though ’twas only old Bowdler’s Vel- — 
t Suggested by a speech of the Bishop of © 


Ch—st—r on the subject of the New Reforma- 
tion in Treland, in which his eit de- 
nounced “Wo! Wo! Wo!” pretty abun antly 
on all those who dared to interfere with its 
prog! Css. 


[Kilgrogey ! — 
On, Luther of Cavan! On, Saint οὗ 


ἶ 


μ-- 


605 


best for 
the nation ; ρ 
Who leay’st to poor Paddy no medium 
to choose, 
’Twixt good old Rebellion and new 
Reformation. 


What more from her Saints can Hiber- 
nia require ¢ [daughter, 

St. Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful 
Supplied her, ’tis said, with perpetual 
fire, * {hot water. 

And Saints keep her, now, in eternal 


Wo, wo to the man, who would check 
their career, [await us, 
Or stop the Millennium, that’s sure to 
When, bless’d with an orthodox crop 
every year, 
We shall learn to raise Protestants, 
fast as potatoes. 


In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we 
know, [a day ; 
Had been trying their talent for many 
Till F—rnh—an, when all had been tried, 
came to show, 
Like the German flea-catcher, ‘* anoder 
goot way.” 


And nothing’s more simple than F—rn- 
h—m’s receipt ;— 
“Gatch your Catholic, first—soak him 
well in poteent— [complete. 
“Add salary sauce,{ and the thing is 
‘*You may serve up your Protestant, 
smoking and clean.” 


“Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh 
at such cookery !” [black crow$ 

Thus, from his perch, did I hear a 
Caw angrily out, while the rest of the 
rookery [wo !” 
Open’d their bills, and re-echoed “Wo! 


* The inextingwishable fire of St. Bridget, at 
Kildare. 

1 Whiskey. 

+ © We understand that several applications 
have lately been madeto the Protestant clergy- 
men of this town by fellows, Inquiring, “What 
are they giving a head for converts !'’’— Wez- 
ford Post. 

δ Of the rook species—Corvus fSrugilegus, 
i. e., a great consnmer of corn. 

|| Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) ‘a 


pisciform god,”—his first Avatur being in the 
shape of a fish. 


ees =D ate 1 at is 

oN a ; - SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 

‘Come, R—den, who doubtest—so mild TOUT POUR LA TRIPE. 
are thy views— εἰ rae ᾿ atte 
PRE ties Bivlod-or bullets are If, in China 6r among the nutives of India, 


we claimed civil advantages which were con- 
nected with religious usages, little as we 
might value those forms in our heurts, we 
should think common deceney required us to 
abstuin from treating thém with offensive 
contumely ; and, though unable to consider 
them sacred, we would not sneer at the name 
or Fot, or laugh at the imputed divinity of 
Visthnou.''—Courter, Tuesday, Jan 16. 


1827. 
Comer, take my advice, never trouble 
your cranium, [gain’d, 
When ‘‘civil advantages” are to be 
What god or what goddess may help to 
obtain you ’eim, ({tain’d. 
Hindoo or Chinese, so they’re only ob- 


In this world (let me hint in your organ 
auricular) [fall ; 

All the good things to good hypocrites 
And he, who in swallowing creeds is 
particular, {all. 

Soon will have nothing to swallow at 


Oh place me where Fo (or, as some call 
him, 101) [tages” flow, 

Is the god, from whom ‘‘ civil advyan- 
And you'll find, if there’s any thing snug 
to be got, {with old Fo. 

I shall soon be on excellent terms 


Or were I where Vishnu, that four-hand- 
ed god, { places, 

Is the quadruple giver of pensions and 

I own I should feet it unchristian and 
odd [good graces. 

Not to find myself also in Vishnu’s 


Tor, among all the gods that humanely 
attend [to my wishes 

To our wants in this planet, the gods 
Are those that, like Vishnu and others, 
descend {and of fishes ἢ! 

In the form, so attractive, of loaves 


So take my advice—for, if even the devil 

Should tempt men again as an idol to 

try him, [be civil, 

’Twere best for us Tories, even then, to 

As nobody doubts we should get some- 
thing by him. 


ENIGMA. 
Monstrum nulla virtute redemptum. 


Comer, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me- 
ree, 4 
And tell me what my name may be. 


606 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Τ am nearly one hundred and thirty years 
old, [suppose ;— 
And therefore no chicken, as you may 
Though a dwarf in my youth, (as my 
nurses have told, ) 
Thave, ev’ry year since, been outgrow- 
ing my clothes ; [ stand, 
Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I 
That, if folks were to furnish me now 
with a suit, [the land 
It would take ev’ry morsel of scrip in 
But to measure my bulk from the head 
to the foot. [sick of my stature, 
Hence, they who maintain me, grown 
To cover me nothing but rags will 
supply ; {course of nature, 
And the doctors declare that, in due 
About the year 30 in rags I shall die. 
Meanwhile, I stalk hungry and bloated 
around, [all ; 
An object of intrest, most painful, to 
In the warehouse, the cottage, the pal- 
ace I’m found, [in my thrall. 
Holding citizen, peasant, and king 
Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me- 
ree, [be. 
Come, tell me what my name may 


When the lord of the counting-house 
bends o’er his book, [ draw, 
Bright pictures of profit delighting to 
O’er his shoulders with large cipher eye- 
balls I look, [alyzed paw ! 
And down drops the pen from his par- 
When the Premier hes dreaming of dear 
Waterloo, [and prank it, 
And expects through another to caper 
You’d laugh did you see, when I bellow 
out ** Boo !” [head in the blanket. 
How he hides his brave Waterloo 
When mighty Belshazzar brims high in 
the hall [overthrow, 
His cup, full of gout, to the Gaul’s 
Lo, ‘‘ Hight Hundred Millions” I write 
on the wall, [ gout to his toe ! 
And the cup falls to earth and—the 
But the joy of my heart is when largely 
I cram archy’s acres, 
My maw with the fruits of the Squire- 
And, knowing who made me the thing 
that lam, [worry my makers. 
Like the monster of Frankenstein, 
Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle- 
me-ree, [may be. 
And tell, if thou know’st, who J 

* One of the shows of London. 


t More particularly his Grace’s celebrated 
amendment to the Corn Bill; for which, and 


DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. 
BY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. 
‘““ Vox clamantis in deserto.”’ 
1821. 
Sarp Malthus, one day, to a clown 
Lying stretch’d on the beach, in the 
sun,— [town ?”?— 
““What’s the number of souls in this 
“«The number? Lord bless you, there’s 
none. 


‘““We have nothing but dabs in this 
place, 
“* Of them a great plenty there are : 
“But the soles, please your rey’rence 
and grace, 
“« Are all other side of the bar.” 


And so ’tis in London just now, 

Not a soul to be seen, up or down ;— 
Of dabs a great glut, I allow, 

But your soles, every one, out of town, 


East or west, nothing wondrous or new; 
No courtship or scandal, worth know- 
ing ; 
Mrs. ees and a Mermaid* or two, 
Are the only loose fish that are going. 


Ah, where is that dear house of Peers, 
That, some weeks ago, kept us merry ? 

Where, Eld—n, art thou, with thy tears? 
And thou, with thy sense, L-d—d-y ? 


Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May’r, 

In the dog-days, with thee must be 
puzzled !— 

It being his task to take care [zled. 

That such animals shan’t go unmuz- 


Thou, too, whose political toils 
Are so worthy a captain of horse— 
Whose amendmentst (like honest Sir 
Boyle’s) [worse,’’t 
Are ‘‘amendments, that make matters 


Great Chieftain, who takest such pains 
To prove—what is granted, nem. con.— 

With how mod’rate a portion of brains 
Some heroes contrive to get on. 


And thou, too, my R—d—sd—e, ah, 
where 
Is the peer, with a star at his button, 
Whose quarters could ever compare 
With R—d—sd—e’s five quarters of 
mutton !§ 
the circumstances connected with it, see An- 
nual Register for A. Ὁ. 1827. ; 
} From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the 
Trish House of Commons. 
§ The learning his Lordship displayed, on the 


 ὙῊν, why have ye taken your flight, 
: Ye diverting and dignified crew ? 
How ill do three farces a night, 

At the Haymarket, pay us for you! 


For what is Bombastes to thee, 
My Ell—nbro’, when thou look’st big ? 

Or, where’s the burletta can be 
Like L—d—rd—le’s wit, and his wig? 


I doubt if ev’n Griffinhoof* could 
(Though Griffin’s a comical lad) 

Invent any joke half so good {bad !” 
As that precious one, “ This is too 


Then come again, come again, Spring ! 
Oh haste thee, with Fun in thy train ; 
And—of all things the funniest—bring 
| These exalted Grimaldis again ! 


THE “LIVING DOG” AND THE 

“DBHAD LION.” 
1828. 

Next week will be publish’d (as 
“Lives ’’ are the rage) 

The whole Reminiscences, wondrous 

and strange, {in the cage 

Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once 

Of the late noble Lion at Exter 

’Change. 


Though the dog is a dog of the kind they 
call “sad,” [ing pretends, 

Tis a puppy that much to good breed- 
And few dogs have such opportunities 
had {among friends ; 

Of knowing how Lions behave— 


ἢ ον that animal eats, how he snores, 
5 how he drinks, 


Rh 


And ’tis plain, from each sentence, the 
puppy-dog thinks 

That the Lion was no such great 

things after all. 


Though he roar’d pretty well—this the 
puppy allows— [ond-hand roar; 

Tt was iL he says, borrow’d—a sec- 
And he vastly prefers his own little 
bow-wows {could pour. 

To the loftiest war-note the Lion 


subject of the butcher's “fifth quarter" of mut- 
ton, will not speedily be forgotten. 

* The nomde guerre under which Colman has 
written some of his best fareces. 
be 1 At the commencement of this year, the de- 
signs of Don Miguel and his partisans against 
jthe constitution established by his brother had 
ta begun more openly to declare themselves, 


» 


: SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


{small ; | 
ΠΤ αἱ! noted down by this Boswell so | 


607 


’Tis, indeed, as good fun as ἃ Cynie 
could ask, [ter of rabbits 

To see how this cockney-bred set- 
Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to 
task, { habits. 

And judges of lions by puppy-dog 


Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a 
dark case) [own pan, 

With sops every day from the Lion's 
He lifts up his Jeg at the noble beast’s 
carcass, (can. 
And—does all a dog so diminutive 


However, the book’s a good book, being 
rich in [ bred, 
Examples and warnings to lions high- 
How they suffer small mongrelly curs 
in their kitchen 
Who'll feed on them living, and foul 
them when dead. 
T. Prpcock. 


Exeter ‘Change. 


ODE TO DON MIGUEL. 


Et tu Brute! 
1828.+ 
WuHaT! Miguel, not patriotic ? oh, fie, 
After so much good teaching ‘tis 
uite a take-in, Sir ;— 
First schooled, as you were, under Met- 
ternich’s eye, 
And then (as young misses say) ‘* fin- 
ish’d ” at Windsor "ἢ 


I ne’er in my life knew acase that was 
harder ;— [made us a call! 

Such feasts as you had, when you 
Three courses each day from his Majes- 
ty’s larder, — {after all!! 

And now, to turn absolute Don, 


Some authors, like Bayes, to the style 
and the matter [that they dine, 

Of each thing they write suit the way 
Roast sirloin for Epic, broil’d devils for 
Satire, | [rhymes such as mine. 

And hotch-potch and_ trifle for 


That Rulers should feed the same way, 
I’ve no donbt ;— [la Russe,§ 
Great Despots on bouilli served up ἃ. 


t Don Miguel had paid a visit to the English 
court, at the close of the year 1827. 


§ Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits 
—a favorite dish of the Great Frederick of 
Prussia, and which he persevered in eating even 
on his death-bed, much to the horror of his 
physician Zimmerman. 


008 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Your small German Princes on frogs and 
sour-krout, [on goose. 
And your Viceroy of Hanover always 


Some Dons, too, have fancied (though 
this may be fable) | blunder it ,— 

A dish rather dear, 1f, in cooking, they 
Not content with the common hot meat 
on a table, [cold under it !* 
They’re partial (eh, Mig?) to a dish of 


No wonder a Don of such appetites found 
Even Windsor’s collations plebeianly 
plain , [ Lady sends round 
Where the dishes most high that my 
Are her Maintenon cutlets and soup 

a la Reine. 


Alas! that a youth with such charming 
beginnings, [ conclusion, 
Should sink, all at once, to so sad a 
And, what is still worse, throw the los- 
ings and winnings — [confusion ! 

Of worthies on ’Change into so much 


The Bulls, in hysterics—the Bears just 
as bad— [who’ve not tick, 

The few men who have, andthe many 
All shock’d to find out that that promis- 
ing lad, [triotic ! 
Prince Metternich’s pupil, is—not pa- 


THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT 
GOVERNMENT OF IRELAND. 


1228. 

Ort have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, 
Some well-rouged youth round Astley’s 

Circus ride [graceful straddle, 
Two stately steeds—standing, with 
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either 

saddle, [some andantes— 
While to soft tunes—some Jigs, and 
He steers around his light-paced Rosi- 

nantes. 


So rides along, with canter smooth and 
pleasant, [present ;— 

That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at 
Papist and Protestant the coursers 
twain, [ rein, 

That lend their necks to his impartial 
And round the ring—each honor’d, as 
they go, [ toe— 

With equal pressure from his gracious 
To the old medley tune, half “ Patrick’s 
Day” [cant’ring way, 

And half ‘“ Boyne Water,” take their 
* This quiet ease of murder, with all its par- 
ticulars—the hiding the body under the dinner- 


While Peel, the showman in the middle, 
cracks [ful hacks. 
His long-lash’d whip, to cheer the doubt- 
Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art ! 
How bless’d, if neither steed would boit 
or start ;— [ gone, 
If Protestant’s old restive tricks were 
And Papist’s winkers could be still kept 
on! [ Ducrow 
But no, false hopes—not even the great 
’Twixt two such steeds could ’scape an 
overthrow : 
If solar hacks play’d Phaéton a trick, 
What hope, alas, from hackney’s lunatic? 


If once my Lord his graceful balance 
loses, [horse chooses ; 
Or fails to keep each foot where each 
If Peel but gives one extra touch of 
whip 
To Papist’s tail or Protestant’s eax-tip — 
That instant ends their glorious horse- 
manship ! [ free, 
Off bolt the sever’d steeds, for mischief 
And down, between them, plumps Lord 
Anglesea ! 


THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTA- 
TIONS. 


A DREAM, 


“Cio che si perde qui, la si raguna.”” ARIOSTO. 
ἐξ a valley, where he sees 
Things that on earth were lost.’ MILTON, 
1828. 
Know’st thou not himt the poet sings, 
Who flew to the moon’s serene domain, 
And saw that valley, where all the things, 
That vanish on earth, are found again— 
The hopes of youth, the resolves of age, 
The vow of the lover, the dream of the 
The golden visions of mining cits, [ sage, 
The promises great men strew about 
them ; 
And, pack’d in compass small, the wits 
Of monarchs, who rule as well with- 
out them !— 
Like him, but diving with wing profound, 
I have been to a Limbo under ground, 
Where characters lost on earth, (and 
cried, 
In vain, like H—rr—s’s, far and wide, ) 
In heaps, like yesterday’s orts, are thrown, 
And there, so worthless and fly-blown, 


table, &c., &e.—1s, no doubt, well known to the 
reader. . 
| Astolpho. 


“ἐᾷ ΚΥΡᾺ 5 ἥ 
4 ς ‘a ᾿ ΄ 

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 009 

That evy’n the imps would not purloin | ‘And  there—without considering 

them, whether together— 


Lie, till their worthy owners join them. 


Curious it was to see this mass 
Of lost and torn-up reputations ;— 
Some of them female wares, alas, 
Mislaid at innocent assignations ; 
Some, that had sigh’d their last amen 
From the canting lips of saints that 
would be; [of men,” 
And some once own’d by ‘the best 
Who had proved—no better than they 
should be. 
’Mong others, a poet’s fame I spied, 
Once shining fair, now soak’d and 
black— (cried, ) 
*“No wonder,” (an imp at my elbow 


“Por I pick’d it out of a butt of 


sack !” 


Just then a yell was heard o’er head, 
Like a chimney-sweeper’s lofty sum- 
Mons ; 
And lo! a devil right downward sped, 
Bringing, within his claws so red, Feaid: 
Two statesmen’s characters, found, he 
Last night, on the floor of the House 
of Commons ; 
The which, with black official grin, 
He now to the Chief Imp banded in ;— 
Both these articles much the worse 
For their journey down, as you may 
suppose, [ curse "ἢ" 
But one so devilish rank—‘‘ Odds 
Said the Lord Chief Imp, and held 
his nose. 


“Ἢρ, ho!” quoth he, “1 know full well 

τ From whom these two stray matters 
fell ;’— 

Then, casting away, with loathful shrug, 

Th’ uncleaner waif, (as he would a drug 

Th’ Inyisible’s own dark hand had 
mix’d, ) 

His gaze on the other* firm he fix’d, 

And trying, though mischief laugh’d in 
his eye, {imps by, 

To be moral, because of the young 

“What a pity !” he cried—“ so fresh in 
its gloss, 

“So long preserved—’tis a public loss ! 

“Yhis comes of a man, the careless 
blockhead, 

‘Keeping his character in his pocket ; 

* H—k—n. 
t Or Lieutenant-General, as it may happen 
‘to be. 


““There’s room for that and his gains 
‘‘Cramming, and cramming, and cram- 

ming away, [day ! 
‘¢Till—out slips character some fine 


“ However”—and here he viewed it 
round— 
‘“This article still may pass for sound. 
“Some flaws, soon patch’d, some stains 
are all (fall. 
“Theharm it has had in its luckless 
“ Here, Puck !” and he call’d to one of 
his train— 
“The owner may have this back again. 
“Though damaged forever, ifused with 
skill [still ; 
“Tt may serve, perhaps, to trade on 
“ Though the gem can never, as once, be 
‘Tt will do for a Tory Cabinet!”  [set, 


HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY. 
Qui facit per alium facit per se. 


"Mone our neighbors, the French, in 
the good olden time 
When Nobility flourish’d, great Bar- 
ous and Dukes [in rhyme, 
Often set up for authors in prose and 
But ne’er took the trouble to write 
their own books. 


Poor devils were found to do this for 
their betters ;— [ἃ Blue, 
And one day, a Bishop, addressing 
Said, ‘‘ Ma’am, have youread my new 
Pastoral Letters ?” 
To which the Blue answer’d—‘‘ No, 
Bishop, have you ?” 


The sameis now done by our privileged 

class ; { cess it needs, 

And, toshow you how simple the pro- 

Ifa great Major-Generalt wishes to pass 

For an author of History, thus he 
proceeds: 


First scribbling his own stock of notions 

as well [claims him as /in, 

As he can, with a goose-quill that 

He settles his neckcloth—takes snuff— 
rings the bell, 

Andyawningly orders a Subaltern in. 


The Subaltern comes—sees his General 
seated, {swelling :— 
In all the self-glory of authorship 


610 


MOORE’S POEMS. 


‘ 


( 


“There, look,” saith his lordship, ‘‘ My | With such eternal puffing, scarce could 


work is completed, — 
“Tt wants nothing now, but the 
grammar and spelling.” 


Well used to a breach, the brave Subal- 
tern dreads __[ dred times more; 
Awkward breaches of syntax a hun- 
And, though often condemn’d to see 
breaking of heads, 


He had ne’er seen such breaking of | 


Priscian’s before. 


However, the job’s sure to pay —that’s 
enough— [ hammer, 

So, to it he sets with his tinkering 
Convinced that there never was job half 
so tough [eral’s grammar. 

As the mending a great Major-Gen- 


view— [new expense : 

New toil for the Sub.—for the Lord 
*Tis discovered that mending his gram- 
mar won't do, [in sense / 

As the Subaltern also must find him 


At last—even this is achieved by his 
aid ;— {and—the story ; 
Friend Subaltern pockets the cash 
Drums beat—the new Grand March of 
Tntellect’s play’ d- - [in glory ! 

And off struts my Lord, the Historian, 


IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF 
DANTE. 


‘Cosi quel fiato gli spiriti mali 
Di qua, di la, di git, di su gli mena.” 
Inferno, eanto 5. 
I Turwn’pD my steps, and lo, a shadowy 
throng [blown along, 
Of ghosts came flutt’ring tow’rds me— 
Like cockchafers in high autumnal 
storms, {forms 
By many a fitful gust that through their 
Whistled, as on they came, with wheezy 
puff, [enough. 


And puff'd as—though they’d never putf | 


“Whence and what are ye?” pitying I 
mquired [and tired 
Of these poor ghosts, who, tatter’d, toss’d, 


‘ The classical term for money. 

| The reader may fill up this gap with any 
one of the dissyllabie publishers of London that 
occurs to him. 

| Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the 
writer of the political articles in the journal 


stand [demand. 
On their lean legs while answering my 
“We once were authors’—thus the 
Sprite, who led 
This tag-rag regiment of spectres, said — 
“ Authors of every sex, male, female, 
neuter, [and—pewter,* 
‘Who, early smit with love of praise 
“On αν τ’ st shelves first saw the 
light of day, [away— 
πη s puffs exhaled our lives 
“Tike summer windmills, doom’d to 
dusty peace, [ motion, cease. 
“When the brisk gales, that lent them 
“ Ah, little knew we then what ills await 


'““Much-lauded seribblers in their after 


state ; [ean tell— 


|“ Bepuff'd on earth—how loudly Str—t 
But, lo, a fresh puzzlement starts up to | 


« And, dire reward, now doubly puff’d 


in hell!” 
Touch’d with compassion for his 
ghastly crew, [sung through 


Whose ribs, even now, the hollow wind 
In mournful prose,—_such prose as Ro- 
sa’st ghost ~ [toast, 


Still at th’ accustom’d hour of eges and 
Sighs through the columns of the 
M—rn—g P—t,— [stood 


Pensive I turn’d to weep, when he, who 
Foremost of all that flatulential brood, 
Singling a she-ghost from the party, 
said, 
«« Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z.,§ 
“One of our letter’d nymphs—excuse 
the pun— [ing none ; 
‘* Who gain’d a name on earth by—havy- 
“ And whose initials would immortal be, 
“¢ Had she but learn’d those plain ones, 
A. B.-C: {and neat, 
“ Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry 
‘‘Wrapp’d in his own dead rhymes— 
fit winding-sheet— [should care 
“Still marvels much that not a soul 
“One single pin to know who wrote 
‘May Fair ; 
“ While this young e gentleman,” (here 
forth he drew 


|A dandy spectre, puff’d quite through 


and through, 
As though his ribs were an Aolian lyre 


alluded to, and whose spirit still seems to pre- 
side—‘‘ regnat Rosa ’—oyer its pages. 

§ Not the charming L. ἘΠ. L., and still less, 
Mrs. IF’. H., whose poetry is among the most 
beautiful of the present day. 


τι 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


For the old Row’s soft trade-winds to 
inspire, ) [alone, 


“This modest genius breathed one wish | 


“To have his volume read, himself un- 
known ; [ took, 

* But different far the course his glory 

“* All knew the author, and—none read 
the book. 


“‘Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, 
“Who rides the blast, Sir J--n—h 

B—rr—t—-n ;— [spent, 
“Τὴ tricks to raise the wind his life was 
“ And now the wind returns the compli- 

ment. { ter, 
“This lady here, the Earl of "Ss sis- 
“‘Tsa dead novelist ; and this is Mister— 
“Beg pardon—Honorable Mister L—s- 

t—r, [came over 
** A gentleman who, some weeks since, 


**Tn a smart puff (wind S. S. EB.) to Do- | 


ver. [Grey, 
Yonder behind us limps young Vivian 
“© Whose life, poor youth, was long since 
blown away, { wind 
“Like a torn paper-kite, on which the 
““No further purchase for a puff can 
find.” 


“* And thou thyself?’—here, anxious, I | 


exclaim’d— [art named.” 
“Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, 
“*Me, Sir!” he blushing cried—“ Ah, 
there’s the rub— [Club, 
“* Know, then —a waiteronce at Brooks’s 
“Α waiter still I might have long re- 
main’d, [glasses drain’d ; 
“And long the club-room’s jokes and 
*“ But, ah, in luckless hour, this last De- 
cember, [me ‘ Member’— 
“1 wrote a book,* and Colburn dubb’d 
“«*Member of Brooks’s !’—oh Prome- 
thean puff, [stuff! 
“To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen- 
“With crumbs of gossip, caught from 
dining wits, Lhalf-chew’d bits, 
“ And half-heard jokes, bequeath’d, like 
“To be, each night, the waiter’s perqui- 
: sites ;— before, 
“With such ingredients, served up oft 
“But with fresh fudge and fiction gar- 
nish’d o’er, {the town, 


“1 managed, for some weeks, to dose | 


* “History of the Clubs of London,” an- 
nounced as by “ἃ Member of Brooks's.” 

tA Dantesque allusion to the old saying, 
** Nine miles beyond H—Il, where Peter pitched 
his waistcoat.” 


_“ Till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me 
down; 

“ And, ready still even waiters’ souls to 
damn, {here I am ;— 

“The Devil but rang his bell, and— 

“Yes—‘Coming up, Sir,’ once my fa- 
vorite ery, {here am J !” 

““Exchanged for ‘Coming down, Sir,’ 


Scarce had the spectre’s lips these words 
let drop, {shop 
When, lo, a breeze —such as from 5 
Blows in the vernal hour, when puffs 
prevail, [lagging sale— 
And speeds the sheets and swells the 
Took dis poor waiter rudely in the poop, 
And, whirling him and all his ἝΩ 
group 
Of literary ghosts—Miss X. Y. Z.— 
The nameless author, better known than 
read— 
Sir Jo.—the Honorable Mr. L—st—r, 
And, last, not least, Lord Nobody’s 
twin-sister— [prose and rhymes 
Blew them, ye gods, with all their 
And sins about them, far into those 
climes [old times, 
‘Where Peter pitch’d his waistcoat "Ὁ in 
Leaving me much in doubt, as on I 
press’d {realm unbless’d, 
With my great master, through this 
Whether old Nick or C—lb—n putts the 
best. 


LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD 
B—TH—ST’S TAIL.t 


| 
| ALL in again—unlook’d for bliss ! 

Yet, ah, one adjunct still we miss ;— 
| One tender tie, attach’d so long [ wrong. 
To the same head, through right and 
Why, B—th—st, why didst thou cut off 

That memorable tail of thine? » 
| Why—as if one was not enough— 

Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, 
And thus, at once, both cut and run ? 
Alas, my Lord, ’twas not well done, 

’T was not, indeed—though sad at heart, 

From office and its sweets to part, 

Yet hopes of coming in again, 

Sweet Tory hopes! beguiled our pain ; 

But thus to miss that tail of thine, 

Through long, long years our rallying 
sign— 


t The noble Lord, it is well known, cut off 
this much-respected appendage, on his retire- 
| ment from office some months since. 


612 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


As if the State and all its powers 

By tenancy in tail were ours— 

To see it thus by scissors fall, 

This was ‘th’ unkindest cut of all!” 
It seem’d as though th’ ascendant day 
Of Toryism had pass’d away, 

And, proving Samson’s story true, 
She lost her vigor with her queue. 


Parties are much like fish, ’tis said— 
The tail directs them, not the head ; 
Then, how could any party fail, [tail? 
That steer’d its course by B—th —st’s 
Not spun plume, through Wagram’s 
ght, 
H’er shed such guiding glories from it, 
As erst, in all true Tories’ sight, 
Blazed from our old Colonial comet ! 
If you, my Lord, a Bashaw were, 
(As W—ll—gt—n will be anon, ) 
Thou might’st have had a tail to spare ; 
But no, alas, thou hadst but one, 
And that—like Troy, or Babylon, 
A tale of other times—is gone ! 
Yet—weep ye not, ye Tories true — 
Fate has not yet of all bereft us; 
Though thus deprived of B—th—st’s 
queue, 
We've E—b—h’s curls still left us ;— 
Sweet curls, from which young Love, so 
vicious, 
His shots, as from nine-pounders, issues; 
Grand, glorious curls, which, in debate, 
Surcharged with all a nation’s fate, 
His Lordship shakes, as Homer’s God 
did,* [near him ;— 
And oft in thundering talk comes 
Except that, there, the speaker nodded, 
And,here, ’tis only those who hear him. 
Long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil 
Of that fat cranium may ye flourish, 
With plenty of Macassar oil, [nourish! 
Though many a year your growth to 
And, ah, should Time too soon unsheath 
His barbarous shears such locks to sev- 
Still dear to Tories, even in death, [er, 
Their last, loved relics we’ll bequeath, 
A hair loom to our sons forever. 


THE CHERRIES.t 
A PARABLE. 


1828. 


SEE those cherries, how they cover 
Yonder sunny garden wall ;— 


* “Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the 
nod.” Porr’s Homer. 


Had they not that network over, — 
Thieving birds would eat them all. 


So, to guard our posts and pensions, 
Ancient sages wove a net [ sions, 

Through whose holes, of small dimen- 
Only certain knaves can get. 


Shall we then this network widen ? 
Shall we stretch these sacred holes, 
Through which, even already, slide in 

Lots of small dissenting souls ? 


“God forbid !” old Testy erieth ; 
‘God forbid! ” so echo 1; © 

Every ravenous bird that flieth 
Then would at our cherries fly. 


Ope but half an inch or so, 
And, behold, what bevies break in ;— 
Here, some cursed old Popish crow 
Pops his long-and lickerish beak in ; 


Here, sly Arian’s flock unnumber’d, 
And Socinians, slim and spare, 
Who, with small belief encumber’d, 

Slip in easy anywhere ;— 


Methodists, of birds the aptest, 
Where there’s pecking going on; 

And that water-fowl, the Baptist— 
All would share our fruits anon ; 


Every bird, of every city, 
That, for years, with ceaseless din, 
Hath reversed the starling’s ditty, 
Singing out ‘[ can’t get in.” 


“God forbid!” old Testy snivels ; 
‘God forbid!” I echo too ; 
Rather may ten thousand d-y-ls 
Seize the whole voracious crew ! 
Tf less costly fruit won’t suit ’em, 
Hips and haws, and such like berries, 
Curse the cormorants! stone ’em, shoot 
Any thing—to save our cherries. [’em, 


STANZAS WRITTEN IN ANTICT- 
PATION OF DEFBAT.t 
1828. 
Go seek for some abler defenders of 
wrong, [blood and expense ; 
If we must run the gauntlet through 
Or, Goths as ye are, in your multitude 
strong, [not to sense. 
Be content with success, and pretend 
} Written during the late discussion on the 
Test and Corporation Acts. 


+ During the diseussion of the Catholie ques— ~ 
tion in the House of Commons last session. 


SATIRICAL 


AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


613 


If the words of the wise and the gen- 
’rous are vain, [up her breath, 

If Truth by the bowstring must yield 
Let Mutes do the office—and spare her 
the pain {her to death. 

Of an In—gl—s or T—nd—l to talk 


Chain, persecute, plunder—do all that 
you will— [ly lore 

But save us, at least, the old woman- 
Of a F—st—r, who, dully prophetic of 
ill, [AUGUR® and BORE. 


Is, at once, the two instruments, | 
Bring legions of Squires—if they’ll only | 


be mute— [reason and right, 

And array their thick heads against 

- Like the Roman of old, of historic re- 
pute, t [carried the fight; 

Who with droves of dumb animals 


Pour out, from each corner and hole of 
the Court, [salaried slaves, 
Your Bedchamber 
Who, ripe for all job-work, no matter 
what sort, [patents and staves. 
Have their consciences tack’d to their 
Catch all the small fry who, as Juvenal 
sings, {they swim ;t 
Are the Treasury’s creatures, wherever 
With all the base, time-serving toadies 
of Kings, 
Who, if Punch were the monarch, 
would worship even him; 


And while, on the one side, each name 
of renown [combined ; 
That illumines and blesses our age is 
While the Foxes, the Pitts, and the 
Cannings look down, 
And drop o’er the cause their rich 
mantles of Mind; 
Let old Paddy H—Imes show his troops 
on the other, 
And, counting of noses the quantum 
Let Paddy but say, like the Gracchi’s 
famed mother, [that’s required, 
** Come forward, my jewels ’—'tis all 


And thus let your farce be enacted here- 
after— [chain ; 


Thus honestly persecute, outlaw and | 


But spare even your victims the torture 
of laughter, {again ! 
And never, oh neyer, try reasoning 


* This rhyme is more for the ear than the | 


eye, as the carpenter's tool is spelt auger. 

t Fabius, who sent droves of bullocks against 
the enemy. 
: t Res Fisci est, ubieumque natat.—JUVENAL. 
, 
x - 
a 


lordlings, your | 


[ desired, | 


ODE TO THE WOODS AND FOR- 
ESTS. 
BY ONE OF THE BOARD. 


1828, 
Let other bards to groves repair, [throats, 
Where linnets strain their tuneful 
Mine be the Woods and Forests, where 
The Treasury pours its sweeter notes. 


No whispering winds have charms for 
Nor zephyrs’ balmy sighs I ask ; [me, 

To raise the wind for Royalty 
Be all our Sylvan zephyr’s task ! 

, And, ‘stead of crystal brooks and floods, 
And all such yulgar irrigation, 

Let Gallic rhino through our Woods 
Divide its ‘‘ course of liquid-ation.” 


_Ah, surely, Virgil knew full well 
What Woods and Forests ought to be, 
When, sly, he introduced in hell 
| His guinea-plant, his bullion-tree :—$§ 


Nor see I why, some future day, [send 
When short of cash, we should not 
/Our H—rr—s down—he knows the 
way— 
To see if Woods in hell will lend. 
Long may ye flourish, sylyan haunts, 
Beneath whose “ branches of expense” 
Our gracious K ¢ gets all he wants,— 
| Except a little taste and sense. 


| Long, in your golden shade reclined, 
Like him of fair Armida’s bowers, 

May W—Il—n some wood-nymph find, 
To cheer his dozenth lustrum’s hours ; 


To rest from toil the Great Untanght, 

| And soothe the pangs his warlike brain 

Must suffer, when, unused to thought, 
It tries to think, and—tries in vain. 

Oh long may Woods and Forests be 
Preserved, in all their teeming graces, 

To shelter Tory bards, like me, 
Who take delight in Sylvan places /| 

\STANZAS FROM THE BANKS OF 

THE SHANNON. 


1828. 
“ Take back the virgin page.” 
MoOoKE's Irish Melodies. 
| No longer, dear V—sey, feel hurt and 
uneasy { brother, 
At hearing it said by thy Treasury 
δ Called by Virgil botanically, ‘‘ species auri 
| frondentis.”’ 
| Tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem loca 


ον. 
These verses were suggested by the result 


614 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


That thou art a sheet of blank paper, my 
V—sey, {another.* 
And he, the dear innocent placeman, 


For, lo, what a service we, Irish, have 
done thee ;— [no more ; 

Thou now art a sheet of blank paper 
By St. Patrick, we’ve scrawl’d such a 
lesson upon thee [ before. 

As never was scrawl’d upon toolscap 


Come—on with your spectacles, noble 
Lord Duke, [would lend you, ) 

(Or O’Connell has green ones he haply 
Read V—sey all o’er (as you can’t read 
a book) [trotters, send you ; 

And improve by the lesson we, bog- 


A lesson, in large Roman characters 
traced, {and your kin 
Whose awful impressions from you 
Of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne’er be 
effaced — L asses’ skin. 
Unless, ’stead of paper, you’re mere 


Shall I help you to construe it? ay, by 
the Gods, [have a rare one ; 
Could I risk a translation, you should 
But pen against sabre is desperate odds, 
And you, my Lord Duke, (as you 
hinted once,) wear one. 


Again and again I say, read V—sey 
o'er ;— [scrolls of papyrus, 

You will find him worth all the old 
That Egypt e’er fill’d with nonsensical 
lore, Lof, to tire us. 

Or the learned Champollion e’er wrote 


All blank as he was, we’ve return’d him 
on hand, [ces and Dukes, 
Seribbled o’er with a warning to Prin- 
Whose plain, simple drift if they won’t 
understand, [Πὺ for St. Luke’s. 
Though caress’d at St. James’s, they’re 


Talk of leaves of the Sybils !—more 
meaning convey’d is 
In one single leaf such as now we 
have spell’d on, [old ladies 
Than e’er hath been utter’d by all the 
That ever yet spoke, from the Sybils 
to Eld—n. 


of the Clare election, in the year 1828, when the 
tight Honorable W. Vesey Fitzgerald was re- 

jected, and Mr. O'Connell returned. 
* Some expressions of this purport, in a pub- 


“THE ANNUAL PILL. 


Supposed to be sung by OLD Prosy, the Jew, 
in the character of Major C—krw—cut. 


VILL nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 

Dat’s to purify every ting nashty 

avay ? [say vat I vill, 

Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let_ me 

Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds 

vat I say ! [ go, 

’Tis so pretty a bolus !—just down let it 

And, at vonce, such a radical shange 

you vill see, [in de show, 

Dat I’d not be surprish’d, like de horse 

If your heads all vere found vere your 
tailsh ought to be! 

Vill nobodies try my nice An- 

nual Pill, &e. 


’T will cure all Electors, and purge away 

clear [ deir hands— 

Dat mighty bad itching dey’ve got in 

Twill cure, too, all Statesmen of dul- 

ness, ma tear, [poor Mister V AN’s. 

Though the case vas as desperate as 

Dere is noting at all vat dis Pill vill not 

reach— [tle grain, 

Give the Sinecure Shentleman von lit- 

Pless ma heart, it vill act like de salt on 

de leech, 

And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, 
and pence, up again! 

Vill nobodies try my nice An- 

nual Pill, &e. 


‘Twould be tedious, ma tear, all its 
peauties to paint— [ly wrong, 
But, among oder tings fundamental- 
It villeure de Proad Pottomt—a com- 
mon complaint [sitting too long. 
Among M. P.’s and weavers—from 
Should symptoms of speeching break 
out on a dunee, [ disease, 
(Vat is often de case,) it vill stop de 
And pring avay all de long speeches at 
vonce, [come by degrees ! 
Dat else vould, like tape-worms, 
Vill nobodies try my nice Annual Pill, 
Dat’s to purify every ting nashty avay? 
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me 
say vat I vill, 
Not ἃ Chrishtian 
minds vat I say! 


or Shentleman 


lished letter of one of these gentlemen, had then 
produced a good deal of amusement. 

+ Meaning, I presume, Ooalition Adminis- 
trations. 5 


Pee — ‘sa oe 


615 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


“TP” AND ‘‘PERHAPS.”* 


On tidings of freedom! oh accents of | 
{Erin’s blue sea, | 


hope ! 

. Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to 
And refresh with their sounds every son 
of the Pope dee. 

From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donagha- 


‘Tf mutely the slave will endure and 
obey, {ing his pains, 

‘¢ Nor clanking his fetters, nor breath- 
“His masters, perhaps, at some far dis- 
tant day, [loosening his chains.” 
“‘May think (tender tyrants!) of 


Wise “if” and ‘‘perhaps !’’—precious 
salve for our wounds, 
If he, who would rule thus o’er man- 
nacled mutes, 


Could check the free spring-tide of | 


Mind, that resounds, [Canute’s. 
Ev’n now, at his feet, like the sea at 


But, no, ’tis in vain—the grand impulse | 
᾽ 


is given,— [knowing will claim ; 

Man knows his high Charter, and 
And if ruin must follow where fetters 
are riven, [guilt and the shame. 

Be theirs, who have forged them, the 


‘* Tf” the slave will be silent !—vain Sol- 

dier, beware— [may assume, 

There is a dead silence the wrong’d 

When the feeling, sent back from the 
lips in despair, 


But clings round the heart with a) 


deadlier gloom ;— 


When the blush, that Jong burn’d on the 
suppliant’s cheek, [lute hue ; 

Gives place to th’ avenger’s pale, reso 
And the tongue that once threaten’d, 
disdaining to speak, [ to do. 
Consigns to the arm the high office— 


Jf men, in that silence, should think of 
the hour, [ply stood, 
When proudly their fathers in pano- 
Presenting, alike, a bold front-work of 
pore: {on the flood: 


To the despot on land and the foe ἡ" 


That hour, when a Voice had come 
forth from the west, 
Tothe slave bringing hopes, to the 
tyrant alarms; 
* Written, after hearing a celebrated speech 


in the House of Lords, June 10, 1828, when the 
motion in favor of Catholic Emancipation, 


And a lesson, long look’d for, was tanght 
the oppress’d, {in arms! 
That kings are as dust before freemen 


Tf, awfuller still, the mute slave should 
recall {[dom’s sweet day 

That dream of his boyhood, when Free- 
At length seem’d to break through a 
long night of thrall, (in its ray ;— 

And Union and Hope went abroad 


If Fancy should tell him, that Day- 
spring of Good, [from his chain, 
Though swiftly its light died away 
Though darkly it set in a nation’s best 
blood, [again ;— 

Now wants but invoking to shine out 


If —if, I say—breathings like these 
should come o’er [as they come, 
The chords of remembrance, and thrill, 
Then, perhaps—ay, perhaps—)ut I dare 
not say more ; 
Thou hast will’d that thy slaves 
should be mute—I am dumb. 


WRITE ON, WRITE ON. 
A BALLAD. 


Air:— Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear. 


Salvete, fratres Asini. Sr. FRANCIS. 


WRITE on, write on, ye Barons dear, 
Ye Dukes, write hard and fast ; 

The good we’ye sought for many a year 
Your quills will bring at last. 

One letter more, N—we—stle, pen 
To match Lord K—ny—n’s tivo, 

And more than Treland’s host of men, 
One brace of Peers will do. 

Write on, write on, &e. 


| Sure, never, since the precious use 

Of pen and ink began, 

| Did letters, writ by tools, produce 
Such signal good to man. 

While intellect, ’mong high and low, 
Is marching on, they say, 

Give me the Dukes and Lords, who go, 
Like crabs, the other way. 

Write on, write on, &e. 


Even now I feel the coming light— 
Even now, could Folly lure 

My Lord M—nte—sh—l, too, to write, 
Hmancipation’s sure. 


| brought forward by the Marquis of Lansdowne, 
was rejected by the House of Lords. 


010 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


Ne 


By geese (we read in history) 
Old Rome was saved from ill ; 
And now, to qiills of geese, we see 
Old Rome indebted sii'l. 
Write on, write on, &e. 


Write, write, ye Peers, nor stoop to 
Nor beat for sense about— [style, 

Things, little worth a Noble’s while, 
Yow’re better far without. 

Oh ne’er, since asses spoke of yore, 
Such miracles were done ; 

For, write but four such letters more, 
And Freedom’s cause is won ! 


SONG OF THE DEPARTING 
SPIRIT OF TITHE. 


“The parting Genius is with sighing sent.”’— 
MILTON. 

IT is o’er, it is o’er, my reign is o’er ; 

I hear a Voice, from shore to shore, 

From Dunfanaghy to Baltimore, 

And it saith, in sad, parsonic tone, 

‘Great Tithe and Small are dead and 
gone !” 


Even now, I behold your vanishing 
wings, 

Ye Tenths of all conceivable things, 

Which Adam first, as Doctors deem, 

Saw, in a sort of night-mare dream, * 

After the feast of fruit abhorr’d— 

First indigestion on record !— 

Ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks, 

Ye pigs which, though ye be Catholics, 

Or of Calvin’s most select depraved, 

In the Church must have your bacon | 
saved ;— [sheaves, 

Ye fields, where Labor counts his 

And, whatsoe’er himself believes, 


Must bow to th’ Establish’d Chwreh 
belief, { sheaf ;— 


That, the tenth is always a Protestant 
Ye calves, of which the man of Heaven | 
Takes Jrish tithe, one calf in seven ;f 
Ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, 
Hees, t timber,’milk, fish, and bees’ wax ; 

* A yeyerend prebendary of Hereford, in an 
Essay on the Revenues of the Church of Eng- 
land, has assigned the origin of Tithes to ‘‘some 
unrecorded revelation made to Adam.” 

+“The tenth ealf is due to the parson of 
common right ; and if there are seven he shall 
haye one.”"—REEs’s Cyclopedia, art. “" Tithes.” 

t Chaucer’s Plowman complains of the parish 
rectors, that 


“Por the tithing of a duck, 
Or an apple or an aye, (egg,) 


All things, in short, since earth’s creation, 
Doom’d, by the Church’s dispensation, 
To suffer eternal decimation— 

Leaving the whole lay-world, since then, 
Reduced to nine parts out of ten ; 
Or—as we calculate thefts and arsons— 
Just ten per cent. the worse for Parsons! 


Alas, and is all this wise device 
For the saving of souls thus gone in a 
trice ?— Lway, 
The whole put down in the simplest 
By the souls resolving not to pay ! 
And even the Papists, thankless race, 
Whohave had so much the easiest case— 
To pay for our sermons doom’, ’tis true, 
But not condemn’d to hear them, too— 
(Our holy business being, ’tis known, 
With the ears of their barley, not their 
Even they object to let us pillage, [own, ) 
By right divine, their tenth of tillage, 
And, horror of horrors, even decline 
To find us in sacramental wine !§ 


It is o’er, it is o’er, my reign is o’er, 

Ah, never shall rosy Rector more, 

Like the shepherds of Israel, idly eat, 

And make of his flock ‘‘a prey and 
meat.’’|| 

No more shall be his the pastoral sport 

Of suing his flock in the Bishop’s Court, 

Through various steps, Citation, Libel— 

Scriptures all, but not the Bible ; 

Working the Law’s whole apparatus, 

To get a few pre-doom’d potatoes, 

And summoning all the powers of wig, 

To settle the fraction of a pig !— 

Till, parson and all committed deep 

In the case of “Shepherds versusSheep,” 

The Law usurps the Gospel’s place, 

And, on Sundays, meeting face to face, 

While Plaintiff fills the preacher’s station, 


Defendants form the congregation. 


So lives he, Mammon’s priest, not Hea- 
ven’s, 


| For tenths thus all at sixes and sevens, 


Seeking what parsons love no less 
Than tragic poets—a good distress. 


They make him swear upon a boke; 
Thus they foulen Christ’s fay.” 

§ Among the specimens laid before Parlia- 
ment of the sort of Church rates levied upon 
Catholies in Ireland, was a charge of two pipes 
of port for sacramental wine. 


|| Ezekiel, xxxiv. 10.—‘‘Neither shall the 
shepherds feed themselves any more; for I 
will deliver my flock from their mouth, that 
they may not be meat for them.” 


. 


Τηβίοδα of studying St. Augustin, 
Gregory Nyss, or old St. Justin, 
(Books fit only to hoard dust in, ) 
His reverence stints his evening readings | 
To learn’d Reports of Tithe Proceedings, 
Sipping, the while, that port so ruddy, 
ich forms his only ancient study ;— | 
Port so old, you’d swear its tartar 
Was of the age of Justin Martyr, 
And, had he sipp’d of such, no doubt 
His martyrdom would have been—to 
gout. 


Ts all then lost ?—alas, too truae— 

Ye Tenths beloved, adieu, adieu! 

My reign is o’er, my reign is o’er— 

Like old Thumb’s ghost, ‘(I can no 
more.” 


THE EUTHANASIA OF VAN. 


“ We are told thatthe bigots are growing old 
and fast wearing out. If it be so, why not let 
us die in peace ?’’—Lonp BEXLEY’s Letter to the | 
Freeholders of Kent. 


Stop, Intellect, in mercy stop, 
Ye cursed improvements, cease ; 
And let poor Nick V—ns—tt—t drop 
Into his grave in peace. 


Hide, Knowledge, hide thy rising sun, 
Young Freedom, veil thy head ; 

Let nothing good be thought or done, 
Till Nick V—ns—tt—t’s dead ! 


Take pity on a dotard’s fears, 
Who much doth light detest ; 
And let his last few drivelling years 
Be dark as were the rest. 


You, too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, 
Speed not so fast away— 
Ye rags on which old Nicky 


gloats, 
A few months longer stay. 


Together soon, or much I err, 
You both from life may go— 

The notes unto the scavenger, 
And Nick—to Nick below. 


Ye Liberals, whate’er your plan, 
Be all reforms suspended ; 

In compliment to dear old Van, 
Let nothing bad be mended. 


Ye Papists, whom oppression wrings, 
Your cry politely cease, 
* Peritur® parcere chartie. } 
ἐ The only way, Monsieur Ude assures us, 
to get rid of the oil so objectionable in this fish. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


617 


| And fret your hearts to fiddle-strings 


That Van may die in peace. 


So shall he win a fame sublime 
By few old rag-men gain'd; 

Since all shall own, in Nicky’s time, 
Nor sense, nor justice reign’d. 


So shall his name through ages past, 
And dolts ungotten yet, 
Date from “the days of Nicholas,” 
With fond and sad regret ;— 
And sighing, say, ‘ Alas, had he 
‘‘ Been spared from Pluto’s bowers, 
“The blessed reign of Bigotry 
‘And Rags might still be ours!” 


TO THE REVEREND 


ONE OF THE SIXTEEN REQUISITIONISTS OF NOT- 
TINGHAM, 


1828. 


WHAT, you, too, my ******, in hashes 
so knowing, [fess’d ! 
Of sauces and soups Aristarchus pro- 
Are you, too, my savory Brunswicker, 
going [the rest ἢ 
To make an old fool of yourself with 

. 


Far better to stick to your kitchen re- 
ceipts ; {—for variety, 
And—if you want something to tease 
Go study how Ude, in his ‘ Cookery,”’ 
treats ish’d society. 

Live eels, when he fits them for pol- 


Just snuggling them in, ’twixt the bars 
of the fire, {on the coals,t 

He leaves them to wriggle and writhe 
In a manner that H—rm—r himself 
would admire, [Catholic souls. 

And wish, ’stead of eels, they were 


Ude tells us, the fish little suffering feels; 

While Papists, of late, have more 

sensitive grown ; [live eels, 

So, take my advice, try your hand at 

And, for once, let the other poor 
devils alone. 


I have even a still better receipt for 

your cook— [ hepatitis,t 

How to make a goose die of confirm’d 

And, if you'll, for once, fellow-feelings 

o’erlook, [sight is. 

A well-tortured goose a most capital 

ΤΑ liver complaint. The process by which 

the livers of geese are enlarged for the famous 
Patés de foie α᾽ οἵα. 


618 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


First, catch him, alive—make a good 
steady fire— [being tied, 

Set your victim before it, both legs 
(As, if left to himself, he might wish to 
retire, ) [by his side. 

And place a large bowl of rich cream 


There roasting by inches, dry, fever’d 

and faint, [civilly laid, off, 

Having drunk all the cream, you so 

He dies of as charming a liver complaint 

As ever sleek parson could wish a pie 
made of. 


Besides, only think, my dear one of 
Sixteen, — [epicure’s use meant, 

What an emblem this bird, for the 
Presents of the mode in which Ireland 
has been [brethren’s amusement: 

Made atit-bit for yours and your 


Tied down to the stake, while her limbs, 
as they quiver, erees— 

A slow fire of tyranny wastes by de- 
No wonder disease should have swell’d 
up her liver, [love her disease. 

No wonder you, Gourmands, should 


IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 


ACCORDING to some learn’d opinions 
The Irish once were Carthaginians ; 
But, trusting to more late descriptions, 
I'd rather say they were Egyptians. 
My reason’s this :—the Priests of Isis, 
When forth they march’d in long 
array, 
Employ’d, ’mong other graye devices, 
A Sacred Ass to lead the way ;* 
And still the antiquarian traces 
*Mong Irish Lords this Pagan plan, 
For still, in all religious cases, 
They put Lord R—d—n in the van. 


A CURIOUS FACT. 


THE present Lord K—ny—n (the Peer 
who writes letters, 
For which the waste-paper folks much 
are his debtors) [ing, 
Hath one little oddity, well worth recit- 
Which puzzleth observers, even more 
than his writing: [to behold 
Whenever Lord K—ny—n doth chance 
* To this practice the ancient adage alludes, 
“‘ Asinus portans mysteria.”’ 
| See the anecdote, which the Duchess of 
Marlborough relates in her Memoirs, of this 
polite hero BDpropriating to himself, one day at 
dinner, a whole dish of green peas—the first of 
the season—wwhile the poor Prineess Anne, 


A cold Apple-pie—mind, the pie must 
be cold— [know why,) . 
His Lordship looks solemn, (few people 
| And he makes a low bow to the said ap- 
ple-pie. 
This idolatrous act, in so ‘‘ vital’ a Peer, 
Is, by most serious Protestants, thought 
rather queer— [the head 
Pie-worship, they hold, coming under 
(Vide Crustium, chap. iv.) of the Wor- 
ship of Bread. Lowes 
Some think ’tis a tribute, as author, he 
For the service that pie-crust hath done 
to his prose ;— [ swear, 
The only good things in his pages, they 
Being those that the pastry-cook some- 
times puts there. [crust convey’d, 
Others say, ’tis a homage, through pie- 
To our Glorious Deliverer’s much-hon- 
or’d shade ; 
As that Protestant Hero (or Saint, if 
you please) 
Was as fond of cold pie as he was of 
green peas,t [ that, 
And ’tis solely in loyal remembrance of 
My Lord K—ny—n to apple-pie takes 
off his hat. [ tation 
While others account for this kind salu- 
By what Tony Lumpkin calls ‘ con- 
catenation ;’’— 
A certain good-will that, from sympa- 
thy’s ties, 
‘Twixt old Apple-women and Orange- 
men lies. 


But ’tis needless to add, these are all 
vague surmises, [ter arises : 
For thus, we're assured, the whole mat- 
Lord K—ny—n’s respected old father 
(like many [ny ; 
Respected old fathers) was fond of a pen- 
And loved so to save,t that—there’s not 
the least question— [gestion, 
His death was brought on by a bad indi- 
From cold apple-pie-crust his Lordship 
would stuff in, [ muffin. 
At breakfast, to save the expense of hot 
Hence it is, and hence only, that cold 
apple-pies [ent eyes— 
Are beheld by his Heir with such rever- 


who was then in a longing condition, sat by, 
vainly entreating, with her eyes, for a share. 

{ The same prudent propensity characterizes 
his descendant, who (as is well known) would 
not even go to the expense of a diphthong 
on his father’s monument, but had the inserip- 
tion spelled, economically, thus :—‘ Mors janwa 
vita.’ 


Just as honest King Stephen his beaver 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 619 
And loudly from Dublin’s sweet bay, 
[off— R—thd—ne brays, with interest, 


might doff 
To the fishes that carried his kind uncle 
And while filial piety urges so many on, 
’Tis pure apple-pie-ety moves my Lord 
K—ny—n. 


NEW-FASHIONED ECHOES. 


Sir, 

Most of your readers are, no doubt, acquaint- 
ed with the anecdote told of a certain, not over- 
wise, judge, who, when in the act of delivering 
a charge in some country court-house, was in- 
terrupted by the braying of an ass at the door. 
* What noise is that?” asked the angry judge. 
“ Only an extraordinary echo there is in court, 
my Lord,” answered one of the counsel. 

As there are a number of such “ extraordi- 
nary echoes” abroad just now, you will not, 
perhaps, be unwilling, Mr. Editor, to receive 
the following few lines suggested by them. 

Yours, &e., 


Hue coeamus,* ait ; nullique libentius unquam 
Responsura sono, Coeamus, retulit echo. 
OVID. 
THERE are echoes, we know, of all sorts, 
From the echo, that ‘‘diesin the dale,” 
To the “airy-tongued babbler,” that 
sports 
Up the tide of the torrent her “ tale.” 


There are echoes that boré us, like Blues, 
With the latest smart mot they have 
heard ; 
There are echoes, extremely like shrews, 
Letting nobody have the last word. 


In the bogs of old Paddy-land, too, 
Certain ‘‘talented” echoest there 
- dwell, [do ?” 

Who, on being ask’d, “ How do you 
Politely reply, ‘‘ Pretty well.” 


But why should I talk any more 
Of such old-fashion’d echoes as these, 
When Britain has new ones in store, 
That transcend them by many degrees? 


For, of all repercussions of sound, — [er, 
Concerning which bards make a poth- 
There’s none like that happy rebound 
When one blockhead echoes anoth- 
er ;— 
When K—ny—n commences the bray, 
And the Borough-Duke follows his 
track ; 
* “Tet us form Clubs.” 


t Commonly called ‘* Paddy Blake’s Echoes.” 
t Anti-Catholie associations, under the title 


back ;— 


And while, of most echoes the sound 
On our ear by reflection doth fall, 
These Brunswickerst pass the bray 
round, 
Without any reflection at all. 


Oh Scott, were I gifted like you, 
Who can name all the echoes there are 
From Benvoirlich to bold Ben-venue, 
From Benledi to wild Uamyar ; 


I might track, through each hard Irish 
name, 
The rebounds of this asinine strain, 
Till from Neddy to Neddy, it came 
To the chief Neddy, K—ny—n, again; 


Might tell how it roar’d in R—thd—ne, 
How from D—ws—n it died off gen- 
teelly— 
How hollow it rung from the crown 
Of the fat-pated Marquis of E—y ; 


How, on hearing my Lord of G—e, 
Thistle-eaters, the stoutest, gave way, 
Outdone, in their own special line, 
By the forty-ass power of his bray ! 


But, no—for so humble a bard 
"Tis a subject too trying to touch on; 
Such noblemen’s names are too hard, 
And their noddles too soft to dwell 
much on. 


Oh Echo, sweet nymph of the hill, 
Of the dell, and the deep-sounding 
shelves ; 
If, in spite of Narcissus, you still 
Take to fools who are charm’d with 
themselves, 


Who knows but, some morning retiring, 
To walk by the Trent’s wooded side, 
You may meet with N—we—stle, ad- 

miring 
His own lengthen’d ears in the tide ! 


Or, on into Cambria straying, 
Find K—ny—n, that double tongued 
elf, 
In his love of ass-cendency, braying 
A Brunswick duet with himself! 


of Brunswick Clubs, were at this time beeom- 
ing numerous both in England and Ireland. 


620 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


INCANTATION. 


FROM THE NEW TRAGEDY OF “ΤΗΝ BRUNS- 


WICKERS.”’ 
1828. 


SCENE —Penenden Plain.—In the middle a 
caldron boiling. —Thunder. — Enter Three 
Brunswickers. 
1st Bruns.—TuricE hath scribbling 

K—ny— serawl’d, [tle bawl’d, 
2d Bruns.—Once hath fool N—we—s- 
3d Bruns.—B—xl—y snores: —’tis 

time, ’tis time, [ go; 
1st Bruns.—Round about the caldron 

In the poisonous nonsense throw. 

Bigot spite, that long hath grown, 

Like a toad within a stone, 

Sweltering in the heart of Se—tt, 

Boil we in the Brunswick pot. [ble, 
All. —Dribble, dribble, nonsense drib- 

Eld—n, talk, and K—ny—n, scribble. 
2d Bruns.—Slaver from N—we-—stle’s 

In the noisome mess distil, [quill 

Brimming high our Brunswick broth 

Both with venom and with froth. 

Mix the brains (though apt to hash ill, 

Being seant) of Lord M—ntc—shel, 

With that malty stuff which Ch—nd—s 

Drivels as no other man does. 

Catch (i. 6. if catch you can) 

One idea, spick and span, 

From my Lord of S—l—sb—y,— 

One idea, though it be 

Smaller than the “happy flea,” 

Which his sire, in sonnet terse, 

Wedded to immortal verse.* 

Though to rob the son is sin, 

Put his one idea mm ; 

And, to keep it company, 

Let that conjuror W—nch—ls—a 

Drop but half another there, 

If he hath so much to spare. 

Dreams of murders and of arsons, 

Hatch’d in heads of Irish parsons, 

Bring from every hole and corner, 

Where ferocious priests, like H—rm—r, 

Purely for religious good, 

Cry aloud for Papist’s blood, 

Blood for W—lls, and such old women, 

At their ease to wade and swim in. 
All—Dribble, dribble, nonsense drib- 

ble, 

B—xl~—y, talk, and K—ny—2, scribble. 
* Alluding to a well-known lyrie composition 

of the late Marquis, which, with a slight alter- 

ation, might be addressed either to a flea ora 
fly. For instance :— 

“ὉΠ happy, happy, happy fly, 

If I were you, or you were I.” 


3d Bruns.—Now the charm begins to 
Sisters, sisters, add thereto [brew ; 
Seraps of L—thbr—dge’s old speeches, 
Mix’d with leather from his breeches, 
Rinsings of old B—xl—y’s brains, 
Thicken’d (if you'll take the pains) 
With that pulp which rags create, 
In their middle, nympha state, 
Ure, like insects frail and sunny, 
Forth they wing abroad as money.[ed— 
There—the Hell-broth we’ve enchant- 
Now but one thing more is wanted. 
Squeeze o’er all that Orange juice, 
C keeps cork’d for use, 
Which, to work the better spell, is 
Color’d deep with blood of : 
Blood, of powers far more various, 
Even than that of Januarius, 
Since so great a charm hangs o’er it, 
England’s parsons bow before it! [ble, 
All.—Dribble, dribble, nonsense drib- 
B—xl—y, talk, and K—ny—n, scribble. 


2d Bruns.—Cool it now with ——’s 
So the charm is firm and good. [blood, 
[ Exeunt. 


HOW TO MAKE A GOOD POLI- 
TICIAN. 


WHENW’ER you're in doubt, said a Sage 
I once knew, [to pursue, 
’T wixt two lines of conduct which course 
Ask a woman’s advice, and, whate’er 
she advise, [be wise. 
Do the very reverse, and you’re sure to 


Of the same use as guides are the Bruns- 
wicker throng ; 

In their thoughts, words, and deeds, so 
instinctively wrong, [or indite, 

That, whatever they counsel, act, talk, 

Take the opposite course, and you're 
sure to be right. 


So golden this rule, that, had nature de- 
nied you [guide you— 
The use of that finger-post, Reason, to 
Were you even more dotish than any 
given man is, [dling than Van is, 
More soft than N—we—stle, more twad- 
Vd stake my repute, on the following 
conditions, [politicians. 
To make you the soundest of sound 


Or 
“Oh, happy, happy, happy flea, 
If I were you, or you were me; 
But since, alas! that cannot be, 
I must remain Lord 5. γ." 


~~ 


ourself near the skirts of some | 
igh-flying Tory— 
Some pa ἀρῶ parson, of port-drink- 


Place 


Watch Aim how τ he dines, during any 
great Question— [his digestion— 
What makes him feed gayly, what spoils 
And always feel sure that “his joy o’er a 
stew [ you. 
Portends a clear case of dyspepsia to 
Read him backwards, like Hebrew— 
whatever he wishes, [nicious. 
Or praises, note down as absurd, or per- 
Like the folks of a weather- house, shift- 
ing about, [be an Out. 
When he’s out, be an In—when he’s in, | 
Keep him alw ays reversed in your 
thoughts, night and day, [way 
Like an Irish barometer turn’d the w rong | 
If he’s up, you may swear that foul 
weather is nigh ; {blue sky. 
If he’s down, you may look for a bit of 
Never aa what debaters or journalists 
say, [ other way. 
Only ask what he thinks, and then think 
Does he hate the Small-note Bill? then 
firmly rely [you don’t know why. 
The Small-note Bill’s a blessing, though 
Is Brougham his aversion? then Harry’s 
your man. 
Does he quake at O’Connell? 
ΡΟ to Dan. 


take 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Is he all for the Turks? then, at once, 
take the whole [to your soul. 

Russian Hmpire (Czar, Cossacks, and all) 

In short, whatsoever he talks, thinks, 
or is, 

Be your thoughts, words, and essence 
the contrast of his. 


| To ‘‘ keep feeding the scribblers,””* 


Nay, as Siamese ladies—at least, the 
rolite ones— 

All paint their teeth black, ’cause the 
devil has white ones— [tide, 

If ev’n, by the chances of time or of 

Your Tory, for once, should have sense 
on his side, Old Nick, 

νοι then stand aloof—for, be sure that 

When a Tory talks sensibly, means you 
some trick. 


Such my recipe is—and, in one single 
verse, [vehearse. 

T shall now, in conclusion, its substance 

Be all that a Brunswicker is not, nor | 
could be, 

And then —you'll be all that an honest | 
man should be. 


621 


BPISTLE OF CONDOLENCE. 
FROM A SLAVE-LOKD TO A COTTON-LOKD, 
ALAS! my dear friend, what a state of 

affairs ! {our rights ! 

How unjustly we both are despoil’d of 
Not a pound of black flesh shall I leave 
to my heirs, (little whites. 

Nor must you any more work to death 


| Both forced to submit to that general 


controller [Public Opinion, 

Of Kings, Lords, and cotton mills, 
No more shall you beat with a big-billy- 
roller, [ dominion. 
Nor J with the cart-whip assert my 


Whereas, were we suffer’d to do as we 
please [οὐ yore we were let, 

With our Blacks and our Whites, as 
We might range them alternate, like 
harpsichord keys, [piebald duet. 

And between us thump out a good 


But this fun is all over ;—farewell to the 
zest [cup we sip ; 
Which Slavery now lends to each tea- 
Which makes still the cruellest coffee 
the best, [smacks of the whip. 

And that sugar the sweetest which 


Farewell, too, the Factory’s white pica- 
ninnies— [flogg’d to their tasks, 
Small, living machines, which, if 
Mix so well with their namesakes, the 
‘* Billies” and ‘ Jennies,” 
That which have got souls in ’em no- 
body asks ;— 


Little Maids of the Mill, who, them- 
selves butill-fed, {olent cares, 

Are obliged, ’mong their other beney- 
—and 
better, ’tis said, [ever fed theirs. 
Than old Blackwood or Frazer have 


All this is now o’er, and so dismal my 
loss is, [the thong, 

So hard ’tis to part from the smack of 
That I mean (from pure love for the old 
whipping process) [life long. 

To take to whipp’d syllabub all my 


THE GHOST OF MILTIADBS. 


Ah quoties dubius Seriptis exarsit amator! 
νι. 


|Tne Ghost of Miltiades came at night, 
And he stood by the bed of the Ben- 
thamite, 


* One of the operations in cotton mills usually 
performed by children, 


622 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And he said in a voice that thrill’d the 
frame, 

“Tf ever the sound of Marathon’s name 

“Hath fired thy blood or flush’d thy 
brow, 

“« Lover of Liberty, rouse thee now !” 


The Benthamite, yawning, left his bed— 
Away to the Stock Exchange he sped, 

And he found the Scrip of Greece so high, 
That it fired his blood, it flush’d his eye, 


And oh, ’twas a sight for the Ghost to_ 


see, {he! 
For neyer was Greek more Greek than 
And still as the premium higher went, 
His eestasy rose —so much per cent., 
(As we see in a glass, that tells the 
weather, 
The heat and the silver rise together, ) 
And Liberty sung from the patriot’s lip, 
While a voice from his pocket whisper’d 
6“ Seri )? 
The Ghost of Miltiades came again ;— 
He smiled, as the pale moon smiles 
through rain, [ strain ; 
For his soul was glad at that patriot 
(And poor, dear ghost—how little he 
knew crew !) 
The jobs and the tricks of the Philhellene 
“ Blessings and thanks !” was all he said, 
Then, melting away, like a night-dream, 
fled! 


The Benthamite hears—amazed that 
ghosts 
Could be such fools, —and away be posts, 
A patriot still? Ah no, ah no— 
Goddess of Freedom, thy Scrip is low, 
Aud, warm and fond as thy lovers are, 
Thou triest their passion, when under par 
The Benthamite’s ardor fast decays, 
By tums he weeps, and swears, and 
prays, [Cross, 
And wishes the d—1l had Crescent and 
Bre he had been forced to sell at a loss. 


They quote him the Stock of various na- | 


tions, 
But, spite of his classic associations, 
Lord, how he loathes the Greek quota- 
tions / 


“Who'll buy my Serip? Who'll buy my | 


Serip !” 
Is now the theme of the patriot’s lip, 
As he runs to tell how hard his lot 1s 
To Messrs. Orlando and Luriottis, 
And says, ‘‘ Oh Greece, for Liberty’s sake, 
‘Do buy my Scrip, and I yow to break 


“Those dark, unholv 4onds of thine — 
“Tf yow'll only consent to buy up mine /” 
The Ghost of Miltiades came once 
more ;— ΠΟΊΕΙ, 
His brow, like the night, was lowering 
And he said, with a look that flash’d 
dismay, 
‘Of Liberty’s foes the worst are they, 
«Who tum to a trade her cause divine, 
‘“And gamble for gold on Freedom’s 
shrine !” [ flight, 
Thus saying, the Ghost, as he took his 
Gave a Parthian kick to the Benthamite, 
Which sent him, whimpering, of to 
Jerry — 
And vanish’d away to the Stygian ferry ! 


ALARMING INTELLIGENCE—RE- 
VOLUTION IN THE DICTION- 
ARY—ONE GALT AT THE HEAD 
OF IT. 


Gop preserve us! there’s nothing now 
safe from assault ;— 
Thrones toppling around, churches 
brought to the hammer ; 
_ And accounts have just reach’d us that 
one Mr. Galt 
Has declared open war against Eng- 
lish and Grammar! 


He had long been suspected of some 
such design, [arrive at, 

And, the better his wicked intents to 
Had lately ’mong C—lb—n’s troops of 
the line [ private. 

(The penny-a-line men) enlisted as 


There school’d, with a rabble of words 
at command, {cuous alliance, 
Scotch, English, and slang, in promis- 
He, at length, against Syntax has taken 
his stand, {at defiance. 

And sets all the Nine Parts of Speech 


Next advices, no doubt, further facts 
will afford; [imminent grows, 

In the mean time the danger most 

| He has taken the Life of one eminent 
Lord, {only knows. 

And whom he’ll next murder the Lord 


Wednesday Bvening. 
‘Since our last, matters, luckily, look 
more serene; [his defection, 
Though the rebel, ’tis stated, to aid 
Has seized a great Powder—no, Puff 
Magazine, [every direction. 
And th’ explosions are dreadful in 


» sities 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


What his meaning exactly is, nobody 

knows, botheration ) 

As he talks (in a strain of intense 

Of lyrical ‘‘ichor,””* “ gelatinous” prose, t 

And a mixture call’d ‘ amber immor- 
talization.”f 


Now, he raves of a bard he once hap- 
pen’d to meet, 
Seated high “‘among rattlings,” and 
churning a sonnet ;§ { sheet, 
Now, talks of a mystery, wrapp’d in a 
With a halo (hy way of a nightcap) 
upon it ἢ 


We shudder in tracing these terrible 
lines ; 
Something bad they must mean, 
though we can’t make it out ; 
For, whate’er may be guess’d of Galt’s 
secret designs, 
That they’re all Anti-English no 
Christian can doubt. 


RESOLUTIONS 
PASSED AT A LATE MEETING OF 
REVERENDS AND RIGHT REVERENDS, 


REsoLvED—to stick to every particle 
Of every Creed and every Article ; 
Reforming naught, or great or little, 
We'll stanchly stand by every tittle, 7 
And scorn the swallow of that soul 
Which cannot boldly bolt the whole. 


Resolved that, though St. Athanasius 

In damning souls is rather spacious— 

Though wide and far his curses fall, 

Our eae ‘hath stomach for them 
all ; 

And those who’re not content with such, 

May e’en be d—d ten times as much. 

Resolved—such liberal souis are we— 

Though hating Nonconformity, 

We yet believe the cash no worse is 


*“That dark diseased ichor which colored 
his effusions.”"—GaLt's Life of Byron. 

+“ That gelatinous character of their effu- 
sious."’—Jbid. 

t ‘The poetical embalmment, 
amber immortalization.” —Tbid. 

§ “Sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, 
churning an inarticulate melody.”’—Ibid. 

|| ‘He was a mystery in a winding sheet, 
crowned with a halo.”—Ibid. 

« One of the questions propounded to the 
Puritans in 1573 was—"** V (eh the Book of 
Service was good and godly, every tittle 
grounded on the Holy Scripture?” 
an honest Dissenter remarks—‘*Surely they 
had a wonderful opinion of their Service Book 
that there was not a tittle amiss in it.’ 


or rather, 


On which | 


623 


That comes from Nonconformist purses, | 
Indifferent whence the money reaches 
The pockets of our reveread breeches, 
To us the Jumper’s jingling penny 
Chinks with a tone as sweet as any; 
And even our old friends Yea and Nay 
May through the nose for ever pray, 

If also through the nose they'll pay. 


Resolved, that Hooper,** Latimer,tt 

And Cranmer,tt all extremely err, 

In taking such a low-bred view 

Of what Lords Spiritual ought to do :— 

All owing to the fact, poor men, 

That Mother Church was modest then, 

Nor knew what golden eggs her goose, 

The Public, would in time produce. 

One Pisgah peep at modern Durham 

To far more lordly thoughts would ΒΕ, 
ἦρχ. 


Resolved, that when we, Spiritual Lords, 

Whose income just anotee affords 

To keep our Spiritual Lordships cosy, 

Are told, by Antiquarians prosy, 

How ancient Bishops cut up theirs, 

Giving the poor the largest shares— 

Our answer is, in one short word, 

We think it pious, but absurd. 

Those good men made the world their 
debtor, [ter ; 

But we, the Church reform’d, know bet- 

And, taking all that all can pay, 

Balance th’ account the other way. 


Resolved, our thanks profoundly due are 
To last month’s Quarterly Reviewer, 
Who proves (by arguments so clear 
One sees how much he holds per year) 
That England’s Church, though out of 
Must still be left to lie in state, [date, 
As dead, as rotten, and as grand as 
The mummy of King Osymandyas, 
All pickled snug—the brains drawn 
out—§§ 

** They,” the Bishops, “know that the 

rimitive Church had no such Bishops. If the 
fourth part of the bishopric remained unto the 
Bishop, it were suflicient.""—On the Command 
ments, p. 72. 

tt “Since the Prelates were made Lords and 


Nobles, the plough standeth, there is no work 
done, the people starve." —Lat. Serm. 


tt “Of whom have come all these glorious 
titles, stytes, and pomps into the Chureh. But 
I would that I, and all my brethren, the Bish- 
ops, would leave all onr styles, and write the 
styles of our offices,” &o.—Life of Cranmer, by 
Strype, Appendiz. 

δὲ Part of the process of embalm ment, 


024 


With costly cerements swathed about, — 

And ‘Touch me not,” those words ter- 
rific 

Serawl’d o’er her in good hieroglyphic. 


SIR ANDREW’S DREAM. 


‘Nec tu sperne piis venientia somnia portis : 
Cum pia venerunt somnia, pondus habent.’’ 
PROPERT lib. iv. eleg. 7. 
AS snug, on a Sunday eve, of late, 
In his easy chair Sir Andrew sate, 
Being much too pious, as every one 
knows, 
To do aught, of a Sunday eve, but doze, 
He dreamt a dream, dear holy man, 
And I’ll tell you his dream as well as I 
can. 


He found himself, to his great amaze, 
In Charles the First’s high Tory days, 
And just at the time that gravest of 
Courts [Sports.* 
Had_ publish’d its -Book of Sunday 
Sunday Sports! what a thing for the ear 
Of Andrew, even in sleep, to hear ! — 
It chanced to be, too, a Sabbath day, 
When the people from church were com- 
ing away ; 
And Andrew with horror heard this song, 
As the smiling sinners flock’d along :— 
“Long hfe to the Bishops, hurrah! 
hurrah ! (play 
‘“‘ For a week of work and a Sunday of 
“Make the poor man’s life run merry 
away.” 


“The Bishops !”’ quoth Andrew, ‘‘ Pop- 
ish, I guess,” 

Audhe grinned with conscious holiness. 

But the song went on,and, to brim the cup 

Of poor Andy’s grief, the fiddles struck up! 


“Come, take out the lasses—let’s have 
a dance— {our fill, 

“For the Bishops allow us to skip 
“Well knowing that no one’s the more 
in advance [still. 

“On the road to heaven, for standing 
“Oh, it never was meant that grim 
grimaces [love ; 
“Should sour the cream of a creed of 


*The Book of Sports drawn up by Bishop 
Moreton, was first put forth in the reign of 
James I., 1618, ua afterwards republished, 
at the advice of Laud, by Charles I., 1633, with 
an injunetion that it should be “made public 
by order from the Bishops.” We find it therein 
declared. that “for his eood people’s recrea- 
tion, his Majesty's pleasure was, that after the 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“Or that fellows with long, disastrous 
faces, 

“Alone should sit among cherubs 
above. 

“Then hurrah for the Bishops, &e. 


“For Sunday fun we never can fail, 
“When the Church herself each sport: 
points out; [ale, 
““There’s May-games, archery, Whitsun- 
“¢ Anda May-pole high to dance about. 
‘Or, should we be for a pole hard driven, 
‘Some lengthy saint of aspect fell, 
‘With his pockets onearth, and his nose 
in heaven, 
“‘ Will do for a May-pole just as well. 
‘Then hurrah for the Bishops, hurrah ! 
hurrah ! 
“A week of work and a Sabbath of play 
“Make the poor man’s life run merry 
away.” 


To Andy, who doesn’t much deal in his- 
tory, [tery ; 

This Sunday scene was a downright mys- 

And God knows where might have em- 
ed the joke, 

But, τὴ trying to stop the fiddles, he woke. 

And the odd thing is (as the rumor goes) 

That since that dream—which, one 
would suppose, 

Should have made his godly stomach 


rise, : 
Even more than ever, ’gainst Sunday 
es— 


He has view’d things quite with differ- 
ent eyes; 

Is beginning to take, on matters divine, 

Like Charles and his Bishops, the sport- 
ing line— 

Is all for Christians jigging in pairs, 

Asan interlude ’twixt Sunday prayers;— 

Nay, talks of getting Archbishop H—l—y 

To bring in a Bill, enacting duly, [date, 

That all good Protestants, from this 

May, freely and lawfully, recreate, 

Of a Sunday eve, their spirits moody, 

With Jack in the Straw, or Punch and 
Judy. 


end of divine service they should not be dis-~ 
turbed, letted, or discouraged from any lawful 
recreations, such as daneing, either of men or 
women, archery for men, leaping, vaulting, or 
any such harmless reereations, nor haying of 
May-games, Whitsun-ales, or Morris-dances, 
or setting up of May-poles or other sports there; 
with used,” ἄρ. 


πῦον 
SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 625 
A BLUE LOVE-SONG. | A chiel οὐ our ain, that the De’il himsel’ 


Will be glad to keep clear of, one An- 


TO MISS 7 
drew Agnew. 


Air.—'' Come live with me, and be my love.” 5 
Come wed with me, and we will write, °° eS ὙΘ Mae 
entire [eneugh, 


My Blue of Blues, from morn till night. | 1 ale : 

Chased from our classic souls shall be | Pe Re Me ee eee i ap 
All thoughts of vulgar progeny; Scotch squire, : [kitchen tire 
7 ie pale. i alk through smiling An’ would sooner gae roast by his ain 
While t gaat cts [rows | Than pass ahale Sunday wi’ Andrew 

iile I, to match thy products nearly, | ionate 

Shall lie-in of a quarto yearly. nha 
’Tis true, ev’n books entail some trouble; | For, bless the gude mon, gin he had his 


But live productions give one double. | ain way, [‘* mew”. 
Correcting children is such bother,— | ΗΘ na let a cat on the Sabbath say 
While printers’ devils correct the other. Nae birdie maun whistle, nae lambie 
Just think, my own Malthusian dear, | maun play, [day, 
How much more decent ’tis to hear Av’ Phoebus himsel’ could na travel that 
From male or female—as 1t may be — As he’d find a new Joshua in Andie 
“Wow is your book?” than ‘ How’s Agnew. 
your baby Ὁ ey Pa ἔτ ὁ’ 
And, whereas physic and wet nurses Only σου ίῳ Senate, cone pe ! 
Do much exhaust paternal purses, re ‘ed yee ᾿ . , 
city Re i - Wae, wae to a’ sinners who boil an 
Our books, if rickety, may go ‘‘Wae, wae toa’ eaters οὐ Sabbath-baked 
And be well dry-nursed in the Row ; pies ‘ Phosinhadie 
, *7 ‘ σὴ Oy 2 ἮΝ» 
And, when God wills to take them | ,, For as surely again shal the crust 
hence, “Tn jud ΠΕ a ee ye,” saith An- 
Are buried at the Row’s expense. a i hoe yes τὶ 
δ " Iti γ ; ς 
Besides (as fis well proved by thee, Ye may think, from a’ this, that our 
Tn thy own Works, vol. 93.) lati Andie’s the lad [ too; 
The march, just now, of population To ca’ o'er the coals your nobeelity, 
So much outstrips all moderation, That. ther drives, 0° a Suuday, wf 
That even prolific herring-shoals shall prec tha eg ME ee ica 
ete tat enti ont erin BOUls. flunkies,t a’ clad [the mon mad— 
Oh ye ware ἜΤΟΣ ἀπ πο ΠΝ δᾶ Like Shawmen, behind ’em, would mak 
imi anak ἢ But he’s nae sic a noodle, our Andie 


To stick to writing books instead; [ers 


Agnew. 

And show the world how two Blue loy- | : ; ξ : 

Can coalesce, like two book-covers, [er,) | If Lairds an fine Ladies, on Sunday, 
think right [’em do— 


(Sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leath- ; : ° 
Letter’d at back, and stitch’d together, | To gang to the deevil—as maist ὁ 
Fondly as first the binder fix’d ’em, | To stop them our Andie would think na 

{thing by’t) 


Wi h —literature betwixt’em. volite ; 
fee anee νους aor pew em And ths odds (if the chiel could get ony 


But he’d follow ’em, booing,} would 
Andrew Agnew. 


SUNDAY ETHICS. 
A SCOTCH ODE. 


Purr, profligate Londoners, having AWFUL EVENT: 
heard tell [fearing ’tis true, | - ; 
That the De’il’s got amang ye, and | Yes, W—nch—Is—a, (I tremble while I 


We ha’ sent ye ἃ mon wha’s a match yen it, ) [ish Senate — 
for his spell, roadie —a’s Earl hath cut the Brit- 


*See “Ella of Garveloch.”—Garveloch be- 
ing a place where there was a large herring- + Servants in livery. 
fishery, but where, as we are told by the author, | ἔξ , 
“the people increase much faster than the pro- ¢ For the “ude effects and utility of boo- 
duce. ‘ing,’ see the Man of the World. 


626 


Hath said to England’s Peers, in accent 
eruff, [and exit, ina huff! 
«That for ye all,” [snapping his fingers, ] 
Disastrous news!—like that, of old, 
which spread [is dead,” 
From shore to shore, ‘four mighty Pan 
O’er the cross benches (cross from being 
cross’d) [ s—a is lost !” 


Soundsthe loud wail, ‘‘ Our W—nch—1- 


Which of ye, Lords, that heard him, can 
forget 
The deepimpression of that awful threat, 
51 quit your house ! !’—’midst all that 
histories tell, 
I know but one event that’s parallel :— 
It chanced at Drury Lane, one [aster 
night, [ polite, 
When the gay gods, too bless’d to be 
Gods at their ease, like those of learn’d 
Lucretius, [facetious— 
Laugh’d, whistled, groan’d, uproariously 
A well-dress’d member of the middle 
gallery, [ canaillerie, 
Whose ‘‘ears polite” disdain’d such low 
Rose in his place—so grand, you'd al- 
most swear [ering there— 
Lord W—nch-—-ls—a himself stood tow- 
And like that Lord of dignity and nous, 
Said, ‘‘Silence, fellows, or—I’ll leave 
the house ! !” 


How brook’d the gods this speech? Ah 
well-a-day, [away ! 
That speech so fine should be so thrown 
In yain did this mid-gallery grandee 
Assert his own two-shilling dignity— 
In vain he menaced to withdraw the ray 
Of hisown full-price countenance away— 
Fun against Dignity is fearful odds, 
And as the Lords laugh now, so giggled 
then the gods ! 


THE NUMBERING OF THE 
CLERGY. 
PARODY ON SIR CHARLES HAN. WILLIAMS’S FA- 
MOUS ODE, 
‘COME, CLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES.” 
“We want more Churches and more Clergy- 
men.”—Bishop of London’s late Charge. 
“Rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus, 
augent.’—Olaudian in Hutrop. 
Come, give us more Livings and Rectors, 
For, richer no realm ever gave ; 
* Come, Cloe, and give me sweet kisses, 
For sweeter sure never girl gave ; 
But why, in the midst of my blisses, 
Do you ask me how many I'd have? 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


But why, ye unchristian objectors, 
Do ye ask us how many we crave ?* 


Oh, there can’t be too many rich Livings 
For souls of the Pluralist kind, 

Who, despising old Crocker’s misgivings, 
To numbers can ne’er be confined.t 


Count the cormorants hovering about,t 
At the time their fish season sets in, 


' When these models of keen diners-out 


Are preparing their beaks to begin. 


Count the rooks that, in clerical dresses, 
Flock round when the harvest’s in play, 

And, not minding the farmer’s distresses, 
Like devils in grain peck away. 


Go, number the locusts in heaven, § 
On their way to some titheable shore ; 
And when so many Parsonsyow’ve given, 
We still shall be craving for more. 


Then, unless ye the Church would sub- 
merge, ye 
Must leave us in peace to augment, 
For the wretch who could number the 
Clergy, 
With few will be ever content.|| 


A SAD CASE. 


“ Tf it be the undergraduate season at which 
this rabies religiosa is to be so fearful, what se- 
curity has Mr.G—lb—n against it at this mo- 
ment, when his son is actually exposed to the full 
venom of an association with Dissenters Τ᾽ πα 
The Times, March 25. 

How sad a case !—just think of it— 

If G—lb—n junior should be bit 

By some insane Dissenter, roaming 

Through Granta’s halls, at large and 
foaming, 

And with that aspect, ultra crabbed 

Which marks Dissenters when they’re 
rabid ! ; ἣ 

God only knows what mischiefs might 

Result from this one single bite, 

Or how the venom, once suck’d in, 

+t For whilst I love thee above measure, 

To numbers I'll ne'er be confined. 


+ Count the bees that on Hybla are playing, 
Count the flowers that enamel its fields, 
Count the flocks, &c. 
§ Go number the stars in the heaven, 
Count how many sands on the shore ; 
When so many kisses you’ve given, 
I still shall be craving for more. 
|| But the wretch who can number his kisses, 
With few will be ever content. 


a 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Might seed and rage through kith and 
in 


Mad folks, of all denominations, 

First turn upon their own relations : 

So that one G—lb—n, fairly bit, 

Might end in maddening the whole kit, 
Till, ah, ye gods, we'd have to rue 
Our G—Ib—n senior bitten too; 


The Hychurchphobia in those veins, 
Where Tory blood now redly reigns ;— 
And that dear man, who now perceives 
Salvation only in lawn sleeves, 

Might, tainted by such coarse infection, 
Rup mad in th’ opposite direction, 

And think, poor man, ’tis only given 
To linsey-woolsey to reach Heaven! 


Just fancy what a shock ’twould be 

Our G—lb—n in his fits to see, 

Tearing into a thousand particles 

His yet loved Nine and Thirty Arti- 
cles ; 

(Those Articles his friend, the Duke,* 

For Gospel, t’other night mistook ;) 

Cursing cathedrals, deans, and singers— 

Wishing the ropes might hang the ring- 
ers— 

Pelting the church with blasphemies, 

Even Phe than Parson B—y—r- 
—y’s ;-- 

And ripe for severing Church and State, 

Like any creedless reprobate, 

Or like that class of Methodists 

Prince Waterloo styles ‘‘ Atheists !” 


But ’tis too much—the Muse turns pale, 
And o’er the picture drops a veil, 
Praying, God save the G—lb—rns all 
From mad Dissenters, great and small ! 


A DREAM OF HINDOSTAN, 


risum teneatis, amici. 


‘* THE longer one lives, the more one 
learns,” 
Said I, as off to sleep I went, 
Bemused with thinking of Tithe con- 
cers, [ FErNs,t 
And reading a book, by the Bishop οἵ 
On the Irish Church Establishment. 
But, lo, in sleep, net long I lay, 
When Fancy her usual tricks began, 
And I found myself bewitch’d away 


“The Duke of Wellington, who styled them | 
the ‘Articles of Christianity.” 


To a goodly city in Hindostan— 
Α city, where he, who dares to dine 
On aught but rice, is deem’d a sinner ; 
Where sheep and kine are held divine, 
And, accordingly—never dress’d for 
dinner. 


“But how is this ?” I wond’ring cried— 
As I walk’d that city, fair and wide, 
And saw, in every marble street, 
A row of beautiful butcher’s shops— 
“What means, for men who don’t eat 
meat, 
“This grand display of loins and 
chops Ὁ 
In vain I ask’d—’twas plain to see 
That nobody dared to answer me. 


So, on, from street to street I strode ; 
And you can’t conceive how vastly odd 
The butchers look’d—a roseate crew 
Inshrined in stalls, with naught to do; 
While some on a bench, half-dozing, sat, 
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat. 


Still posed to think what all this scene 
Of sinecure trade was meant to mean, 


+ 7) 


“And, pray,” asked I—“ by whom is 
paid 

“The expense of this strange masquer- 
ade ἢ - 

‘Th’ expense !—oh, that’s of course de- 
ray’d Lers) 


(Said one ofthose well-fed Hecatomb- 
‘By yonder rascally rice-consumers.” 
“What, they, who mustn’t eat meat?” 
“No matter— 
(And, while he spoke, his cheeks grew 
fatter, ) [ crop, 
‘The rogues may munch their Paddy 
“ But the rogues must still support our 
shop. 
‘« And, depend uponit, the way to treat 
‘‘Heretical stomachs that thus dissent, 
‘Ts to burden all that won’t eat meat, 
“With a costly ΜΈΑΤ EsTaBLisH- 
MENT.” 


On hearing these words so gravely said, 
With a volley of laughter loud I 
shook ; 
And my slumber fled, and my dream 
was sped, 


| And I found I was lying snug in bed, 


With my nose in the Bishop of Ferns’s 
book. 
t An indefatigable seribbler of anti-Catholic 


' pamphlets. 


628 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


THE BRUNSWICK CLUB. | 


A letter having been addressed to a very 
distinguished personage, requesting him to be- 
come the Patron of this Orange Club, a polite 
answer was forthwith returned, of which we 
have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy. 


Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828. 


Private.—LorD BELZEBUB presents 

To the Brunswick Club his compliments, 
And much regrets to say that he 
Cannot, at present, their Patron be. 

Tn stating this, Lord Belzebub —_[ Club, 
Assures, on his honor, the Brunswick 
That ’tisn’t from any lukewarm lack 

Of zeal or fire he thus holds back— 

As even Lord Coal* himself is not 

For the Orange party more red-hot: 
But the truth is, till their Club affords 
A somewhat decenter show of Lords, 
And on its list of members gets 

A few less rubbishy Baronets, 

Lord Belzebub must beg to be 

Excused from keeping such company. 


Who the devil, he humbly begs to know, 
Are Lord G1—nd—ne, and Lord D—nlo? 
Or who, with a grain of sense, would go 
To sit and be bored by Lord M—yo? 
What living creature—eaxcept his nurse— 
For Lord M—ntce—sh—] cares a curse, 
Or Cy *twould matter if Lord M—s- 
srry 
Were t’other side of the Stygian ferry ? 
Breathes there a man in Dublin town, 
Who'd give but half of half-a-crown 
To save from drowning my Lord R—th- 


d—ne 
Or who wouldr’t also gladly hustle in 
Lords R—d—n, B—nd—n, C—le, and 
J—c—l—n? 


In short, though, from his tenderest years, 

Accustom’d to all sorts of Peers, 

Lord Belzebub much questions whether 

He ever yet saw, mix’d together, 

As ’twere in one capacious tub, 

Such a mess of noble silly-bub — [Club. 

As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick | 

"Tis therefore impossible that Lord B. | 

Could stoop to such society, [ prig, ) 

Thinking, he owns, (though no great | 

For one in his station ’twere infra dig. 

But he begs to propose, in the interim, 

(Till they find some prop’rer Peers for 
him, ) | 

His Highness of C—mb—d, as Sub, 

To take his place at the BrunswickClub— 

* Usually written ‘ Cole.” 


ἱ 


Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub 
Their obedient servant, BELZEBUB. 
It luckily happens, the R—y—1l Duke 
Resembles so much, in air and look, 
The head of the Belzebub family, 

That few can any difference see; [suit 
Which makes him, of course, the better 
To serve as Lord B.’s substitute. 


PROPOSALS FOR A GYNACOC- 
RACY. 


ADDRESSED TO A LATE RADICAL MEETING. 


“‘Quas ipsa decus sibi dia Camilla 
Delegit pacisque bonas bellique ministras.” 
‘VIRGIL. 
AS Whig Reform has had its range, 
And none of us are yet content, 
Suppose, my friends, by way of change, 
We try a Female Parliament ; 
And sinee, of late, with he M. P.’s 
We've fared so badly, take to she’s— 
Petticoat patriots, flounced John Rus- 
sells, (bustles. 
Burdetts in blonde, and Broughams in 
The plan is startling, I confess— 
But ‘tis but an affair of dress ; 
Nor see I much there is to choose 
*Twixt Ladies (so they’re thorough 
In ribands of all sorts ofhues, [bred ones) 
Or Lords in only blue or red ones. 


At least, the fiddlers will be winners, 
Whatever other trade advances; 
As then, instead of Cabinet dinners, 
We'll have, at Almack’s, Cabinet dan- 
ces ; 
Nor let this world’s important questions 
Depend on Ministers’ digestions. 


If Ude’s receipts have done things ill, 
To Weippert’s band they may go bet- 
There’s Lady * *, in one quadrille, (ter ; 
Would settle Europe, if you'd let her: 

And who the deuce or asks, or cares, 
When Whigs or Tories have undone 
‘em, Laffairs, 
Whether they've danced through State 

Or simply, dully, dined upon ’em ? 


Hurrah then for the Petticoats! 
To them we pledge our free-born votes ; 
We'll have all she, and only she— [ters,” 
Pert blues shall act as ‘best deba- 
Old dowagers our Bishops be, 
And termagants our Agitators. 


If Vestris, to oblige the nation 
Her own Olympus will abandon, 


a 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS, 


And help to prop th’ Administration, 
It caw’t have better legs to stand on. 
The famed Macaulay (Miss) shall show, 
Each evening, forth in learn’d ora- 
tion ; 


Shall move (midst general cries of | 


For full returns of population : 
And, finally, to crown the whole, 
The Princess Olive,* Royal soul, 
Shall from her bower in Banco Regis, 
Descend, to bless her faithful lieges, 
And, ‘mid our Union’s loyal chorus, 
Reign jollily forever o’er us. 


TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * *. 
Sir, 


Having heard some rumors respecting the 
strange and awful visitation under whieh Lord 
H—n!l—y has for some time past been suffering, 
in consequence of his declared hostility to “ἢ an- 
thems, solos, duets, 1 &e., 1 took the liberty of 
making inquiries at lus Lordship’s house this 
morning, and lose no time in transmitting to 
you such particulars as I could collect. It is 
said that the screams of his. Lordship, under 
the operation of this nightly concert, (which is, 


no doubt, some trick of the Radicals,) may be | 
The female | 


heard all over the neighborhood. 
who personates St. Cecilia is supposed to be 
the same that, last year, appeared in the 
character of Isis, at the Rotunda. How the 
cherubs are managed, I have not yet ascer 


tained. Yours, &c¢., 7s 
LORD H—NL—Y AND ST. CE- 
CILIA. 


— in Metii descendat Judices aures. Horar. 


As snug in his bed Lord H—nl—y lay, 
Revolving much his own renown, 
And hoping to add thereto a ray, 
By putting duets and anthems down, 


Sudden a strain of choral sounds 
Mellifluous o’er his senses stole ; 
Whereat the Reformer 
“* Zounds!” [his soul. 
For he loathed sweet music with all 


Then, starting up, he saw a sight 
That well might shock so learn’d a 
snorer— 
Saint Cecilia, robed in light, 
With a portable organ slung before 


And round were Cherubs, on rainbow 

wings, {of flitting, 

Who, his Lordship fear’d, might tire 

* A personage, so styling herself, who at- 
tained considerable notoriety at that period 


_4 In a work on Church Reform, published by 
his Lordship in 1832. 


mutter’d, | 


[her. | 


629 


So begg’d they’d sit—but ah! poor 
things, [οἵ sitting. 
They'd, none of them, got the means 


[Oh!”) | ‘Having heard,” said the Saint, ‘‘ you're 


fond of hymns, [tray’d you, 
“ And indeed, that musical snore be- 
‘Myself, and my choir of cherubims, 
« Are come, for a while, to serenade 
you.” 


In vain did the horrified H—nl—y say 
“OTwas all a mistake ””—‘ she was 
misdirected ;” 
And point to a concert over the way, 
Where fiddlers and angels were ex- 
pected. 


In vain—the Saint could see in his looks 
(She civilly said) much tuneful lore ; 
So, at once, all open’d their music- 
books, {at score. 

And herself and her Cherubs set off 


All night duets, terzets, quartets, 
Nay, long quintets most dire to hear ; 
Ay, and old motets, and canzonets, 
And glees, in sets, kept boring his ear. 


| He tried to sleep—but it wouldn’t do; 
So loud they squall’d, he must attend 
to ’em ; [knew, 
Though Cherubs’ songs, to his cost he 
Were like themselves, and had no end 
to’em. 


Oh judgment dire on judges bold, 
Who meddle with music’s sacred 
strains ! 
Judge Midas tried the same of old, 
And was punish’d, like H—nl—y, for 
his pains. 


| But worse on the modern judge, alas ! 
| Isthe sentence launch’d from Apollo’s 
throne ; 
For Midas was given the ears of an ass, 
While H —nl—y is doom’d to keep his 
own! 


cm "AT 
ADVERTISEMENT.$ 
1830, 
Miss1NG or lost, last Sunday night, 
A. Waterloo coin, whereon was traced 
Th’ nee ὑφ “ Courage !” in letters 
bright, : 
Though a little by rust of years defaced. 
t “‘ Asseyez-vous, mes enfans."—“Tl n’y a 
pas de quoi, mon Seigneur.” Ἶ 
] § Written at that memorable crisis when a 
distinguished Duke, then Prime Minister, act- 


090 


The metal thereof is rough and hard, 
And (‘tis thought of late) mix’d up 
with brass ; 
But it bears the stamp of Fame’s award, 
And through all Posterity’s hands will 
pass. 


How it was lost, God only knows, 
But certain City thieves they say, 
Broke in on the owner’s evening doze, 
And filch’d this “ gift of gods” away ! 


One ne’er could, of course, the Cits sus- 

pect, [to see, 

If we hadn’t, that evening, chanced 

At the robb’d man’s door, a Mare elect, 
With an ass to keep her company. 


Whosoe’er of this lost treasure knows, 
Is begged to state all facts about it, 
As the owner can’t well face his foes, 
Nor even his friends, just now, with- 
out it. 


And if Sir Clod will bring it back, 
Like a trusty Baronet, wise and able, 
He shall have a ride on the whitest hack* 
That’s left in old King George’s stable. 


MISSING. 


Carlton Terrace, 1832. 


WHEREAS, Lord ****** de ****** 

Left his home last Saturday, [round, 
And, though inquired for, round and 
Through certain purlieus, can’t be found; 
And whereas, none can solve our queries 
As to where this virtuous Peer is, 
Notice is hereby given that all 

May forthwith to inquiring fall, 

As, once the thing’s well set about, 

No doubt but we shall hunt him out. 


His Lordship’s mind, of late, they say, 
Hath been in an uneasy way, 

Himself and colleagues not being let 
To climb into the Cabinet, 

To settle England’s state affairs, 

Hath much, it seems, wnsettled theirs ; 
And chief to this stray Plenipo 

Hath been a most distressing blow. 


ing under the inspirations of Sir Cl—d—s 
H—nt—r and other City worthies, advised his 
Majesty to give up his announced intention of 
dining with the Lord Mayor. 

*Among other remarkable attributes by 
which sir Cl—d—s distinguished himself, the 
dazzling whiteness of his favorite steed was not 
the least conspicuous. 

t In the Government of Perm. 

+ Territory belonging to the mines of Koli- 
vano Kosskressense. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Already,—certain to receive a 
Well-paid mission to the Neva, 

And be the bearer of kind words 

To tyrant Nick from Tory Lords,— 

To fit himself for free discussion, 

His Lordship had been learning Russian ; 
And all so natural to him were 

The accents of the Northern bear, [you 
That, while bis tones were in your ear, 
Might swear you were in sweet Siberia. 
And still, poor Peer, to old and young, 
He goes on raving in that tongue ; 
Tells you how much you would enjoy a 
Trip to Dalnodoubrowskoya ;t 

Talks of such places, by the seore, on 
As Oulisffirmehinagoboron,t 

And swears (for he at nothing sticks) 
That Russia swarms with Raskol-niks;§ 
Though one such Nick, God knows, must 
A more than ample quantity. [be 


Such ave the marks by which to know 
This stray’d or stolen Plenipo ; 

And whosoever brings or sends 

The unhappy statesman to his friends, 
On Carlton Terrace, shall have thanks, 
And—any paper but the Bank’s. 


P. S.—Some think, the disappearance 
Of this our diplomatic Peer hence 

Is for the purpose of reviewing, 

In person, what dear Mig is doing, 
So as to ’scape all tell-tale letters 
’Bout B—s—d, and such abettors,— 
The only ‘‘ wretches” for whose aid|| 
Letters seem not to have been made. 


THE DANCE OF BISHOPS; 
OR, THE EPISCOPAL QUADRILLE. J 
A DREAM. 
1833. 

“Solemn dances were, on great festivals and 
celebrations, admitted. among the primitive 
Christians, in which even the Bishops and dig- 
nified Clergy were performers. Scaliger says, 
that the first Bishops were ealled presules,** for 
no other reason than that they led off these 
dances.” —Cyclopedia, art. Dances. 

I’vE had such a dream —a frightful 
dream— [ seem, 
Though funny, mayhap, to wags ‘twill 
The name of a religious sect in Russia. 
“Tl existe en Russie plusieurs sectes; la plus 
nombreuse est celle des Raskol-niks, ou vrai- 
croyants.’—GAMBA, Voyage dans la Russie 
Meridionale. 

|| ‘Heaven first taught letters for some 

wreteh’s aid.” Pork, 

{| Written on the passing of the memorable 
Bill, in the year 1833, for the abolution of ten 
Lrish Bishoprics. 

** Literally, First Dancers. 


) 


boa 


By all who regard the Church, like us, 
will be thought exceedingly ominous ! 


As reading in bed I lay last night— 
Which (being insured) is my delight— 
I happen’d to doze off just as I got to 
The singular fact which forms my motto, 


Only think, thought I, as I dozed away, | 
Of a party of Churchmen dancing the | 


hay! 
Clerks, curates, and rectors, capering all, 
With a neat-legg’d Bishop to open the 
ball! 


Scarce had my eyelids time to close, 

When the scene I had fancied before me 
rose— 

An Episcopal Hop, on a scale so grand 

As my dazzled eyes could hardly stand. 

For, Britain and Erin clubb’d their Sees 

To make it a Dance of Dignities, 

And I saw—oh brightest of Church 
events ! 

A quadrille of two Establishments, 

Bishop to Bishop vis-a-vis, 

Footing away prodigiously. 


There was Bristol capering up to Derry, 
And Cork with London making merry ; 
While huge Llandaff, with a See, so so, 
Was to dear old Dublin pointing his toe. 
There was Chester, hatch’d by woman’s 
smile, [style ; 
Performing a Chaine des Dames in 
While he who, whene’er the Lords’ 
House dozes, 
Can waken them up by citing Moses, * 
The portly Tuam was all in a hurry 
To set, en avant, to Canterbury. 


Meanwhile, while pamphlets stuff’d his 
pockets, 

(All out of date, like spent sky-rockets, ) 

Our Exeter stood forth to caper, [per— 

As high on the floor as he doth on pa- 

Much like a dapper Dancing Dervise, 

Who pirouettes his whole church-ser- 
vice— 

Performing, ’midst those reverend souls, 

Such entrechats. such cabrioles, 

Such balonnés, + such—rigmaroles, 

Now high, now low, now this, now that, 


*** And what does Moses say ?’'—One of the 
ejaculations with which this eminent prelate 
enlivened his famous speech on the Catholic 
question. 

t A description of the method of executing 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


631 


That none could guess, what the devil 

he’d be at; (some thought 
Though, watching his various steps, 
That a step in the Church was all he 


sought. 
But alas, alas! while thus so gay 
aed v7? 
These reverend dancers frisk’d away, 


Not Paul himself (not the saint, but he 
Of the Opera-house) could brisker be, 


| There Clare a gloom around their 
or 
5 


οο-- [ fast, 

A shadow, which came and went so 
That ere one could say ‘‘’Tis there,” 

*twas past— [clear’d, 
And, lo, when the scene again was 
Ten of the dancers had disappear’d! 
Ten able-bodied quadrillers swept 
From the hallow’d floor where late they 

stepp’d, 
While twelve was all that footed it still, 
On the Irish side of that grand Quadrille ! 


Nor this the worst:—still danced they 

on, [was gone; 
But the pomp was sadden’d, the smile 
And again, from time to time, the same 
Ii]-omen’d darkness round them came— 
While still, as the light broke out anew, 
Their ranks look’d less by a dozen or 


two; 
Till ah! at last there were only found 
Just Bishops enough for a four-hands- 
round ; 
And when I awoke, impatient getting, 
I left the last holy pair poussetting ! 


N. B.—As ladies in years, it seems, 

ave the happiest knack at solving 
dreams, [friends 

I shall leave to my ancient feminine 

Of the Standard to say what this por- 
tends. 


DIGKO Rhee 
A CHARACTER, 


Or various scraps and fragments built, 
Borrow’d alike from fools and wits, 
Dick’s mind was like a patchwork quilt, 
Made up of new, old, motley bits— 
Where, if the Co. call’din their shares, 

If petticoats their quota got, 


this step may be useful to future performers in 
the same line :—* Ce pas est composé de deux 
mouvemens différens, savoir, plier, et sauter- 
sur un pied, et se rejeter sur Uautre.""—Diction- 
naire de Danse, art. Contre-temps. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And gowns were all refunded theirs, 
The quilt would look but shy, God wot. 


And thus he still, new plagiaries seek- 
Reversed ventriloquisin’s trick, [ing, 
For, ’stead of Dick through others speak- 
ing, [ Dick. 
*T was others we heard speak through 
A Tory now, all bounds exceeding, 
_ Now best of Whigs, now worst of rats ; 
One day, with Malthus, foe to breeding, 
The next, with Sadler, all for brats. 


Poor Dick !—and how else could it be ? 
With notions all at random caught, 
A sort of mentil fricassee, 
Made up of legs and wings 
thought— 
The leavings of the last Debate, or 
A dinner, yesterday, of wits, 
Where Dick sat by, and, like a waiter, 
Had the scraps for perquisites. 


A CORRECTED REPORT OF SOME 
LATE SPEECHES. 


“That I heard one saint speaking, and an- 
other saint said unto that saint. ” 


of 


1834. 
St. S—NncL—r rose and declared in 
sooth, [ Maynooth. 


That he wouldn’t give sixpence to 
He had hated priests the whole of his 
life, [ wife, * 
For a priest was a man who had no 
And, having no wife, the Church was 
his mother, [ brother. 
The Church was his father, sister, and 
This being the case, he was sorry to say, 
That a gulf ’twixt Papist and Protestant 
lays Ὁ ie 
So deep and wide, scarce possible was it 
To say even ‘‘how d’ye do ?” across it. 
And though your Liberals, nimble as 
fleas, 
Could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 
*Twas a jump that naught on earth 
could make 

«“ He objected to the maintenance and edu- 
cation of a clergy bound by the particular vows 
of celibacy, which, as it were, gave them the 
church as their only family, making it fill the 
places of father and mother and brother.”’— 
Debate on the Grant to Maynooth College, 
The Times, April 19. 

{It had always appeared to him that be- 
tween the Catholic and Protestanta great gulf 
intervened, which rendered it impossible,” &e. 

{The Baptist might acceptably extend the 
oflices of religion to, the Presbyterian and the 
Independent, or the member of the Church of 


Your proper heavy-built Christian take. 
No, no,—if a Dance of Sects must be, 
He would set to the Baptist willingly,t 
At the Independent deign to smirk, 
And rigadoon with old Mother Kirk ; 
Nay even, for once, if needs must be, 
He’d take hands round with all the 

three ; 


But, as to a jig with Popery, no,— 
To the Harlot ne’er would he point his 
toe. 


St. M—n—d—y—le was the next that 
rose, — 

A Saint who round, as pedlar, goes, 

With his pack of piety and prose, 

Heavy and hot enough, God knows,— 

And he said that Papists were much in- 
clined 

To extirpate all of Protestant kind, 

Which he couldn’t, in truth, so much 
condemn, 

Having rather a wish to extirpate them: 

That is,—to guard against mistake, — 

Te extirpate them for their doctrine’s 


sake ; [make,— 
A distinction Churchmen always 
Insomuch that, when they’ve prime con- 
trol, [ whole, 


Though sometimes roasting heretics 
They but cook the body for the sake of 
the soul. 


Next jump’d St. J—hnst—n jollily ferth, 
The spiritual Dogberry of the North,§ 
A right ‘wise fellow, and, what’s more, 
An officer,’’|| like his type of yore ; 
And he ask’d, if we grant such toleration, 
Prey, what’s the use of our Reforma- 
tion 24] [State ? 
What is the use of our Church and 
Our Bishops, Articles, Tithe, and Rate ? 
And, still as be yell’d out ‘‘ what’s the 
use ?” 
Old Echoes, from their cells recluse 
Where they’d for centuries slept, broke 
loose, 
Yelling responsive, ‘‘ What's the use ?” 
England to any of the other three; but the 
Catholie,”’ &e. 

§ ‘Could he then, holding as he did a spirit- 
ταὶ office in the Chureh of Seotland, (eries of 
hear, and laughter,) with any consisteney give 
his consent to a grant of money?” &e. 

\| “1 am a wise fellow, and which is more, an 
oflicer.""—Much Ado about Nothing. 

4“ ‘*‘ What, he asked, was the use of the Re- 
formation? What was the use of the Articles 
of the Chureh of England, or of the Chureh of 
Scotland 1 &o. 


= 


a 


MORAL POSITIONS. 


A DREAM. 


‘His Lordship said that it took a long time 
for a moral position to find its way across the 
Atlantic. He was very sorry that its voyage 
had been so long,” &¢.—Speech of Lord Dud- 
ley and Ward on Colonial Slavery, March 8. 


T’OTHER night, after hearing Lord Dud- 
ley’s oration, [ May-day does, ) 

(A treat that comes once a year as 
I dreamt that I saw—what a strange 
operation ! { Barbadoes. 

A “moral position” shipp’d off for 


The whole Bench of Bishops stood by in| 


grave attitudes, 
Packing the article tidy and neat ;— 
As their Rey’rences know, that m south- 
“erly latitudes [sweet. 
“Moral positions” don’t keep very 


There was B—th—st arranging the cus- 
tom-house pass ; 
And, to guard the frail package from 
tousing and routing, [it ‘‘ Glass,” 
There stood my Lord Eld—n, endorsing 
Though as to which side should lie up- 
permost, doubting. 


The freight was, however, stow’d safe 
in the hold ; {look’d romantic, 

The winds were polite, and the moon 
While off in the good ship ‘‘ The Truth” 
we were roll’d, [lantie. 

With our ethical cargo, across the At- 


Long, dolefully long, seem’d the voyage 
we made; [very slow sailer, 

For ‘‘ The Truth,” at all times but a 
By friends, near as much as by foes, is 
delay’d, (many hail her. 

And few come aboard her, though so 


At length safe arrived, I went through 
“tare and tret,” { dition, 
Deliver’d my goods in the primest con- 
And next morning read, in the Bridge- 
town Gazetle, [moral position.” 
“Just arrived by ‘The Truth,’ a new 


“The Captain”—here, startled to find 

myself named [I own it with pain, 

As ‘‘the Captain”—(a thing which, 

* Eclipses and comets haye been always 

looked to as great changers of administrations. 
Thus Milton, speaking of the former :— 

“ With fear of change 
Perplexing monarchs.” 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


033 


[1 through life have avoided,) I woke— 
look’d ashamed, { off again. 
Found I wasn’t a captain, and dozed 


THE MAD TORY AND THE 


COMBT. 
FOUNDED ON A LATE DISTRESSING INCIDENT. 
1832-3. 
‘Matantem regna cometem.’ LoUcAN.* 


“THOUGH all the pet mischiefs we count 
upon fail, [lington leave us, 
“Though Cholera, hurricanes, Wel- 
‘We've still in reserve, mighty Comet, 
thy tail ;— [too deceive us? 

‘« Last hope of the Tories, wilt thou 


‘“‘No—'tis coming, ’tis coming, th’ aven- 
gerisnigh, [ Herapath flatters ; 

“ Heed, heed not, ye placemen, how 
“One whisk from that tail, as it passes 
us by, { ters ;— 

‘« Will settle, at once, all political mat- 


‘““The THast-India Question, the Bank, 
the Five Powers, 
(“Now turn’d into two) with their 
rigmarole Protocols ;t— [of ours 
“ἨΔ! ha! ye gods, how this new friend 
‘Will knock, right and left, all diplo- 
macy what-d’ye-calls ! 


“Yes, rather than Whigs at our down- 
fall should mock, [eral hustle! 
‘Meet planets, and suns, in one gen- 
‘While, happy in vengeance, we wel- 
come the shock 
“©That shall jerk from their places, 
Grey, Althorp and Russell.” 


Thus spoke a mad Lord, as, with tele- 
scope raised, [set ; 
His wild Tory eye on the heavens he 
And, though nothing destructive ap- 
pear'd as he gazed, 
Much hoped that there would, before 
Parliament met. 


| And still, as odd shapes seem’d to flit 
through his glass, [niae cries; 

‘Ha! there it is now,” the poor ma- 
While his fancy with forms but too mon- 
strous, alas ! [the skies : — 

From his own Tory zodiac, peoples 


| And in Statins we find, 


“Mutant qu sceptra cometm.” 


iSee, for some of these Protocols, the An- 
nual Register, for the year 1832. 


094 


“Now I spy ἃ big body, good heavens, 
how big ! [not well say :— 


‘Whether Bucky* or Taurus I can- | 


“ΑἸ, yonder, there’s Eld—n’s old 
Chancery-wig, [away. 
“Tn its dusty aphelion fast fading 


“ T see, ’mong those fatuous meteors be- 
hind, [about ;— 
“‘L—nd—nd—try, in vacuo, flaring 
«While that dim double star, of the 
nebulous kind, [t—n, no doubt. 

“Ts the Gemini, R—den and L—r— 


“ Ah, El—b’r—h! faith, I first thought 
twas the Comet; [quite pale : 

‘«So like thatin Milton, it made me 
“The head with the same ‘horrid 
hair’t coming from it, [the tail?” 

“ And plenty of vapor, but—where is 


Just then, up aloft jump’d the gazer 
clated— [ show’d, 

For, lo, his bright glass a phenomenon 
Which he took to be C—mb—rl—d, up- 
wards translated, [road ! 
Instead of his natural course, t’other 


But too awful that sight for a spirit so 
shaken, — [and grimaces, 
Down dropp’d the poor Tory in fits 
Then off to the Bedlam in Charles Street 
was taken, [vorite cases. 

And is now one of Halford’s most fa- 


FROM THE HON. HENRY ——, 
: TO LADY EMMA 
Paris, March 30, 1832. 
You bid me explain, my dear angry 
Ma’anselle, {ing farewell; 
How I came thus to bolt without say- 
And the truth is,—as truth you will 
have, my sweet railer, — 
There are two worthy persons I al- 
ways feel loath 


To take leave of at starting—my mis- | 


tress and tailor, — 
As somehow one ‘always has scenes 
with them both ; [tears, 
The Snip in ill-humor, the Syren in 
She calling on Heaven, and he on th’ 
attorney,— [and his dears, 
Till sometimes, m short, ’twixt his duns 
A young gentleman risks being stopp’d 
in his journey. [ think, I dare say, 
But to come to the point,—though you 
* The D—e of B—ck—m. 


t * And from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war.” 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


That tis debt or the Cholera drives me 
away, [ bagatelle 

’Pon honor you’re wrong; such a mere 
As a pestilence, nobody, now-a-days, 
fears ; [ing, pell-mell, 

And the fact is, my love, I’m thus bolt- 
To get out of the way of these horrid 
new Peers εἶ [think of, 

This deluge of coronets, frightful to 


| Which England is now, for her sins, on 


the brink of ; [’em, badly, 
This coinage of nobles,—coin’d, all of 
And sure to bring Counts to a discount 
most sadly. 


Only think, to have Lords overrunning 
the nation, [ tion ; 
As plenty as frogs ina Dutch inunda- 
No shelter from Barons, from Harls no 
protection, [direction, — 
And tadpole young Lords, too, in every 
Things created in haste just to make a 
Court list of, [of ! 
Two legs and a coronet all they consist 
The prospect’s quite frightful, and what 
Sir George R—se [true, 
(My p articular friend) says is perfectly 
That, so dire the alternative, nobody 
knows, [what he’s to do ; 
*Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, 
And Sir George even doubts,—could he 
choose his disorder, 
*Twixt coffin and coronet, 
would order. 


which he 


This being the case, why, I thought, my 

dear Emma, {dilemma ; 

’Twere best to fight shy of so cursed a 

And though I confess myself somewhat: 
a villain, 

To’ve left idol mio without an addio, 

Console your sweet heart, and, a week 

hence, from Milan [last trio. 

ΤΊ] send you—some news of Bellini’s 


N. B.—Have just pack’d up my travel- 
ling set-out, [out— 


Things a tourist in Italy can’t go with- 


Viz., a pair of gants gras, from old Hou- 
bigant’s shop, 4 
Good for hands that the air of Mont 
Cenis might chap. [so wheedles 
Small presents for ladies,—and nothing 
The creatures abroad as your golden- 
eyed needles. [are cozen’d. 
A neat pocket Horace, by which folks: 


t A new creation of Peers was generally ex- 
pected at this time. 


ον « 


ΠΡΑΤΤΙΕΙΘΑΙ, AND HUMOROUS POPMS. 


To think oné knows Latin, when—one, 
perhaps, doesn't; [inythology, 
With some little book about heathen 
Just ope enough torefresh one’s the- 
ology 5 
Nothing on earth being half such a bore 
as [gins and Floras. 
Not knowing the difference ’twixt Vir- 
Once more, love, farewell, best regards 
to the girls, [new Harls. 
And mind you beware of damp feet and 
HENRY. 


TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY. 


“ COLLEGE.—We announced, in our last, that 
Lefroy and Shaw were returned. ‘they were 


_ ehaired yesterday; the Students of the College 


determined, it would seem, to imitate the mob 
in all things, harnessing themselves to the ear, 
and the Masters of Arts bearing Orance flags 
aud bludgeons before, beside, and behind the 
car.” 

Dublin Evening Post, Dee. 20, 1832. 


Ay, yoke ye to the bigots’ car, 
Ye chosen of Alma Mater’s scions ;- 
Fleet chargers drew the God of War, 
Great Cybele was drawn by lions, 
And Sylvan Pan, as Poets dream, 
Drove four young panthers in his team. 
Thus classical L—fr—y, for once, is, 
Thus, studious of a like turn-out, 
He harnesses young suckling dunces, 
To draw him, as their Chief, about, 
And let the world a picture see 
Of Dulness yoked to Bigotry : 
Showing us how young College hacks 
Can pace with bigots at their backs, 
As though the cubs were born to draw 
Such luggage as L—fr—y and Sh—w. 


Oh shade of Goldsmith, shade of Swift, 

Bright.spirits whom, in days of yore, 
This Stach of Dulness sent adrift, 

As aliens to her foggy shore ;*— 
Shade of our glorious Grattan, too, 

Whose very name her shame recalls ; 
Whose effigy her bigot crew 

Reversed upon their monkish walls, t— 
Bear witness (lest the world should 

doubt) 

To your mute Mother’s dull renown, 
‘Then famous but for Wit turn’d out, 

And Bloquence turn’d upside down ; 

*See the lives of these two poets for the 
circumstances under which they left Dublin 
College. 

t In the year 1799, the Board of Trinity Col- 
lege, Dublin, thought proper, as a mode of 
expressing their disapprobation of Mr. Grat- 


635 
jut now ordain’d new wreaths to win, 
Beyond all fame of former days, . 
By breaking thus young donkeys in 
To draw M. P.’s, amid the brays 
Alike of donkeys and M. A.’s— 
Defying Oxford to surpass ’em 
In this new ‘ Gradus ad Parnassum.” 


TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL 
LANGUAGE. 
Scripta manet. 
1833, 
"TWAS grayed on the Stone of Destiny,t 
In letters four, and letters three; = [by 
And ne’er did the King of the Gulls go 
But those awful letters scared his eye ; 
For he knew that a Prophet Voice had 
said, [read, 
‘« As long as those words by man were 


| ‘“‘The ancient race of the Gulls should 


ne’er 
‘One hour of peace or plenty share.” 
But years on years successive flew, 
And the letters still more legible grew,— 
At top, a T, an H; an EH, 
And underneath, 1). B. B. T. 
Some thought them Hebrew,—such as 
Jews, 
More skill’d in Scrip than Scripture, use; 
While some surmised ’twas an ancient 
way {day 
Of keeping accounts (well known ia the 
Of the famed Didlerius Jeremias, 
Who had thereto a wonderful bias,) 
And proved in books most learnedly 
boring, [ing. 
’Twas call’d the Pontick way of scor- 
Howe’er this be, there never were yet 
Seven letters of the alphabet, 
That, ’twixt them form’d so grim a spell, 
Or seared a land of Gulls so well, 
As did this awful riddle-me-ree 
OFT. BH. D.. DDB. 


* - - . ° 


Hark !—it is struggling Freedom’s ery ; 
‘‘Help, help, ye nations, or I die ; 
‘Tis freedom’s fight, and, on the field 
‘Where I expire, your doom is seal’d.” 
The Gull-King hears the awakening call, 
He hath summon’d his Peers and Patri- 
ots all, 

tan's public conduct, to order his portrait, in 
the Great Hall of the University, to be turned 
upside down, and in this position it remained 
for some time. 

t Liafail, or the Stone of Destiny,—for which, 
see Westminster Abbey. 


636 


And he asks, ‘‘ Ye noble Gulls, shall we 

“Stand basely by at the fall of the 
Free, 

“ Nor utter a curse, nor deal a blow ?” 

And they answer, with voices of thun- 
der, ‘‘ No!” 


Out fly their flashing swords in the 
air !— 

But,—why do they rest suspended there? 

What sudden blight, what baleful charm, 

Hath chill’d each eye, and check’d each 
arm ? 

Alas ! some withering hand hath thrown 

The veil from off that fatal stone, 

And pointing now, with sapless finger, 

Showeth where dark those letters lin- 

Letters four, and letters three, [ger, 

ΠΡ 1D, 10 eset 


At sight thereof, each lifted brand 

Powerless falls from every hand ; 

In vain the Patriot knits his brow,— 

Hyen talk, his staple, fails him now. 

In vain the King like a hero treads, 

His Lords of the Treasury shake their 
heads ; 

And to all his talk of ‘‘ brave and free,”’ 

No answer getteth his Majesty, 

J85 ot, OOM NSB ls Bese Dd Dee ΒΡ ΠΣ 


In short, the whole Gull nation feels 

They’re fairly spell-bound, neck and 
heels ; 

And so, in the face of the laughing world, 

Must e’en sit down, with banners furl’d, 

Adjourning all their dreams sublime 

Of glory and war to—some other time. 


NOTIONS ON REFORM. 
BY A MODERN REFORMER. 
OF all the misfortunes as yet brought to 
pass [tail of speeches, 
By this comet-like Bill with its long 
The saddest and worst is the schism 
which, alas ! 
It has caused between W—th—r—l’s 
Waistcoat and breeches. 


Some symptoms of this Anti-Union 
propensity [before ; 
Had oft broken out in that quarter 
But the breach, since the Bill has at- 
tained such immensity, 
Daniel himself could haye 
wish’d it more. 
*It will be recollected that the learned 


entleman himself boasted one night in the 
Touse of Commons, of haying sat in the very 


scarce 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Oh! haste to repair it, ye friends of 
good order, [ment is past ; 
Ye Atw—ds and W—nns, ere the mo- 
Who can doubt that we tread upon An- 
archy’s border, 
When the ties that should hold men are 
loosening so fast ? 


Make W—th—r—1 yield to “‘ some sort 
of Reform,” — [very wry faces, ) 

(As we all must, God help us! with 
And loud as he likes let him bluster and 
storm [ wear braces. * 
About Corporate Rights, so he’ll only 


Should those he now sports have been 
long in possession, [for the wear, 

And, like his own borough, the worse 
Advise him, at least, as a prudent con- 
cession [ pair. 

To Intellect’s progress, to buy a new 


Oh! who that e’er saw him, when vocal 
he stands 
With a look something midway 
*twixt Filch’s and Lockit’s, 
While still, to inspire him, his deeply 
thrust hands [breeches-pockets— 
Keep jingling the rhino ἴῃ both 


Who that ever has _ listen’d, through 
groan and through cough, 
To the speeches inspired by this mu- 
sic of pence— ___ [like falling off 
But must grieve that there’s anything 
In that great nether source of his wit 
and his sense ? 


Who that knows how he Jook’d when, 
with grace debonair, 
He began first to court—rather late 
in the season— 
Or when, less fastidious, he sat in the 
chair, [Goddess of Reason ; * 
Of his old friend, the Nottingham 


That Goddess, whose borough-like yir- 
tue attracted [ their love ; 

All mongers in both wares to proffer 
Whose chair like the stool of the Pyth- 
oness acted, [ go to prove ;t 

As W—th—r—l’s rants, ever since, 


Who, in short, would not grieve, if a 
man of his graces [the past, 
Should go on rejecting, unwarn’d by 
chair which this allegorical lady had occupied. 
t Lucan’s description of the effects of the 
tripod on the appearance and yoice of the sit- 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


The ‘‘moderate Reform” of a pair of 
new braces, {at last. | 
Till, some day,—he’ll all fall to pieces | 


TORY PLEDGES. 


I PLEDGE myself through thiek and thin, | 
To labor still, with zeal deyout, 

To get the Outs, poor devils, in, 
And turn the Inns, the wretches, out. 


I pledge myself, though much bereft 
Of ways and means of ruling ill, 

To make the most of what are left, 
And stick to all that’s rotten still. 


Though gone the days of place and pelf, 
And drones no more take all the honey, | 

Τ pledge myself to cram myself 
With all I can of public money ; 


To quarter on that social purse 

y nephews, nieces, sisters, brothers, | 
Nor, so we prosper, care a curse 

How much’tis at th’ expense of others. 


I pledge myself, whenever Right 
And Might on any point divide, 
Not to ask which is black or white, 
But take, at once, the strongest side. 
For instance, in all Tithe discussions, 
V’m for the Reverend encroachers :— 
I loathe the Poles, applaud the Rus- 
sians,— [ers. 
Aun for the Squires against the Poach- 


Betwixt the Corn-Lords and the Poor 
I’ve not the slightest hesitation, — 

The people must be starved t’ ensure 
The Land its due remuneration. 


I pledge myself to be no more 
With Ireland’s wrorgs beprdsed or 
I yote her grievances a bore, [shamm’d— 
So she may suffer, and be d—d. 


Or if she kick, let it console us, 
We still have plenty of red coats, 

To cram the Church, that general bolus, 
Down any giv’n amount of throats. 


I dearly love the Frankfort Diet,— 
Think newspapers the worst of crimes ; 

And would, to give some chance of quiet, 
Hang all the writers of The Times ; 


Break all their correspondents’ bones, 
All authors of ‘‘ Reply,” “ Rejoinder,” 


ter, shows that the symptoms are, at least, very 
similar ; 


Spumea tune primum rabies yesana per ora 


637 


From the Anti-Tory, Colonel J—es, 
To the Anti-Suttee, Mr. P—ynd—tr. 
Such are the Pledges I propose ; 
And though I can’t now offer gold, 
There’s many a way of buying those 
Who’ve but the taste for being sold. 
So here’s, with three times three hurrahs, 
A toast, of which you'll not» com- 
plain, — 
“ Long life to jobbing ; may the days 
“ΟΥ̓ Peculation shine again !” 


ST. JEROME ON BARTH, 
FIRST VISIT. 
1832 
As St. Jerome, who died some ages ago, 


| Was sitting, one day, in the shades be- 


low, , 


{quoth he, 


| ‘I’ve heard much of English bishops,” 


* And shall now take a trip to earth, to 

see [ ways, 
‘How far they agree, in their lives and 
“With our good old bishops of ancient 


days.” 
He had learn’d—but learn’d without 
misgivings— [livings ; 


Their love for good living, and eke good 
Not knowing (as ne’er having taken de- 

grees) [cassees, 
That good living means claret and fri- 
While its plural means simply—plural- 

ities. {man, 
“From all I hear,’’ said the innocent 


| ‘* They are aoe on the good old primi- 
Ρ 


tive plan. {care, 
‘Por wealth and pomp they little can 
“As they all say ‘No’ to th’ Episcopal 
chair ; 
“ And their vestal virtue it well denotes, 
“That they all, good men, wear petti- 
coats.” 
Thus saying, post-haste to earth he hur- 
ries, [terbury’s. 


| And knocks at th’ Archbishop of Can- 


The door was oped by a lackey in lace, 
Saying, ‘‘ What’s your business with his 
Grace ?” [was he, 
“ His grace !” quoth Jerome—for posed 
Not knowing what sort this Grace could 
be ; [ ticular, 
Whether Grace preventing, Grace par- 
Grace of that breed called Quinquartic- 
ular*— 
Effluit 
tune meestus vastis ululatus in antris. 


* So called from the proceedings of the Synod 
of Dort. 


638 


In short, he rummaged his holy mind, 
Th’ exact description of Grace to find, 
Which thus could represented be 

By a footman in full livery. . 


At last, out loud in a laugh he broke, 
(For dearly the good saint loved his 
joke,*) 
And said—surveying, as sly he spoke, 
The costly palace from roof to base— 
“Well, itisn’t, at least, a saving Grace!” 
“‘Umph,” said the lackey, a man of few 
words, { of Lords.” 
*« Th’ Archbishop is gone to the House 
“9 the House of the Lord, you mean, 
my son, [but one ; 
“Ror in my time, at least, there was 
“Unless such many-fold priests as these 
“Seek, ey’n in their Lorp, plurali- 
ties Ὁ [in lace ; 
“No time for gab,” quoth the man 
Then, slamming the door in St. Jerome’s 
face, 
With a curse to the single knockers all, 
Went to finish his port in the servants’ 
hall, 
And propose a toast (humanely meant 
To inelude even Curates in its extent) 
“To all as serves th’ Establishment.” 


ST. JEROME ON HEARTH. 
SECOND VISIT. 


“This much I dare say, that, since lording 
and loitering hath come up, preaching hath 
come down, contrary to the Apostles’ times. 
For they preached and lorded not: and now 
they lord and preach not Ever since 
the Prelates were made Lords and Nobles, the 
plough standeth; there is no work done, the 


people starye.’—Latimer, Sermon of the 

Plough. 

‘“‘OncrE more,” said Jerome, ‘Ill run 
up and see [set he. 


“How the Church goes on,”’—and off 


Just then the packet-boat, which trades 
Betwixt our planet and the shades, 
Had arrived below, with a freight so 
queer, [we here ?”?— 
« My eyes!” said Jerome, ‘‘ what have 
For he saw, when nearer he explored, 
They’d a cargo of Bishop’s wigs aboard. 


* Witness his well-known pun on the name 
of his adversary, Vigilantius, whom he calls 
facetiously Dormitantius. 

t Lhe suspicion attached to some of the early 
Fathers of being Arians in their doctrine 
would appear to derive some confirmation from 
this passage. 

} Lhe wig, which had so long formed an es- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“ They are ghosts of wigs,” said Char- 
on, ‘‘all, 

“¢ Once worn by nobs Episcopal. 

“ Por folks on earth, who’ve got a store 

“Οἵ cast off things they’ll want no more, 

‘‘Oft send them down, as gifts, you 
know, 

“To a certain Gentleman here below.” 

“Α sign of the times, I plainly see,” 


‘Said the Saint to himself as, pondering, 


Sail’d off in the death-boat gallantly. [he 


Arrived on the earth, quoth he, ‘‘ No 
“411 affect a body, as before; [more 
“Por I think Id best, in the company 
“ΟΥ̓ Spiritual Lords, a spirit be, 

‘« And glide, unseen, from See to See.” 
But oh! to tell what scenes he saw,— 
It was more than Rabelais’ pen could 
For instance, he found Ex—t—1, [draw. 
Soul, body, inkstand, all in a stir,— 
For love of God? for sake of King ἢ 

Tor good of people ?—no such thing ; 
But to get for himself, by some new 
A shove to a better bishoprick.  [ trick, 


He found that pious soul, Van M—ld—t, 

Muck with his money-bags bewilder’d ; 

Snubbing the Clerks of the Diocese,§ 

Because the rogues show’d restlessness 

At having too little cash to touch, 

While he so Christianly bears too much. 

He found old Sarum’s wits as gone 

As his own beloved text in John, ||— 

Text he hath prosed so long upon, 

That ’tis thought whenaskd, at the gate 
of heaven, 

His name, he'll answer, ‘‘ John, y. 7.” 


‘‘But enough of Bishops I’ve had to- 
day,” 

Said the weary Saint, —‘‘ I must away. 

‘Though I own I should like, before I 
80, 


“To see for once (as I’m ask’d below 


“Tfreally such odd sights exist) 

‘© A regular six-fold Pluralist.” 

Just then he heard a general ery— [by 

‘«There’s Doctor Hodgson galloping 

“ Ay, that’s the man,” says the Saint, 
“to follow,” 


1? 


sential part of the dress of an English bishop, 
was at this time beginning to be dispensed with. 

§ See the Bishop's Letter to Clergy of his 
Diocese. 

|| 1 John, v. 7. A text which, though long 
given up by all the rest of the orthodox world, 
is still pertinaciously adhered to by this Right 
Reverend scholar. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS ῬΟΒΜΒ. 


639 


And off he sets, with a loud view-hollo, 
At Hodgson’s heels, to catch, if he can, 
A glimpse of this singular plural man. 
But,—talk of Sir Boyle Roche’s bird !* 


‘To compare with Hodgson, is absurd. 


“Which way, sir, pray, is the doctor 
one ἴ"-- {don.”— 
‘He is now at his living at Hilling- 


‘* No, no,—you’re out, by many amile, | 
** He’s away at his Deanery, in Car- | 


lisle.”— 


**Pardon me, sir; but I understand 

**He’s gone to his living in Cumber- 
land.” — 

‘God bless me, no,—he can’t be there ; 


“You must try St. George’s, Hanover 


Square.” 
Thus all in vain the Saint inquired, 
From living to living, mock’d and 
tired ;— ({ there, 


‘Twas Hodgson here, ’twas Hodgson | 


’T was Hodgson nowhere, everywhere ; 

Till, fairly beat, the Saint gave o’er, 

And flitted away to the Stygian shore, 

To astonish the natives under ground 

With the comical things he on earth had 
found. 


THOUGHTS ON TAR BARRELS. 
(VIDE DESCRIPTION OF A LATE ΤῊΣ Εὶ Ὁ 
S232. 
WHAT a pleasing contrivance ! how apt- 
ly devise [one’s noses ! 
*Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle 


And how the tar-barrels must all be sur- | 


> | 


prised [among roses ! 
To find themselves seated like ‘‘ Love 


What a pity we can’t, by precautions 
like these, infection Ἵ 
Clear the air of that other still viler 
That radical pest, that old whiggish dis- 
ease, { direction. 


Of which cases, true-blue, are in every | 
’Stead of barrels, lets light up an Auto| 


da Fé (‘‘the Club ;” 


Of a few good combustible Lords of 


*It was a saying of the well-known Sir 
Boyle, that “ἃ man could not be in two places 
at once, unless he was a bird.” 


+The M—s of H—-tf—d's Féte.— From 
dread of cholera his Lordship had ordered tar- 
barrels to be burned in every direction. 


t These verses, as well as some others that 
follow, (p. 643,) were extorted from me by that 


“They would fume, in a trice, the Whig 
cholera away. {barrel of bub. 
And there’s B—cky would burn like a 


How R—d—n would blaze! and what 
rubbish throw out! [play ; 
A volcano of nonsense, in active dis- 
| While Y—ne, as a butt, amidst laugh- 
ter, would spout [and all day. 
The hot nothings he’s full of, all night 


And then, for a finish, there’s C—m- 
b—d’s Duke,— [erackle in air! 

Good Lord, how his chin-tuft would 
Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his 
look) {elsewhere 
He’s already bespoke for combustion 


THE CONSULTATION.{ 

| “When they do agree, their unanimity is won- 

derful.”’ The Critic. 
1833. 


Scene discovers Dr. Whig and Dr. Tory in con- 
sultation. Patient on the floor between them. 


Dr. Whig.—Tuts wild Irish patient does 
pester me so, {I know ; 

That what to do with him, I’m cursed if 

l’ve promised him anodynes- 

Dr. Tory. Anodynes !—Stuff. 

Tie him down—gag bim well—he’ll be 
tranquil enough. 

That’s my mode of practice. 

Dr. Whig. True, quite in your line, 
But unluckily not much, till lately, in 
’Tis so painful—— [ mine. 
Dr. Tory.—Pooh, nonsense —ask Ude 

how he feels, [his live eels, 
|When, for Epicure feasts, he prepares 
By flinging them in, ’twixt the bars of 
the fire, [they tire. 
And letting them wriggle on there till 
He, too, says ‘‘’tis painful”—* quite 
makes his heart bleed’— 
But ‘your eels are a vile, oleaginous 
breed.” { Cookery says ‘‘ No,” 
|He would fain use them gently, but 
And-—in short—eels were born to be 
treated just so.§ [ odder fish still,— 
’Tis the same with these [rish,—who’re 
lamentable measure of the Whig ministry, the 
Irish Coercion Act. 
| § This eminent artist, in the second edition 
| of the work wherein he propounds this mode of 
| purifying his eels, professes himself much con- 
|} cerned at the charge of inhumanity brought 
against his practice, but still begs leave re- 
spectfully to repeat that it ἐκ the only proper 
mode of preparing eels for the table. 


640 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Your tender Whig heart shrinks from 
using them ill ; [get wise, 
I, myself, in my youth, ere I came to 
Used, at such operations, to blush to the 
eyes ;- [make bold 
But, in fact, my dear brother,—if I may 
To style you, as Peachum did Lockit, of 
old, [ness of Ude, 
‘We, Doctors, must act with the firm- 
And. indifferent like him,—so the fish 
is but stew’d,— | good. 
Must torture live Pats for the general 
[Here patient groans and kicks a little. 
Dr. Whig.—But what, if one’s patient’s 
so devilish perverse, 
That he woen’t be thus tortured ? 
Dr. Tory. Coerce, sir, coerce. 
Youre a juvenile performer, but once 
you begin, 
You can’t think how fast you may train 
your hand in: 
And (smiling) who knows but old Tory 
may take to the shelf, 
With the comforting thought that, in 
place and in pelf, 
He’s succeeded by one just as—bad as 
Dr. Whig. (looking flattered.)—Why, 
to tell you the truth, I’ve a small 
matter here, 
Which you help’d me to make for my 
patient last year, — 

[ Goes to a cupboard and brings out 
a straight waistcoat and gag. 

And such rest I’ve enjoy’d from his 
raving since then, 

That I have made up my mind he shall 
wear it again. 

Dr. Tory, (embracing him.)—Oh, 
charming ! 
youre a treasure. [a pleasure. 

Next to torturing myself, to help you is 
[ Assisting Dr. Whig. 

Give me leaye—I’ve some practice 1 
these mad machines ; 

There—tighter—the gag in the mouth, 
by all means. 


Delightful !—all’s snug—not a squeak | 


need you fear,— 
You may now put your anodynes off till 
next year. 


* See Edinburgh Review, No. 117. 

t‘ Your Lordship,” says Mr. Ov—rt—n, in 
the Dedication of his Poem to the Bishop ot 
Chester. “ has kindly expressed your persua- 
sion that my ‘Muse will always be a Muse of 
sacred song, and that it will be tuned as David's 


9) 


was. 


[himself ? | 


TO THE REV. CH—RL—S OV—R- 
T—N, 
CURATE OF ROMALDEIRE. 


AUTHOR OF THE POETICAL PORTRAITURE OF THE 


CHURCH.* 
1873. 


SWEET singer of Romaldkirk, thou who 
art reckon’d, 
By critics Episcopal, David the Second, t 
If thus, as a Curate, so lofty your flight, 
Only think, in a Rectory, how you 
would write, [erown’d Apollo,” 
Once fairly inspired by the ““ Tithe- 
(Who beats, I confess it, our lay Pho- 
bus hollow, [inspiration, 
Having gotten, besides the old Nine’s 
The Tenth of all eatable things in erea- 
tion, ) [you, 
There’s nothing, in fact, that a poet like 
So be-nined and be-tenth’d, couldn’t 
easily do. [Athenian,f{ they say, 
Round the lips of the sweet-tongued 
While yet but a babe in his cradle he lay, 
While honey-bees swarm’d as a presage 
to tell {afterwards fell. 
Of the sweet-flowing words that thence 
Just so round our Oy—rt—n’s cradle, no 
doubt, [flitting about ; 
Tenth ducklings and chicks were seen 
Goose embryos, waiting their doom’d 
decimation, [nation, 
Came, shadowing forth his adult desti- 


_And small, sucking tithe-pigs, in musical 


droves, [ter approves. 


| Announced the Church poet whom Ches- 


O Horace! when thou, in thy vision of 


My dear Dr. Whig, | 


yore, [came o’er 


| Didst dream that a snowy-white plumage 


Thy etherealized limbs, stealing downily 
on, [turn’d to a swan, 

Till, by Fancy’s strong spell, thou wert 

Little thought’st thou such fate could a 
poet befall, 

Without any effort of fancy, at all ; 

Little thought’st thou the world would 
in Ov—rt—n find {in kind, 


ΓΑ bird ready-made, somewhat different 
| But as perfect as Michaelmas’ self could 
[ Scene closes. | 


produce, 
By gods yelept anser, by mortals a goose. 


t Sophocles. 
— album mutor in alitem 


See nascunturque leves 
er digitos, humerosque plume. 


SCENE 


FROM A PLAY, ACTED AT OXFORD, CALLED 
‘* MATRICULATION."'* 


1834. 


{Boy discovered ata table. with the Thirty-nine 
Articles before him.—Enter the Rt. Rey. Dr. 
Ph—llp—ts. } 


Doctor P.—TukEre, my lad, lie the Ar- 
ticles—Boy begins to count them) 
just thirty-nine— [to sign. 

No occasion to count—you’ve now only 

At Cambridge, where folks are less 
High-church than we, 

The whole Nine-and-Thirty are lumped 
into Three. 

Let’s run o’er the items ;—there’s Justi- 
fication, 

Predestination and Supererogation, — 

Not forgetting Salvation and Creed Ath- 
anasian, { tification. 

Till we reach, at last, Queen Bess’s Ra- 

That’s suflicient—now, sign—having 
read quite enough, 

You ‘believe in the full and true mean- 
ing thereof ?”’ ( Boy stares.) 


Oh, a mere form of words, to make | 


things smooth and brief,— 
A commodious and short make-believe 
of belief, [form thus articular, 
Which our Church has drawn up, in a 
To keep out, in general, all who're par- 


ticular. [reading all through, 
But what’s the boy doing? what! 


And my luncheon fast cooling !—this 
never will do. 

Boy, (poring over the Articles.)\—Here 
are points which—pray, Doctor, 
what’s “Ἢ Grace of Congruity ?” 

Dr. P. (sharply.)\—Yow ll find out, 
young sir, when you’ve more in- 


genuity. 
At present, by signing, you pledge your- 
self merely, [cerely. 


Whate’er it may be, to believe it sin- 
Both in dining and signing we take the 
same plan— [as we can. 
First, swallow all down, then digest— 
Boy, (still reading.)—l’ve to gulp, I 
see, St. Athansius’s Creed, 
Which, I’m told, is a very tough morsel, 
As he damns— 


* “Tt appears that when a youth of fifteen 
goes to be matriculated at Oxford, and is re- 
quired first to subseribe Thirty-nine Articles 
of Religious Belief, this only means that he en- 
gages himself afterwards to understand what 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


[indeed ; | 


641 


Dr. P. (aside.)—Ay, and so would J, 
willingly, too, [like you. 

All confounded particular young boobies 
This comes of Reforming!—all’s o’er with 
our land, [ean’t understand ; 

When people won’t stand what they 
| Nor perceive that our ever-revered Thir- 
ty-Nine [to sign. 

Were made, not for men to believe, But 
[Exit Dr. P. in a passion, 


LATE TITHE CASE. 
“Sic vos non yvobis.” 


1833. 


“ The Vicar of B—mh—m desires me to state 

| that, in consequence of the passing of a recent ἡ 
Act of Parliament, he is compelled to adopt 
measures which may by some be considered 
harsh or precipitate ; but, in duty to what he 
owes to his successors, he feels bound to pre- 
serve the rights of the vicarage.”—Letter from 
Mr. S. Powell, August 6. 


No, not for yourselves, ye reverend men, 

Do you take one pig in every ten, 

But for Holy Church’s future heirs, 

Who've an abstract right to that pig, as 
theirs ;— 

The law supposing that such heirs male 

Are already seised of the pig, in tail. 

No, not for himself hath B—mh—m’s 
priest [fleeced : 

| His “ well-beloved” of their pennies 

But it is that, before his prescient eyes, 

All future Vicars of B—mh—m rise, 

With their embayo daughters, nephews, 
nieces, 

And ’tis for them the poor he fleeces. 

Ile heareth their voices, ages hence, 

Saying, “ Take the pig ’”’—‘“ oh take the 
ence 5” 

The cries of little Vicarial dears, 

The unborn B—mh——nites, reach his 
ears ; 

And, did he resist that soft appeal, 

He would not like a true-born Vicar 
feel. 


Thou, too, L—ndy of L—ck—ngt—n! 

A Rector true, if e’er there was one, 

Who, for sake of the L—ndies of com- 
ing ages, 


}is now above his comprehension ; that he ex- 
| presses no assent at all to what he signs; and 
| that he is (or, ought to be) at full liberty, when 
he has studied the subject, to withdraw his pro- 
| visional assent.""—Edinburgh Review, No.i20, 


642 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Gripest the tenth of laborers’ wages.* 
Tis true, in the pockets of thy small- 
clothes [pence goes ; 
The claim’d “obvention”t of fow- 
Butits abstract spirit, unconfined, 
Spreads to all future Rector-kind, 
Warning them allto their rights to wake, 
And rather to face the block, the stake, 
Than give up their darling right to take. 


One grain of musk, itis said, perfumes 

(So subtle its spirit) a thousand rooms, 

And a single four-pence, pocketed well, 

Through a thousand rectors’ lives will 
tell. 

Then still continue, ye reverend souls, 

And still as your rich Pactolus rolls, 

Grasp every penny on every side, 

From every wretch, to swell its tide: 

Remembering still what the Law lays 
down, 

In that pure poetic style of its own, 

“‘Tf the parson im esse submits to loss, 
he [ posse.” 

‘‘Inflicts the same on the parson im 


FOOL’S PARADISE. 
DREAM THE FIRST. 


I HAVE been, like Puck, I have been, in 
a trice, 
To a realm they call Fool’s Paradise, 
Lying N. N. E. of the Land of Sense, 
And seldom bless’d with a glimmer 
thence. [place, 
But they want it not in this happy 
Where a light of its own gilds every 
Or, if some weara shadowy brow, [face; 
his the wish to look wise,—not know- 
ing how. 
Self-glory glistens o’er all that’s there, 
The trees, the flowers have a jaunty air; 
The well-bred wind in a whisper blows, 
The snow, ifit snows, is couleur de rose, 
The falling founts in a titter fall, 
And the sun looks simpering down on all. 


Oh, ’tisn’t in tongue or pen to trace 
The scenes I saw in that joyous place. 
There were Lords and Ladies sitting to- 
gether, [ weather !— 
In converse sweet, “What charming 


* Fourteen agricultural laborers (one of 
whom received so little as six guineas for yearly 
wages, one eight, one nine, another ten guin- 
eas, and the best paid of the whole not more 
than 151. annually) were all, in the course of the 
autumn of 1832, served with demands of tithe 


“You'll all rejoice to hear, I’m sure, 
“‘Lord Charles has got a good sinecure ; 
“And the Premier says, my youngest 
brother [ere 
‘¢(Him in the Guards) shall have anoth- 
“Tsn’t this very, very gallant !— 
“¢ As for my poor old virgin aunt, 
‘Who has lost her al!, poor thing at 
whist, ΠΡ ἘΞ 
“We must quarter her on the Pension 
Thus smoothly time in that Eden roll’d; 
It seem’d like an Age of real gold, 
Where all who liked might have a slice, 
So rich was that Fool’s Paradise. 


But the sport at which most time they 
spent, 

Was a puppet-show, cali’d Parliament, 

Perform’d by wooden Ciceros, 

As large as life, who rose to prose, 

While, hid behind them, lords and 
squires, [wires ; 

Who own’d the puppets, pull’d the 

And thought it the very best device 

Of that most prosperous Paradise, [nose 

To make the vulgar pay through the 

For them and their wooden Ciceros. 


And many more such things I saw 

In this Eden of Church, and State, and 
Law ; 

For e’er were known such pleasant folk 

As those who had the best of the joke. 

There were Irish rectors, such as resort 

To Cheltenham yearly, to drink—port, 

And bumper, ‘‘ Long may the Chureh 
endure, 

“« May her cure of souls be asinecure, 

«And a score of Parsons to every soul— 

“¢ A moderate allowance on the whole.” 

There were Heads of Colleges, lying 
about, 

From which the sense had all run out, 

Even to the lowest classic lees, 

Till nothing was left but quantities ; 

Which made them heads most fit to be 

Stuck up on a University, 

Which yearly hatches, in its schools, 

Such flights of young Elysian fools. 

Thus all went on, so snug and nice, 

In this happiest possible Paradise. 

at the rate of 4d. in the 11. sterling, on behalf 


of the Rey. I. L—dy, Rector of , Coy 
&e.—Lhe Times, August, 1833. 


{One of the various general terms under 
which oblations, tithes, &c., are comprised. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


But plain it was to see, alas ! 

That a downfall soon must come to pass, 
For grief is a lot the good and wise 
Don’t quite so much monopolize, 

But that (‘‘lapt in Elysium” as they are) 
Eyen blessed fools must have their share. 
And so it happen’d:—but what befell, 
In Dream the Second I mean to tell, 


THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE ; 
OR, ONE POUND TWO. 


“T trust we shall part, as we met, in peace 
and charity. My last payment to you paid 
your salary up to the Ist of this month. Since 
that, [owe you for one month, which, being a 
long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as 
neur as I can calculate, to six pounds eight 
shillings. My steward returns you as a debtor 
to the amount of SEVEN POUNDS TEN SHILLINGS 
FOR CON-ACRE-GROUND, Which leaves some 
trifling balance in my favor."—Letter of Dis- 
missal from the Itev. Marcus Beresford to his 
Curate, the Rev. T. A. Lyons. 


THE account is balanced—the bill drawn 
out, — 

The debit and credit all right, no doubt— 
The Rector, rolling in wealth and state, 
Owes to his Curate six pound eight ; 
The Curate, that least well-fed of men, 
Owes to his Rector seven pound ten, 
Which maketh the balance clearly due 
From Curate to Rector, one pound two. 


Ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven ! 
But sure to be all set right in heaven, 
Where bills like these will be check’d, 
some day, 
And the balance settled the other way : 
Where Lyons the curate’s hard-wrung 
sum [come; 
* Will back to his shade with imterest 
And Marcus, the rector, deep may rue 
This tot, in his favor, of one pound two. 


> PADDY’S METAMORPHOSIS. * 
1833. 
Aout fifty years since, in the days of 
our daddies, 
That plan was commenced which 
> the wise now eran, [ Paddies, 
Of shipping off Ireland’s most turbulent 


As good raw materials for settlers, 
abroad. 


* T have already in a preceding page referred 
to this squib, as being one of those wrung from 


Ϊ 
᾿ 
Ἰ 


643 


Some West-Indian island, whose name 
I forget, [scheme so romantic ; 
Was the region then chosen for this 
And such the success the first colony 
met, 
That a second, soon after, set sail o’er 
th’ Atlantic. 


Behold them now safe at the long 
look’d-for shore, 
Sailing in between banks that the 
Shannon might greet, 
And thinking of friends whom, but two 
years before, [soon again meet. 
They had sorrow’d to lose, but would 


And, hark! from the shore a glad wel- 
come there came— 
“ Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, 
my sweet boy ?” [own name 
While Pat stood astounded, to hear his 
Thus hail’d by black devils, who ca- 
per’d for joy ! 


Can it possibly be ?—half amaze- 
ment—half doubt, [looks steady ; 
Pat listens again—rubs his eyes and 
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror 
yells out, 
**Good Lord ! only think—black and 
curly already !” 


Deceived by that well-mimick'd brogue 
in his ears, [wool-headed figures, 
Pat read his own doom in these 
And thought, what a climate, in less 
than two years, 
To turn a whole cargo of Pats into 
niggers ! 


MORAL. 


’Tis thus,—but alas!—by a marvel more 
true best stories,— 
Than is told in this rival of Ovid's 
Your Whigs, when in office a short year 
or two, [ Tories. 
By a lusus nature, all turn into 
And thus, when I hearthem “ strong 
measures ” advise, 
Ere the seats that they sit on have 
time to get steady, [eyes, 
Isay, while I listen, with tears in my 
‘Good Lord! only think,—black and 
curly already !” 


me by the Irish Coercion Act of my friends, the 
Whigs. 


044 


COCKER, ON CHURCH REFORM. 


FOUNDED UPON SOME LATE CALCULATIONS. 


1833. 
Fine figures of speech let your orators 
follow, [all hollow ; 


Old Cocker has figures that beat them 

Though famed for his rules Aristotle 
may be, 

In but halfof this Sage any merit I see, 

For, as honest Joe Hume says, the 
“ tottle ’’* for me! 


For instance, while others discuss and 
debate, 
It is thus about Bishops TJ ratiocinate. 


In England, where, spite of the infidel’s 
laughter, [ well after, 
"Tis certain our souls are look’d very 
Two Bishops can well (if judiciously 
sunder’d) { hundred, — 
Of parishes manage two thousand two 
Said number of parishes, under said 
teachers, [ creatures, — 
Containing three millions of Protestant 
So that each of said Bishops full ably 
controls {of souls. 
One million and five hundred thousands 
Andnow comes old Cocker. In Ireland, 
we're told, [tant fold ; 
Half a million includes the whole Protes- 
Tf, therefore, for three million souls ’tis 
conceded (needed, 
Two proper-sized Bishops are all that is 
"Tis plain, for the Irish half million who 
want ’em, [quantum. 
One third of one Bishop is just the right 
And thus, by old Cocker’s sublime Rule 
of Three, [to a Is 


The Irish Church question’s resolved | 


Keeping always that excellent maxim 
in view, [save money too. 
That, in saving men’s souls, we must 


Nay, if—as St. Roden complains is the 
case— Lapace, 
The half million of soul is decreasing 
The demand too, for bishop will also fall 
off, { enough. 
Till the tithe of one taken in kind, be 
But, as fractions imply that we’d have 
to dissect, [Lobject, 
And to cutting up Bishops I strongly 


*The total,—so pronounced by this indus- 
trious senator. 

| Corporation sole. 

t The materials of which those Nuremberg 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


We’ve a small, fractious prelate whom 
well we could spare, [to a hair; 
Who has just the same decimal worth, 
And, not to leave Ireland too much in 
the lurch, [her Church. 
We'll let her have Ex—t—r, sole,t as 


LES HOMMES AUTOMATES. 
1831." 

““We are persuaded that this our artificial 
man will not only walk and speak, and perform 
most of the outward functions of animal life, 
but (being wound up once a week) will per- 
haps reason as well as most of your country 
parsons.”—Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, 
chap. xii. 
Ir being an object now to meet 
With Parsons-that don’t want to eat, 
Fit men to fill those Irish rectories 
Which soon will have but scant refec- 

tories, 
It has been suggested, —lest that Church 
Should, all at once, be left in the lurch, 
For want of reverend men endued 
With this gift of ne’er requiring food,— 
To try, by way of experiment, whether 
There couldn't be made, of wood and 
leather, { Lical, ) 


| (Howe’er the notion may sound chimer- 


Jointed figures not lay,§ but clerical, 

Which, wound up carefully once a week, 

Might just like parsons look and speak, 

Nay even, if requisite, reason too, 

As well as most Ivish parsons do. 

Th’ experiment having succeeded quite, 

(Whereat those Lords must much delight, 

Who've shown, by stopping the Chureh’s 
food, ; 

They think it isn’t for her spiritual good 

To be served by parsons of flesh and 
blood, ) 

The Patentees of this new invention 

Beg leave respectfully to mention, 


They are now enabled to produce 


An ample supply, for present use, 
Of those reverend pieces of machinery, 


| Ready for vicarage, rectory, deaner 
« to} « ? 


Or any such-like post of skill 
That wood and leather are fit to fill. 


N. B.—In places addicted to arson, 

We can’t recommend a wooden parson : 
But, if the Church any such appoints, 
They’d better, at least, have iron joints. 


Savans, mentioned by Sceriblerus, constructed 
their artificial man. 

Ὁ Π 

The wooden models used by painters are, 
it is well known, ‘“‘lay figures.” 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


In parts, not much by Protestants 
haunted, 

A figure to look at’s all that’s wanted— 

A block in black, to eat and sleep, 

Which (now that the eating’s o’er) comes 
cheap. 

P. §.—Should the Lords, by way of a 

Permit the clergy again to eat, [πεν 

The Church will, of course, no longer 

Tmnitation-parsons that never feed; [need 

And these wood creatures of ours will sell 

For secular purposes just as well— 

Our Beresfords, turn’d to bludgeons 
stout, 

May, ’stead of beating their own about, 

Be knocking the brains of Papists out; 

While our smooth O’Sullivans, by all 
means, [chines. 

Should transmigrate into turning ma- 


HOW TO MAKE ONE’S 
PEER, 
ACCORDING TO THE NEWEST RECEIPT, AS DIS- 
CLOSED IN A LATE HERALDIC WORK.* 


SELF A 


CHoosE some title that’s dormant—the 
Peerage hath many— [any. 
Lord Baron of Shamdos sounds nobly as 
Next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct 
Peer, [year, 
And marry him off-hand in some given 


To the daughter of somebody,—no mat- | 


ter who, — [run, will do ; 
Fig, the grocer himself, if you’re hard 
Por, the Medici pills still in heraldry tell, 
And why shouldn’t lollypops quarter as 
well? [lord’s cousin, 


Thus, having your couple, and one a) 


Young materials for peers may be had 
by the dozen ; 

And ’tis hard if, inventing each small 
mother’s son of ‘em, 

You can’t somehow manage to prove 
yourself one of ’em. 

Should registers, deeds, and such mat- 
ters refractory, [tory, 

Stand in the way of this lord-manufac- 


I’ve merely to hint, as a secret auricular, | 


One grand rule of enterprise,—don't be 
particular. [ nobility, 

A man who once takes such a jump at 
Must not mince the matter, like folks of 
nihility, Ὁ L agility. 

But clear thick and thin with true lordly 
*The Claim to the barony of Chandos (if I 


recollect right) advanced by the late Sir 
Eg—r—t—n Br—d—s. 


645 


’Tis true, to a would-be descendant from 
Kings, (some things ; 
Parish-registers sometimes are trouble- 
As oft, when the vision is near brought 
about, { out; 

| Some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins 
ΠΟΥ some barber, Sarbane with my Lord 
mingles bloods, [ suds. 
And one’s patent of peerage is left in the 


But there are ways—when folks are re- 
solved to be lords— Lrecords: | 
Of expurging ev’n troublesome parish 
| What think ye of scissors ? depend on’t 
no heir [a pair, 
Of a Shamdos should go unsupplied with 
As, whate’er else the learn’d in such lore 
may invent, (descent. 
Your scissors does wonders in proving 
| Yes, poets may sing of those terrible 
shears (bumpkins and peers, 
|With which Atropos snips off both 
| But they’re naught to that weapon which 
shines in the hands 
Of some would-be Patrician, when 
proudly he stands [mal array, 
_O’er the careless churchwarden’s baptis- 
| And sweeps at each cut generations 
away, [ resisted ? 
By some babe of old times 1s his peerage 
One snip,—and the urchin hath never 
existed ! { Flood, interfere 
Does some marriage, in days near the 
With his one sublime object of being a 
Peer? {groom and bride,— 
Quick the sbears at once nullify bride- 
No such people have ever lived, married, 
or died ! 


Such the newest receipt for those high- 
minded elves, [of themselves. 
‘Who've a fancy for making great lords 
| Follow this, young aspirer, who pant’st 

for a peerage, [thy steerage, 
Take S—m for thy model and B—z for 
Do all and much worse than old Nicho- 

las Flam does, [on of Shamdos ? 
And—who knows but you'll be Lord Bar- 


THE DUKE IS THE LAD. 
Air —“ A master I have, and I am his man, 


Galloping dreary dun.’ ; 
Castle of Andalusia. 


Tur Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
Galloping, dreary duke ; 


| ** This we call pure nibility, or mere noth- 
ing.” — Watts's Logic. 


646 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The Duke is the lad to frighten a lass, 
He’s an ogre to meet, and the d—1 to 
pass, 
With his charger prancing, 
Grim eye glancing, 
Chin, like a Mufti, 
Grizzled and tufty, 
Galloping, dreary Duke. 


Ye misses, beware of the neighborhood 
Of this galloping, dreary Duke ; 
Avoid him, all who see no good 
In being run o’er by a Prince of the 
Blood. 
For, surely, no nymph is 
Fond of a grim phiz, 
And of the married, [ried 
Whole crowds have miscar- 
At sight of this dreary Duke. 


EPISTLE. 


FROM RASMUS ON EARTH TO CICERO IN THE 
SHADES. 
Southampton. 

As ’tis now, my dear Tully, some weeks 
since I started [we parted, 

By rail-road, for earth, having vow’d, ere 
To drop you a line, by the Dead. Letter 
post, Lof ghost, 

Just to say how I thrive, in my new line 
And how deucedly odd this live world 
all appears, [three hundred years, 

To a man who’s been dead now for 
I take up my pen, and, with news of 
this earth, [spleen and your mirth. 

Hope to waken, by turns, both your 


In my way to these shores, taking Italy 
first, [den should burst, 
Lest the change from Elysium too sud- 
I forgot not to visit those haunts where, 
of yore, [lore,* 
You tvok lessons from Peetus in cookery’s 
Turn’d aside from the calls of the ros- 
trum and Muse, [stews, 
To discuss the rich merits of rddis and 
And preferr’d to all honors of triumph 
or trophy, {little Sophy.t 
A supper on prawns with that rogue, 


Having dwelt on such classical musings 
awhile, [isle, 
[ set off, by a steamboat, for this happy 


* See his Letters to Friends, lib. ix. epist. 19, 
20, &c. 

+ Ingentium equillaram cum Sophia Septi- 
mivw.—Lib. ix. epist. 10 


(A conyayenee you ne’er, I think, sail’d 
by, my Tully, [ more ‘fully,) 

And therefore, per next, ΤΊ] describe it 
Having heard, on the way, what dis- 
tresses me greatly, [lately, 

That England’s o’errun by idolaters 
Stark, staring adorers of wood and of 
stone, [statue alone. 

Who will let neither stick, stock nor 
Such the sad news I heard from a tall 
man in black, [ing back, 

Who from sports continental was hurry- 
To look after his tithes ;—seeing, doubt- 
less, ’twould follow, [A pollo, 

That, just as, of old, your great idol, 
Devour’d all the Tenths,t so the idols in 
question, [equal digestion, 

These wood and stone gods, may have 
And th’ idolatrous crew, whom this Ree- 
tor despises, [izes. 

May eat up the tithe-pig, which he idol- 


London. 


Tis all but too true—grim Idolatry 
reigns, [and plains! 
In full pomp, over England’s lost cities 
On arriving just now, as my first thought 
and care [House of Prayer, 
Was, as usual, to seek out some near 
Some calm, holy spot, fit for Christians 
to pray on, [downright Pantheon ! 
I was shown to—what think you ?—a 
A grand, pillar’d temple, with niches 
and halls,§ [name St. Paul’s ;— 
Full of idols and gods, which they nick- 
Though ’tis clearly the place where the 
idolatrous crew, 
Whom the Rector complain’d of, their 
dark rites pursue ; 
’mong all the ‘‘strange gods” 
Abraham’s father carved out,]|| 
That he ever carved stranger than these 
I much doubt. 


And, 


Were it even, my dear TULLY, your 
Hebes and Graces, 

And such pretty things, that usurp’d the 

Saints’ places, [classic dome, 

Ι shouldn’t much mind,—for, in this 

Such folks from Olympus would feel 
quite at home. 

But the’ gods they’ve got here !—such a 
queer omniun gatherum 


+ Tithes were paid to the Pythian Apollo. 

§ See Dr. Wiseman’'s learned and able letter 
to Mir. Poynder. 

|| Joshua, xxiv. 2. 


"SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


OAT 


Of misbegot things, that no poet would 
᾿ father ’em ; 
Britannias, in light, summer-wear for 
the skies, — 
Old Thames, turn’d to stone, to his no 
small surprise,— [what's said, 
Father Nile, too,—a portrait, (in spite of 
‘That no mortal e’er yet got a glimpse of 
his head,)* [somewhat fat for’t, 
And a Ganges, which India would think 
Unless ’twas some full-grown Director 
had sat for’t;— [and Sphinxes, 
Not to mention th’ et ceeteras of Genii 
Fame, Victory, and other such semi-clad 
minxes ;— [idolized ; 
Sea Captains,t—the idols here most 
And of whom some, alas, might too well 
be comprised [cannon-ized ;— 
Among ready-made Saints, as they died 
With a multitude more of odd cockney- 
fied deities, [ing to see it ’tis ; 
Shrined in such pomp that quite shock- 
Nor know I what better the Rector 
could do [quadruped too ; 
Than to shrine there bis own beloved 
As most surely a tithe-pig, whate’er the 
world thinks, is [Sphinx is. 
A much fitter beast for a church than a 
But I'm call’d off to dinner—grace just 


has been said, (dead. 
And my host waits for nobody, living or 


LINES.+ 
ON THE DEPARTURE OF LORDS C—ST—R—GH 
AND ST—W—RIT FOR THE CONTINENT. 


At Paris§ et Fratres, et ΝῊ rapuére sub illis, 
Vix tenuére manus (scis hoc, Menelaé) nefan- 
das. Ovip, Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202, 


Go, Brothers in wisdom—go, bright pair 
of Peers, 
And may Cupid and Fame fan you 
both with their pinions ! 
The one, the best loyer we have—of his 
years, [tain’s dominions. 
And the other Prime Statesman of Bri- 


Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the 
smile {archs that prize thee ; 
Of the Misses that love, and the mon- 

* “Nee contigit ulli 
Hoe vidisse caput.” CLAUDIAN. 


t Captains Mosse, Riou, &e., &e. 

} This and the following squib, which must 
have been written about the year 1815-16, have 
been by some oversight misplaced. 

§ Ovid is mistaken in saying that it was 


.-ιιιιττ{ππΠ π΄ ῆῇῆΠ΄ΠῇΠ΄ΠὅὖῸὮὦἴἷἧῖἷἧΝ- 


Forget Mrs. Ang—lo T—yl—r awhile, 
And all tailors but him who so well 
dandifies thee. 


Never mind how thy juniors in gallantry 
scoff, (may thwart thee, 
Never heed how perverse aftidayits 
But show the young Misses thou’rt 
scholar enough [about forty ! 

To translate ‘‘ Amor Fortis” a love, 


And sure ’tis no wonder, when, fresh 
as young Mars, 
From the battle you came, with the 
Orders you'd earn’d in’t, 
That sweet Lady Fanny should ery out 
“Μη stars /”’ 
And forget that the Moon, too, was 
some way concern’d in’t. 


For not the great R—g—t himself has 
endured {and orders all shine, 
(Though I’ve seen him with badges 
Till he look’d like a house that was over 
insured) { than thine. 

A much heavier burden of glories 


And ’tis plain, when a wealthy young 
lady so mad is, 
Or any young lady can so go astray, 
As to marry old Dandies that might be 
their daddies, 
The stars|| are in fault, my Lord 
St—w—trt, not they ! 


Thou, too, t?other brother, thou Tully of 

Tories, [lips 

Thou Malaprop Cicero, over whose 

Such a smooth rigmarole about “ mon- 
archs,’’ and ‘ glories,” 

And ‘nullidge,”J and ‘* features,” 

like «ylabub slips. 


Go, haste, at the Congress pursue thy 
vocation [tional Debt of ours, 
Of adding fresh .sums to this Na- 
Leaguing with Kings, who, for mere 
recreation, 
Break promises, fast as your Lord- 
ship breaks metaphors. 
Fare ye well, fare ye well, bright Pair 
οἵ Peers, {with their pinions ! 
And may Cupidand Fame fan yeu both 
“αὐ Paris" these rapacious transactions took 
place—we should read “ at Vienna.” 
| “* When weak women go astray, 
The stars are more in fault than they.” 
{ It is thus the noble lord pronounces the 
word “ knowledge"—deriving it, as far as his 


own share is concerned, m the Latin, 
* nullus.”’ 


648 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The one, the best lover we have—of | But such hath always been the case— 


his years, 


{ Britain’s dominions. | For matchless impudence of face, 


And the other, Prime Statesman, of | There’s nothing like your Tory race !tt 


TO THE SHIP 


IN WHICH LORD C—ST—R—GH SAILED FOR 
THE CONTINENT. 
Imitated from Horace, lib. i., ode 3. 
So may my Lady’s prayers prevail,* 
And OC—nn—g’s too, and lucid 
Br—gege’s, 
And Eld—n beg a favoring gale 
From Holus, that older Bags,t 
To speed thee on thy destined way, 
Oh ship, that bear’st our C—st—r—gh,f 
Our gracious R—g—t’s better half, ὁ 
And, therefore, quarter of a King— 
(As Van, or any other calf, 
May find, without much figuring. ) 
Waft him, oh ye kindly breezes, 
Waft this Lord of piace and pelf, 
Anywhere his Lordship pleases, 
Though ’twere to Old Nick himself ! 


Oh, what a face of brass was his,]| 
Who first at Congress show’d his phiz— 
To sign away the Rights of Man [gle ; 
To Russian threats and Austrian jug- 
And leave the sinking African] 
To fall without one saving struggle— 
"Mong ministers from North and South, 
To show his lack of shame and sense, 
And hoist the sign of ‘“Bull and Mouth” 
For blunders and for eloquence ! 


In vain we wish our Secs. at home** 
To mind their papers, desks, and 
shelves, 
If silly Secs. abroad will roam, [selves. 
And make such noodles of them- 


i! Sie te Diva potens Cypri, 
Sie fratres Helens, lucida sidera, 
Ventorumque regat pater. 


+See a description of the acxor, or Bags of 
Eolus, in the Odyssey, lib. 10. 


t Navis, que tibi creditum 
Debes Virgilium. 

§ — Anim dimidium meum, 

ll Tli robur et «s triplex 


Cirea pectus erat, qui, &e. 


1 


preecipitem A fricum 
Decertantem Aquilonibus. 


ed Nequicquam Deus abscidit 


Prudens oceano dissociabili 
Terras, si tamen im pix 
Non tangenda Rates transiliunt vada. 


First, Pitt, {1 the chosen of England, 
taught her 
A taste for famine, fire, and slaughter. 


Then came the Doctor,§§ for our ease, 
With E—d—ns, Ch—th—ms, H—wk- 
And other deadly maladies. [—b—s, 
When each, in turn, had run their rigs, 
Necessity brought in the Whigs ;|||| 
And oh, I blush, 1 blush to say, _ [too, 
When these, in turn, were put to flight, 
Illustrious T—mMp—E flew away. 
With lots of pens he had no right to.4 7 
In short, what will not mortal man do?*** 
And now, that—strife and bloodshed 
past— { do, 
We’ve done on earth what harm we can 
We gravely take to Heaven at last, ttt 
And think its favorite smile to purchase 
(Oh Lord, good Lord!) by—building 
churches ! 


SKETCH OF ΤῊΝ FIRST ACT OF A 
NEW ROMANTIC DRAMA. 


‘« AND now,” quoth the goddess, in ac- 
cents jocose, [such a dose 
“Having got good materials, 111 brew 
“ Of Double X mischief as, mortals shall 
say, [ἃ long day.” 
‘‘They’ve not known its equal for many 
Here she wink’d to her subaltern imps 
to be steady, [and stood ready. 
And all wagg’d their fire-tipp’d tails 


“So, now for th’ ingredients :—first, 
hand me that bishop ;” [fish up, 
Whereon, a whole bevy of imps run to 


This last line, we may suppose, alludes to some 
distinguished Rats that attended the voyager. 
tt Audax omnia perpeti 
Gens ruit per vetitum nefas. 
Audax Japeti genus p . 
Ignem fraude mala gentibus intulit. 
Post 5 ὃ : : : 

5 den macies, et nova febrium 
Terris incubit cohors. 
tarda necessitas 

Lethi corripuit gradum. 
Expertus vacuum Deedalus aéra 
vennis non homini datis. 

“1 This alludes to the 1200/.worth of station- 
ery, which his Lordshipis suid to have ordered, 
when on the point of vacating his place. 

**£ Nilimortalibus arduum est. Ὁ 

tH Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia. 


nil 


From out ἃ large reservoir, wherein they | 
pen ’em, {venom ; 
The blackest of all its black dabblers in 
And wrapping him up (lest the virus 

should ooze, 
And one “ drop of th’ immortal’”* Right 
Rey.t they might lose) 
In the sheets of his own speeches, 
charges, reviews, {a burst 
Pop him into the caldron, while loudly 
From the by-standers welcomes ingre- 
dient the first ! 


“ΝΟΥ fetch the Ex-Chancellor,” mut- 
ter’d the dame— [by name.”’ 
“He who's call’d after Harry the Older, 
“The Ex-Chancellor !” echo’d her imps, 
the whole crew of ’em— 
“Why talk of one Ex, when your Mis- 
chief has two of ’em ?” 
“True, true,” said the hag, looking arch 
at her elves, {in themselves.” 
**And a double-Ex dose they compose, 
This joke, the sly meaning of which was 
seen lucidly, [cedly, 
Set all the devils a laughing most deu- 
So, in went the pair, and (what none 
thought surprising) [for rising ; 
Show’d talents for sinking as great as 
While not a grim phiz in that realm but 
was lighted [ed— 
With joy to see spirits so twin-like unit- 
Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of 
a feather, [ gether. 
In one mess of venom thus spitted to- 
Here a flashy imp rose—some connec- 
tion, no doubt, [scowling about, 
Of the young lord in question—and, 
“‘Hoped his fiery friend, St—nl—y, 
would not be left out ; 
“ΑΒ no schoolboy wnwhipp’d, the whole 
world must agree, 
“Loved mischief, pure mischief, more 
dearly than he.” 


But, no —the wise hag wouldn't hear of 
the whipster ; [eclipsed her, 
Not merely because, as a shrew, he 
And nature had given him, to keep him 
still young, [his tongue ; 
Much tongue in his head and no head in 
But because she well knew that, for 
change ever ready, [steady ; 
He’d not even to mischief keep properly 
That soon eyen the wrong side would 
cease to delight, 


* “To lose no drop of the immortal man.” 
* The present Bishon of Ex—t—r. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


649 


And, fur want of a change, he must 
swerve to the right ; 
While, on each, so at random his mis- 
siles he threw, {of the two,— 
That the side he attack’d was most safe 
This ingredient was therefore put by on 
the shelf, (itself, 
There to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by 
“And now,” quoth the hag, as her cald- 
ron she eyed, [side, 
And the titbits so friendlily rankling in- 
“There wants but some seasoning ;—so, 
come, ere I stew ’em, 
“ΒΥ way of a relish, we'll throw in ‘ -+- 
John Tuam.’ {or fish 
“In cooking up mischief, there’s no flesh 
‘Like your meddling High Priest, to 
add zesteto the dish.” [Lama— 
Thus saying, she pops in the Irish Grand 
Which great event ends the First Act of 
the Drama. 


ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 


THOUGH famed was Mesmer, in his day, 

Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet, 

To say nothing of all the wonders done 

By that wizard, Dr. Elliotson, 

When, standing as if the gods to invoke, 
he [Okey καὶ 

Up waves his arm, and—down drops 


Though strange these things, to mind 
and sense, [see— 

If you wish still stranger things to 
If you wish to know the power immense 
Of the true magnetic influence, 

Just go to her πὰ pei Treasury, 
And learn the wonders working there— 
And I'll be hang’d if you don’t stare ! 
Talk of your animal magnetists, 

And that wave of the hand no soul re- 
sists, 

Not all its witcheries can compete 

With the friendly beckon towards 
Downing Street, [wishes 

Which a Premier gives to one who 

To taste of the Treasury loaves and 
fishes. 

It actually lifts the lucky elf, 

Thus acted upon, above himself ;— 

He jumps to a state of clairvoyance, 

And is placeman, statesman, all, at 
once ! 


{The name of the heroine of the perform- 
ance at the North London Hospital. 


650 


These effects observe, (with which I 
begin, ) Lin, 
Take place when the patient’s motion’d 
Far different, of course, the mode of af- 
fection, [ out direction ; 
When the wave of the hand’s in the 
The effects being then extremely un- 
pleasant, [at present ; 
As is seen in the case of Lord B m, 
Tn whom this sort of manipulation 
Has lately produced such inflammation, 
Attended with constant irritation, 
That, in short—not to mince his situa- 
tion— [ tion 
It has work’d in the man a transforma- 
That puzzles all human calculation ! 


Ever since the fatal day which saw 

That ‘‘pass”* perform’d on this Lord of 
Law— 

A pass poteutial, none can doubt, 

As it sent Harry 
about— [ been 

The condition in which the patient has 

15 a thing quite awful to be seen. 

Not that a casual eye could scan 

This wondrous change by outward 


survey ; 

It being, in fact, th’ interior man 
That’s turn’d completely topsy- 
turvy :— [em, 


Like a case that lately, in reading o’er 
I found in the Acta Eruditorum, 
Of a man in whose inside, when disclos- 
ed, [transposed ;t 
The whole order of thin gs was found 
By a lusus nature, strange to see, [be, 
The liver placed where the heart should 
And the spleen (like B m’s, since 
laid on the shelf) {himself. 
As diseased and as much owt of place as 


In short, ’tis a case for consultation, 

Ife’er there was one, in this thinking na- 
tion 

And the oe I humbly beg to propose, 

That those savans who mean, as theru- 
nor goes, 

To sit on Miss Okey’s wonderful case, 

Should also Lord Harry’s case embrace ; 

And inform us, in both these patient’s 
states, 

Which ism it is that predominates, 


* The technical term for the movements of 
the magnetizer’s hand. 

Ϊ Omne 8 fere internas corporis partes inverso 
ordine sitas.—Act. Hrudit. 1690. 


MOORP’S WORKS. 


Whether magnetism and somnambulism, 
Or, simply and solely, mountebankism. 


THE SONG OF THE BOX. 


LeT History boast of her Romans and 

Spartans, [ranny’s shocks; 

And tell how they stood against ty- 

They were all, I confess, in my eye, 
Betty Martins, 

Compared to George Gr—te and his 
wonderful Box, 


Ask, where Liberty now has her seat ?— 
Oh, it isn’t [land’s rocks ;— 

By Delaware’s banks or on Switzer- 
Like an imp in some conjuror’s bottle 
imprison’d, [derful Box. 

She’s slyly shut up in Gr—te’s won- 


How snug !—’stead of floating through 
ether’s dominions, 
Blown this way and that, by the 
‘‘populi vox,” [pinions, 
To fold thus in silence her sinecure 
And go fast asleep in Gr—te’s won- 
derful Box. 


Time was, when free-speech was the 
life-breath of freedom— 
So thought once the Seldens, the 
Hampdens, the Lockes ; 
But mute be owr troops, when to am- 
bush we lead ’em, 
For “ Mum” is the word with us 
Knights of the Box. 


Pure, exquisite Box! no corruption can 
soil it ; [it unlocks ; 
There’s Otto of Rose, in each breath 
While Gr—te is the ‘ Betty,” that 
serves at the toilet, [his Box.t 

And breathes all Arabia around from 


Tis a singular fact, that the famed 
Hugo Grotius.§ [of Dutch stocks, ) 

(A namesake of Gr—te’s—being both 
Like Gr—te, too, a genius profound as 
precocious, {for a Box ;— 

Was also, like him, much renown’d 


An immortal old clothes-box, in which 
the great Grotius [ heterodox, 
When suffering, in prison, for views 


t And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
Povr’s Rape of the Lock. 
§ Groot, or Grote, Latinized into Grotius. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Was pack’d up incog., spite of jailers 
ferocious,* [in a Box! 
And sent to his wife,t carriage free, 


But the fame of old Hugo now rests on 
the shelf, [16] mocks ; — 

Since a rival hath risen that all paral- 
That Grotius ingloriously saved but him- 
self, {realm by a Box! 
While owrs saves the whole British 


And oh when, at last, even this great- 
est of Gr—tes {door knocks, 

Must bend to the power that at every 
May he drop in the um like his own 
“silent votes,” { Ballot-Box. 

And the tomb of his rest be a large 


While long at his shrine, both from 
cgunty and city, [ flocks, 

Shall pilgrims triennially gather in 
And sing, while they whimper, th’ ap- 
propriate ditty, [—in the Box.” 

“Oh breathe not his name, let it sleep 


ANNOUNCEMENT OF A NEW 
THALABA. 


ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. 


WHEN erst, my Southey, thy tuneful 
tongue 

The terrible tale of Thalaba sung— 

Of him, the Destroyer, doom’d to rout 

That grim divan of conjurors out, 

Whose dwelling dark, as legends say, 

Beneath the roots of the ocean lay, 

place for deep ones, such as they,) 

ow little thou Ikmew’st, dear Dr. 

Southey, 

Although bright genius all allow thee, 

That, some years thence, thy wond’ring 
eyes 

Should see a second Thalaba rise— 

As ripe for ruinous rigs as thine, 

Though his havoc lies in a different line, 

And should find this new, improved 
Destroyer 

Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer; 


: 7 el 
* For the particulars of this escape of Grotius 


from the Castle of Louvenstein, by means of a 
box (only three feet and a half long, it is said) 
in which books used to be occasionally sent to 
him and fonl linen returneé, see any of the 
Biographical Dictionaries. 

| This is not quite according to the facts of 
the case; his wife having been the contriver of 
the stratagem, and remained in the prison her- 
self to give him time for escape. 


| To say that ours and 


A sort of an “ alien,” alias man, 
Whose country or party guess who can, 
Being Cockney half, half Jonathan; [er, 
And his life, to make the thing pre 
Being all in the genuine Thalaba metre, 
Loose and irregular, as thy feet are ;— 
First, into Whig Pindarics rambling. 
Then in low Tory doggrel scrambling ; 

| Now love his theme, now Church his 

glory, 

| (At once both Tory and ama-tory,) 
Now in th’ Old Bailey-lay meandering, 

| Now in soft couplet style philandering ; 

| And, lastly, in aa Alexandrine, 

| Dragging his wounded length along,§ 

| When scourged by Holland’s silken 

thong. 


| In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Sec- 
ond {reckon’d ; 
|May fairly a match for the First be 
Save that your Thalaba’s talent lay 

In sweeping old conjurors clean away, 

| While ours at aldermen deals his blows, 
‘(Who no great conjurors are, God 

knows, ) 
Lays Corporations, by wholesale, level, 
/Sends Acts of Parliament to the devil, 
| Bullies the whole Milesian race— 
Seven millions of Paddies, face to face; 
Aud, seizing that magic wand, himself, 
| Which erst thy conjurors left on the 
shelf, [Liffey 
Transforms the boys of the Boyne and 
All into foreigners, in a jiffey— 
Aliens, outcasts, every soul of ’em, 
Born but for whips and chains, the 
whole of ’em! 


Never, in short, did parallel 
Betwixt two heroes gee so well ; 
And, among the points in which they fit, 
| There’s one, dear Bob, I can’t omit. 
| That hacking, hectoring blade of thine 
| Dealt much in the Domdaniel line ἢ} 
And ’tis but rene Oe ae due, 
is Tory crew 
Damn Daniel most devoutly too, 


t Pallida Mors equo pulsat pede, &o.— 
HORAtT. 
§ ‘A needless Alexandrine ends the song 
That, like @ wounded snake, drags its 
slow length along.” 


Π “ Vain are the spells, the Destroyer 
Treads the Domdaniel floor.” 
Thalaba, a Metrical Romance. 


652 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


RIVAL TOPICS.* 
AN EXTRAVAGANZA. 


On W—ll—ngt—n and Stephenson, 

Oh morn and evening papers, : 
Times, Herald, Courier, Globe and Sun, 
When will ye rouse our ears to stun 

With these two heroes’ capers ? 

Still ‘‘Stephenson” and ‘* W—ll—ng- 

The everlasting two !— [t—n,” 
Still doom’d, from rise to set of sun, 

To hear what mischief one has done, 

And t’other means to do :— 

What bills the banker pass’d to friends, 

But never meant to pay ; 

What Bills the other wight intends 

As honest, in their way ;— 
Bills, payable at distant sight, 

Beyond the Grecian kalends, 

When all good deeds will come to light, 
When W—ll—ngt—n will do what’s 


right, 
And Rowland pay his balance. 


To catch the banker all have sought, 
But still the rogue unhurt is ; 

While tother juggler —who'd have 

thought ? [caught 

Though slippery long, has just been 
By old Archbishop Curtis ;— 

And, such the power of papal crook, 
The crosier scarce had quiver’d 

About his ears, when, lo, the Duke 
Was of a Bull deliver’d ! 


Sir Richard Birnie doth decide 
That Rowland ‘‘ must be mad,” 
In private coach, with crest, to ride, 
When chaises could be had. 

And t’other hero, all agree, 
St. Luke’s will soon arrive at, 
If thus he shows off publicly, 
When he might pass in private. 


Oh W—1ll—ngt—n, oh Stephenson, 
Ye ever-boring pair, 

Where’er I sit, or stand, or run, 
Ye haunt me everywhere. 

Though Job had patience tough enough, 
Such duplicates would try it ; 

Till one’s turn’d out and t’other off, 
We shan’t have peace or quiet. 

But, small’s the chance that Law af- 
Some folks are daily let off; [fords— 

And,’twixt th’ Old Bailey and the Lords, 
They both, I fear, will get off. 


* The date of this squib must have been, I 
think, about 1828-9. 


THE- BOY STATESMAN. 
BY A TORY. 
| “ That boy will be the death of me.” 
Mathews at Home. 
AH, Tories dear, our ruin is near, 
With St—nl-y to help us, we can’t 
but fall ; 
Already a warning voice I hear, 
Like the late Charles Mathews’ eroak in 
my ear, [of you all.” 
“That boy—that boy’ll be the death 
He will, God help us !—not even Scerib- 
lerius [could be ; 
In the ‘‘ Art of Sinking” his match 
And our case is growing exceeding seri- 
ous, 
For, all beingin the same boat as he, 
If down my Lord goes, down go we, 
Lord Baron St—nl—y and Company, 
As deep in Oblivion’s swamp below 
Assuch “ Masters Shallow” well could 
£0; [high, 
And where we shall all, both low and 
Embalm’d in mud, as forgotten lie 
As already doth Gr—h—m of Netherby! 
But that boy, that boy !—there’s a tale 
I know, 
Which in talking of him comes ἃ propos. 
Sir Thomas More had an only son, 
And a foolish lad was that only one, 
And Sir Thomas said, one day, to his 
wife, 
“My dear, I can’t but wish you joy, 
‘Por you pray’d for a boy, and you now 
have a boy, [his life.” 
‘Who'll continue a boy to the end of 


Even such is our own distressing lot, 

With the ever-young statesman we haye 
got ;— 

Nay even still worse ; for Master More 

Wasn’t more a youth than he’d been 
before, 

While ours such power of boyhood 
shows, [nile he grows, 

That, the older he gets, the more juve- 

And, at what extreme old age he’ll close 

His schoolboy course, heayen only 
knows ;— [far, 

Some century hence, should he reach so 

And ourselves to witness it heaven 

condemn, 

We shall find him a sort of eub Old Parr, 

A whipper-snapper Methusalem ; 

Nay, evn should he make still longer 
stay of it, [day of it! 

The boy’ll want judgment, ev’n to the 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Meanwhile, ’tis a serious, sad infliction ; 
And, day and night, with awe I recall 
The late Mr. Mathews’ solemn predic- 
tion, [οἵ you all.” 
““That boy’ll be the death, the death 


LETTER 


Prom LARRY O’BRANIGAN TO THE REV. MUR- 
TAGH O MULLIGAN, 

ARRAH, where were you, Murthagh, that 
beautiful day ?— [laid on the shelf, 
Or, how came it your riverence was 
When that poor craythur, Bobby—as 
you were away— [οἵ himself. 
Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool 


Throth, it wasn’t at all civil to lave in 
the lurch [affection ;— 

A boy so desarving your tindh’rest 
Two such iligant Siamase twins of the 
Church, {the connection. 

As Bob and yourself, ne’er should cut 


Ifthus in two different directions you 
pull, [and your riverend brother 
Faith, they’ll swear that yourself 
Are like those quare foxes, in Gregory’s 
Bull, [ while they look’d another!* 
Whose tails were join’d one way, 


Och bless’d be he, whosomdeyer he be, 
That help’d soft Magee to that Bull of 
a Letther ! [times make free 
Not evn my own self, though I some- 
At such bull-manufacture, could make 
him a betther. 


To be sure, when a lad takes to forgin’, 
this way, [on gayly ; 


’Tis a thrick he’s much timpted to carry | 


Till, at last, ‘‘injanious devices,” some 
day 
Show him up, not at Exether Hall, but 


That parsons should forge thus appears 
mighty odd, 
And (as if somethin’ “odd” in their 
names, too, must be, ) 


* You will increase the enmity with which 
they are regarded by their associates in her- 
esy, thus tying these foxes by the tails, that 
their faces may tend in opposite directions.’’— 
Bon’s Bull, read at Exeter Hall, July 14 

t‘‘An ingenious device of my learned 
friend."'—Bon’s Letter to Standard. 

1 Had I consulted only my own wishes, I 
should not have allowed this hasty attack on 
Dr. ‘Todd to have made its appearance in this 
Collection ; being now fully conyinced that the 


653 


One forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, 
While a riverend Todd’s now his 
match, to a T.t 


But, no matther who did it—all blessins 
betide him, {nate ; 
For dishin’ up Bob in a manner so 
And there wanted but you, Murthagh 
’vourneen, beside him, 
To make the whole grand dish of bull- 
calf complate. 


MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED 


{th’ Ould Bailey. | 


PEER. " 

_ OF all the odd plans of this monstrously 
ueer age, [age ;— 
|The oddest is that of reforming the peer- 
Just as if we, great dons, with a title 
and star, [are, 
Did not get on exceedingly well, as we 
| And perform all the functions of noodles, 
by birth, (earth. 
As completely as any born noodles on 


How acres descend, is in law-books-dis- 
play’d, [made ; 

But we as twiseacres descend, ready 
And, by right of our rank in Debrett’s 
nomenclature, [ture ;— 

Are, all of us, born legislators by na- 
Like ducklings, to water instinctively 
taking, (making ; 

| So we, with like quackery, take to law- 
And God forbid any reform should come 
o’er us, [were before us, 

|To make us more wise than our sires 


| Th’ Egyptians of old the same policy 
knew— [cook too: 
If your sire was a cook, you must be a 
| Thus making, from father to son, a good 
trade of it, (said of it, ) 
Poisoners by right, (so no more could be 
| The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty 
mess made of it; 
While, famed for conservative stomachs, 
th’ Egyptians [ seriptions. 
Without a wry face bolted all the pre- 


charge brought against that reverend frentle- 

‘man of intending to pass off as genuine his 
famous mock Papal Letter was altogether un- 
| founded. Finding it to be the wish, however, 
| of my reverend friend—as I am now glad to 
| be permitted to call him—that both the wrong 
/and the reparation, the Ode and the Palinode, 
| should be thus placed in juxtaposition, I have 
| thought it but due to him to comply with his 
‘ request. 


654 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


It is true, we’ve among us some peers of 
the past, [awfully fast— 
Who keep pace with the present most 
Fruits, that ripen beneath the new light 
now arising { surprising, 
With speed that to ws, old conserves, is 
Conserves, in whom—potted, for grand- 
mamma uses— [juices. 
’T would puzzle a sunbeam to find any 
’Tis true, too, I fear, midst the general 
movement, [to improvement, 
Ev’n our House, God help it, is doom’d 
And all its live furniture, nobly de- 
scended, 
But sadly worn out, must be sent to be 
With moveables ’mong us, like Br 
and like D—rh—m, [bestir ’em; 
No wonder ey’n jiztwres should learn to 
And, distant, ye gods, be that terrible 
day, [pastime, they say, 
When—as playful Old Nick, for his 
Flies off with old houses, sometimes, in 
a storm— [by Reform ; 
So ours may be whipp’d off, some night, 
And, as up, like Loretto’s famed house, * 
through the air, {shall bear, 
Not angels, but devils, our lordships 
Grim, radical phizzes, unused to the 
sky, [ “‘ good-by,” 
Shall flit round, like cherubs, to wish us 
While, perch’d up on clouds, little imps 
of plebeians, [lo Peeans. 
Small Grotes and O’Connels, shall sing 


THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER. 
A ROMANTIC BALLAD. 
On, have you heard what happ’d of late ? 
If not, come lend an ear, 
While sad I state the piteous fate 
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer. 


All praised his skilful jockeyship, 
Loud rung the Tory cheer, 

While away, away, with spur and whip, 
Went the Reverend Pamphleteer. 


The nag he rode—how could it err? 
’T was the same that took, last year, 
That wonderful jump to Exeter 
With the Reverend Pamphleteer. 


Set a beggar on horseback, wise men 
The course he will take is clear ; [say, 
And in that direction lay the way 
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer, 
*The Casa Santa, supposed to have been 


carried by angels through the air from Galilee 
to Italy. 


[mended. | 


= | Whether he tripp’d or shy’d thereat, 


“«Stop, stop,” said Truth, but vain her 
Left far away in the rear, Lery— 

She heard but the usual gay ‘ Good-by” 
From her faithless Pamphleteer. 

You may talk of the jumps of Homer’s 

gods, 

When cantering o’er our sphere— 

I’d back for a bounce, ’gainst any odds, 
This Reverend Pamphleteer. 


But ah, what tumbles a jockey hath! 
In the midst of his career, 

A file of the Times lay right in the path 
Of the headlong Pamphleteer. 


Doth not so clear appear: 
But down he came, as his sermons flat— 
This reverend Pamphleteer! 


Lord King himself could scarce desire 
To see a spiritual Peer [mire, 

Fall much more dead, in the dirt and 
Than did this Pamphleteer. 


Yet pitying parsons, many a day, 
Shall visit his silent bier, [say, 
And, thinking the while of Stanhope, 
“Poor dear old Pamphleteer ! 


“ He has finish’d, at last, his busy span, 
“ And now lies coolly here — 

“As often he did in life, good man, 
‘Good, Reverend Pamphleteer !” 


A RECENT DIALOGUE. 
1825, 


A Bisnop and a bold dragoon, 
Both heroes in their way, 

Did thus, of late, one afternoon, 
Unto each other say ;— 

“Dear bishop,” quoth the brave hussar, 
“ΑΒ nobody denies 


|“ That you a wise logician are, 


«ς And I am—otherwise, 
‘Nis fit that in this question, we 
“ Stick each to his own art— 
“That yours should be the sophistry, 
“ And mine the jighting part. 
“My creed, I need not tell you, is 
“Like that of W n, 
“To whom no harlot comes amiss, 
“‘Save her of Babylon ;t 
“¢ And when we’re at a loss for words, 
‘Tf laughing reasoners flout us, 


t Cui nulla meretrix displicuit preeter Baby- 


lonicam. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


“For lack of sense we'll draw our 
swords— 

“The sole thing sharp about us.”— 

“‘Dear bold dragoon,” the bishop said, 
“Tis true for war thou art meant ; 

** And reasoning—bless that dandy head! | 
“ΤΆ not in thy department. 

“So leave the argument to me— 
** And, when my holy labor 

“ Hath lit the fires of bigotry, 
“Thou lt poke them with thy sabre. 

** From pulpit and from sentry-box, 
‘We'll make our joint attacks, 

“Τ at the head of my Cassocks, 
“ And you of your Cossacks. 

“850 here's your health, my brave hussar, 
“ My exquisite old fighter— 

**Suecess to bigotry and war, 
“The musket and the mitre 

’ Thus pray’d the minister of heaven— 
While Y—k, just entering then, 

Snored out, (as if some Clerk had given 
His nose the cue,) “Amen.” TT. B. 


” 


THE WELLINGTON SPA 


« And drink oblivion to our woes.” 
ANNA MATILDA. | 


1829. 
TALK no more of your Cheltenham and 
Harrow gate springs, 
’Tis from Lethe we now our potations 


must draw ; (things, 
Your Lethe’s a cure for—all possible 
And the doctors have named it the 


Wellington Spa. 


Other physical waters but cure you in 
part ; [your digestion— 

One cobbles your gout—t other mends 
Some settle your stomachs, but this— 
bless your heart!— [Question. 

It will settle, forever, your Catholic 


Unlike, too, the potions in fashion at 
present, (stealth, 

This Wellington nostrum, restoring by 
So purges the mem’ry of all that’s un- 
pleasant, {rude health. 

That patients forget themselves into 


For instance, th’ inventor—his having 
once said [any one’s call, 
“6 should think himself mad, if, at 


* The only parallel I know to this sort of ob- 
livion is to be found in a line of the late Mr. R. 
P. Knight. 

“The pleasing memory of things forgot.” 


655 
“He became what he is”—is so purged 
from his head, {man at all. 

That he now doesn’t think he’s a mad- 


Of course, for your memrries of very 

long standing— [undaunted, 

Old chronic diseases, that date back 

To Brian Boroo and Fitz-Stephens’ first 
landing— 

A dey’l ofa dose of the Lethe is wanted. 


But ev’n Ivish patients can hardly regret 

An oblivion, so much in their own na- 

tive style, [they forget, 

So conveniently plann’d, that, whate’er 

They may go on rememb’ring it still, 
all the while !* 


A CHARACTER, 

1834. 

HALF Whig, half Tory, like those mid- 
way things, [have wings ; 
’Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake 
A mongrel Statesman, ’twixt two fac- 
tions nursed, {the worst— 

Who, of the faults of each, combines 
The Tory’s loftiness, the Whigling’s 
sneer, [fear ; 

The leveller’s rashness, and the bigot’s 
The thirst for meddling, restless still to 
show (Whigs, will go; 

How Freedom’s clock, repair’d by 
Th’ alarm when others, more sincere 
than they, (day. 
Advance the hands to the true time of 


By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty 
dame, [fame ; 
The boy was dandled, in his dawn of 
List’ning, she smiled, and bless’d the 
flippant tongue [hung. 
On which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs 
Ah, who shall paint the grandam’s grim 
dismay, [away ; 
When loose Reform enticed her boy 
When, shock'd, she heard him ape the 
rabble’s tone, ΠΩ 
And, in Old Sarum’s fate, foredoom her 
Groaning she cried, while tears roll’d 
down her cheeks, 
“« Poor, glib-tongued youth, he means 
not what he speaks. [ flow, 
“ Like oil at top, these Whig professions 
‘« But, pure as raph runs Toryism be- 
low. [in the race, 
“Alas, that tongue should start thus, 


656 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


“‘Hre mind can reach and regulate its 
pace !— [lagging mind, 
“For, once outstripp’d by tongue, poor, 
“ At every step, still further limps be- 
hind. { wandering be, 
“But, bless the boy !—whate’er his 
“Still turns his heart to Toryism and 
me. [ Dante’s lay, ἢ 
“Tike those odd shapes, portray’d in 
“With heads fix’d on, the wrong and 
backward way, [ track, 
“His feet and eyes pursue a diverse 
‘© While those march onward, these look 
fondly back.” [the day, 
And well she knew him—vwell foresaw 
Which now hath come, when snatch’d 
from Whigs away, [he wore, 
The self-same cbhangeling dropsthe mask 
And rests, restor’d, in granny’s arms 
once more. 


But whither now, mix’d brood of mod- 
ern light [thy flight ? 


And ancient darkness, canst thou bend | 


Tried by both factions, and to neither 
» true, [by the new ; 
Fear’d by the old school, laugh’d at 
For this too feeble, and for thattoo rash, 
This wanting more of fire, that less of 
flash ; 
Lone shalt thou stand, in isolation cold, 
Betwixt two worlds, the new one and 
the old, [which the eye 
A small and ‘ yex’d Bermoothes,” 
Of peoutaous seaman sees—and passes 
Ve 


A GHOST STORY. 


TO THE AIR OF ‘*‘ UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY.”’ 
1835. 
Nor long in bed had L—ndh—rst lain, 
When, as his lamp burn’d dimly, 
The ghosts of corporate bodies slain, t 
Stood by his bedside grimly. 
Dead aldermen, who once could feast, 
But now, themselves, are fed on, 
And skeletons of mayors deceased, 
This doleful chorus led on :-— 
“Oh, Lord L—ndh—trst, 
“Unmerciful Lord L—ndh—tst, 


“* Corpses we, 
me “Che dalle reni era tornato Ἷ volto, 
ἘΣ indietro venir li convenia, 
Perihé Ἵ veder dinanzi era lor tolto.” | 
1 Referring to the line taken by Lord L—nd- 
h—rst, on the question of Municipal Reform. 


“ All burk’d by the, 
“ Unmerciful Lord L—ndh—rst "ἢ 


“ Avaunt, ye frights!” his Lordship 
cried, 
“Ye look most glum and whitely.” 
‘* Ah, L—ndh—tst, dear!” the frights 
replied, 
““You’ve used us unpolitely, 
“And now, ungrateful man! to drive 
“ Dead bodies from your door so, 
“ Who quite corrupt enough, alive, [so. 
“You've made, by death, still more 
“Oh, Ex-Chancellor, 
“Destructive Ex-Chancellor, 
«See thy work, 
“Thou second Burke, : 
“Destructive Ex-Chancellor !” 


Bold L—ndh—rst then, whom naught 
could keep 
Awake, or surely that would, 
Cried “Curse you all!”’—fell fast 
asleep— 
And dreamt of ‘Small v. Attwood.” 
While, shock’d, the bodies flew down 
But, courteous in their panie, [stairs, 
Precedence gave to ghosts of mayors, 
And corpses aldermanic, 
Crying, ‘‘ Oh, Lord L—ndh—rst, 
“That terrible Lord L—ndh—tst, 
* Not old Serateh 
“ Himself could match 
“ That terrible Lord L—ndh—rst "ἢ 


THOUGHTS 


ON THE LATE DESTRUCTIVE PROPOSI- 
TIONS OF THE TORIES.t 


BY A COMMON-COUNCILMAN. 
1835. 
I sAT ine down in my easy chair, 
To read, as usual, the morning pa- 
ers ; [despair, 
But—who shall describe my look of 
When I came to Lefroy’s ‘ destruct- 
ive” capers ! 
That he—that, of all live men, Lefroy 
Should join in the ery, ‘‘ Destroy, de- 
stroy !” [said, 
Who, ev’n when a babe, as I’ve heard 
On Orange conserve was chiefly fed, 


1 These verses were written in reference to 
the Bil brought in at this time, for the reform 
of Corporations, and the sweeping amendments 
proposed by Lord Lyndhurst and other Tory 
Peers, in order to obstruct the measure. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


657 


And never, till now, a movement made 
That wasn’t most manfully retrograde ! 


Only think—to sweep from the light of 


da, 
Mayors ΞΟ criers, and wigs away ; 
To annihilate—never to rise again— 
A whole generation of aldermen, 
Nor leave them ey’n th’ accustom’d tolls, 
To keep together their bodies and 


souls !— 
At a time, too, when snug posts and 
places 


Are falling away from us one by one, 
Crash—crash—like the mummy-cases 
Belzoni, in Egypt, sat upon, 
Wherein lay pickled, in state sublime, 
Conservatives of the ancient time ;— 
To choose such a moment to overset 
The few snug nuisances left us yet; 
To add to the ruin that round us reigns, 
By knocking out mayors’ and tewn- 
clerks’ brains ; 
By dooming all corporate bodies to fall, 
Till they leave, at last, no bodies at all— 
Naught but the ghosts of by-gone glory, 
Wrecks of a world that once was Tory ! 
Where pensive criers, like owls unblest, 
Robb’d of their roosts, shall still hoot 
o'er them ! [a nest, 
Nor mayors sball know where to seek 
Till Gally Knight shall jind one for 
them ;— {’em, 
Till mayors and kings, with none to rue 
Shall perish all in one common plague; 
And the sovereigns of Belfast and Tuam 
Must join their brother, Charles Dix, 
at Prague. 


Thus mused I, in my chair, alone, 
(As above described, ) till dozy grown, 
And nodding assent to my own opinions, 
I found myself borne to sleep’s dominions, 
Where, lo, before my dreaming eyes, 
A new House of Commons appear’d to 
rise, ἢ 
Whose living contents, to fancy’s sur- 
Seem’d to me all turn’d topsy-turvy— 
A jumble of polypi—nobody knew 
Which was the head or which the queue. 
Here, Inglis, turn’d to a sans-culotte, 
Was dancing the hays with Hume and 
Grote ; 
T here, ripe for riot, Recorder Shaw 
Was learning from Roebuck “Ὁ (a-ira ;” 


* A term formed on the model of the Masto- 
don, &c. 


While Stanley and Graham, as poissarde 
wenches, [es ; 
‘Scream’d “ ἃ bas!” from the Tory bench- 
| And Peel and O'Connell, cheek by jow], 
Were dancing an Irish carmagnole. 


The Lord preserve us !—if dreams come 
| What is this hapless realm to do? [true, 


ANTICIPATED MEETING 
OF THE 

BRITISH ASSOCIATION IN THE YEAR 
2836. 


1836. 
AFTER some observations from Dr, 
Μ᾿ απ (Wig, 
On that fossile reliquum call’d Petrified 
Or Perruquolithus—a specimen rare 
Of those wigs, made for antediluvian 
wear, {out turning a hair— 
| Which, it seems, stood the Flood with- 
| Mr. Tomkins rose up, and requested at- 
tention [to mention. 
| To facts no less wondrous which he had 


|Some large fossil creatures had lately 


| 
| 
| 


| been found [ground, 
Of a species no longer now seen above 
|But the same (as to Tomkins most 


clearly appears) [dreds of years, 
| With those animals, lost now for hun- 
Which our ancestors used to call ‘* Bish- 
ops” and ‘ Peers,” 
| But which Tomkins more erudite names 
has bestow’d on, [tocratodon,* 
Having call’d the Peer fossil th’ Aris- 
And, finding much food under t’other 
one’s thorax, [pus Vorax. 
Has christen’d that creature th’ Episco- 


Lest the savantes and dandies should 
think this all fable, [the table, 
|Mr. Tomkins most kindly produced on 
A sample of each of these species of 
creatures, [features, 
Both tol’rably human, in structure and 
Except that th’ Episcopus seems, Lord 
deliver us! (nivorous ; 
To’ve been carnivorous as well as gra- 
And Tomkins, on searching its stomach, 
found there {could bear, 
Large lumps, such as no modern stomach 
Of a substance call’d Tithe, upon which, 
as ‘tis said, 
The whole Genus Clericum formerly fed ; 


And which haying lately himself decom- 


ally found it 


pounded, " J 
twas made of, he actu- 


| Just to see what 


658 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Se ee τε τον τοῦ ΡΣ 


Composed of all possible cookable things 
That e’er tripp’d upon trotters or soar’d 
upon wings— [herbaceous, 
All products of earth, both gramineous, 
Hordeaceous, fabaceous, and eke farina- 
ceous, [oesophagus 
All clubbing their quotas to glut the 
Of this ever greedy and grasping Titho- 
phagus. * [kind dispensation 
“« Admire,” exclaim’d Tomkins, “ the 
“ By Providence shed on this much-fa- 
vor'd nation, [ the earth, 
ἐς ΤῊ sweeping so ravenous a race from 
“That might else have occasion’d ες 
general dearth— 

* And thus burying ’em, deep as even 
Joe Hume would sink ’em, 
“‘With the Ichthyosaurus and Paleo- 

rynchum, 
“And other queer ci-devant things, un- 
der ground— [so ΤΟ ΠΟΥ ΠΩ͂, 
“Not forgetting that fossilized youth,t 
“ Who lived just to witness the Deluge 
—was gratified 
“Much by the sight, and has since been 
found stratified /” 


This picturesque touch—quite in Tom- 
kins’s way— [hurrah ; 
Call’d forth from the savantes a general 
While inquiries among them went rap- 
idly round, [could be found. 
As to where this young stratified man 
The “learn’d Theban’s” discourse next 
as livelily flow’d on, [todon— 
To sketch t’other wonder, th’ Aristocra- 
An animal, differing from most human 
creatures [or features, 
Not so much in speech, inward structure, 
As in having a certain excrescence, T. 
said, [its head, 
Which in form of a coronet grew from 
And devolved to its heirs, when the 
creature was dead ; 
Normatter’d it, while this heir-loom was 
transmitted, [net fitted. 
How unfit were the heads, so the coro- 
He then mention’d a strange zovlogical 
fact, [applause to attract. 
Whose announcement appear’d much 
In France, said the learned professor, 
this race 
Had so noxious become, in some centu- 
ries’ space, 
. 
* The zoological term for a tithe-eater. 


+The man found by Scheuchzer, and sup- 
posed by him to haye witnessed the Deluge, 


From their numbers and strength, that 
the land was o’errun with ’em, 

Every one’s question being, ‘‘What’s to 
be done with ’em ?” 

When, lo! certain knowing ones—sa- 
vans, mayhap, 

Who, like Buckland’s deep followers, 
understood trap,t 

Slyly hinted that naught upon earth was 
so good, [rude, 

For Aristocratodons, when rampant and 

As to stop, or curtail, their allowance of 
food. {affords 

This expedient was tried, and a proof it 

Of th’ effect that short commons will 
have upon lords ; 

For this whole race of bipeds, one fine 
summer’s morn, 

Shed their coronets, just as a deer sheds 
his horn, [they became 

And the moment these gew-gaws fell off, 

Quite a new sort of creature—so harm- 
less and tame, [maintain ’em 

That zoologists might, for the first time, 

To be near akin to the genus humanun, 

And th’ experiment, tried so success-' 
fully then, [wanted again. 

Should be kept in remembrance, when 

* * * * * 


SONGS OF THE CHURCH. 
Now 1. 
LEAVE ME ALONE. 
A PASTORAL BALLAD. 


“We are ever standing on the defensive. All 
that we say to them is, ‘leave ws alone.’ The 
Established Church is part and parcel of the 
constitution of this country. You are bound to 
conform to this constitution. We ask of you 
nothing more ;—let us alone.”—Letter in The 
Times, Noy. 1838. 

1838. 


ComE, list to my pastoral tones, 
In clover my shepherds I keep ; 
My stalls are all furnish’d with drones, 
Whose preaching invites one to sleep. 
At my spirit let infidels scoff, Lown; 
So they leave but the substance my 
For, in sooth, I’m extremely well off, 
If the world will but let me alone. 


Dissenters are grumblers, we know ;— 
Though excellent men, in their way, 
(“homo diluvii testis,”’) but who turned out, I 

am sorry to say, to be merely a great lizard. 
t Particularly the formation called Transition 
Trap. 


_Of all our tormentors, the Press is 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 059 
They never like things to be so, | No doubt, insome ancient Joe Miller, 
Let things be however they may. you've read {once said— 
But dissenting’s a trick I detest; What Cato, that canning old Roman, 
And, besides,’tis anaxiom well known, That he ne’er saw two rey’rend sooth- 
The creed that’s best paid is the best, sayers meet, {or the street, 
If the unpaid would let it alone. Let it be where it might, in the shrine 
ae Without wondering the rogues, ‘mid 

To me, I own, very surprising their solemn grimaces, 
Your Newmans and Puseysallseem, idn’t burst out a laughing in each 
Who start first with rationalizing, other's faces.” (long ago, 
Then Jap to the other extreme. What Cato then meant, though ’tis so 
Far better, ’twixt nonsense and sense, | jgyen we in the present times pretty 
A nice half-way concern, like our own, | well know " [say, John— 
Where piety’s mix’d up with pence, | Having soothsayers also, who--sooth to 
Aud the latter are ne'er left alone, Are no better in some points than those 
of days gone, {you and me, ) 


And a pair of whom, meeting, (between 

Might laugh in their sleeves, too—all 
lawn though they be. 

But this, by the way—my intention 


The one that most teurs us to bits ; 
And, now, Mrs. Woolfrey’s ‘ excesses ” 
Have thrown all its imps into fits. 

The dev’ls have been at us, for weeks, 


. | being chiefly [briefly 

2? - ᾿ ay a τ A ς J? 
alia ing when they'll In this, my first letter, to hint to you 
Oh dear, how I wish Mr. Breeks That, seeing how fond you of Tuumt 
Had left Mrs. Woolfrey alone ! ᾿ς must be, _______ with me, 
While Meum’s at all times the main point 

If any need pray for the dead, We scarce could do better than form an 
’Tis those to whom post-obits fail; ,}., —_—_ alliance, τς (defiance : 
Since wisely hath Solomon said, | To set these sad Anti-Church times at 
"Tis “money that answereth all.” You, John, recollect, being still to em- 
But ours be the patrons who live ;— bark, (title? and mark; 


For, once in their glebe they are With no share in the firm but your 
"thrown, ΟΥ̓ ev’n should you feel in your gran- 


The dead have no living to give, deur inclined 


And therefore we leave them alone. | T° call yourself Pope, why I 
shouldn’t much mind ; 


Though in morals we may not excel, While my church as usual holds fast by 
Such perfection is rare to be had ; your Tuum, 
A good ἔμ is, of course, very well, And every one else’s, to make it all 
ut good living is also—not bad. Suum. 


And when, to feed earth-worms, I go, 
Let this ye h stare from my stone, | 

“ Here lies the Right Rey. so and so; 
“ Pass, stranger, and—leave him) 
alone.” 
} 


Thus allied, I’ve no doubt we shall 
nicely agree, [points than we ; 

As no twins can be ket: ἴῃ most 

Both specimens choice of that mix'd 
sort of beast, 

(See Rey. xiii. 1.) a poetical priest ; 

EPISTLE FROM HENRY OF BX- Both mettlesome chargers, both brisk 


—T—R TO JOHN OF TUAM. pamphleteers, by the ears ; 
ΠΡΟ and ready for all that sets men 


DEAR John, as I know, like our brother | And I, at least one, who would scorn to 
of London, [cred and mundane, | stick longer (stronger, 
You've sipp’d of all knowledge, both sa- | By any giv’n cause than I found it the 


* Mirari se, si augur augurem aspiciens sibi But I should have Meum, 
temperaret a risu. And sing Te Deum.” 
t So spelled in those ancient versicles which | + For his keeping the title he may quote 
John, we understand, frequently chants :— | classical authority, as Horace expressly says, 
“Had every one Suum, “ Poteris servare Tuam."—De Art. Poet. vy, 
You wouldn't have Tuum, 329.— Chronicle 


660 


And who, smooth in my turnings as if 
on a swivel, [try the civil. 
When the tone ecclesiastic won't do, 


In short (not to bore you, evn jure di- 
vino) [John—all but the rhino ; 
We’ve the same cause in common, 
And that vulgar surplus, whate’er it 
may be, [you’d best leave to me. 
As youre not used to cash, John, 
And so, without form—as the postman 
wo'n’t tarry— 
Vm, dear Jack of Tuam, 
Yours, 
EXETER HARRY. 


SONG OF OLD PUCK. 


« And those things do best please me, 
That befall preposterously.” 
Puck Junior, Midswmmer Night's Dream. 


Wuo wants old Puck? for here am I, 
A mongrel imp, ’twixt earth and sky, 
Ready alike to craw] or fly; 

Now in the mud, now in the air, 

And, so ’tis for mischief, reckless where. 


As tomy knowledge, there’s no end to’t, 

For where [ haven’t it, I pretend to’t ; 

And, ’stead of taking a learn’d degree 

At some dull university, 

Puck found it handier to commence 

With a certain share of impudence, 

Which passes one off as learn’d and 

clever, 

Beyond all other degrees whatever ; 

And enables a man of lively sconce 

To be Master of all the Arts at once. 

No matter what the science may be— 

Ethics, Physics, Theology, 

Mathematics, Hydrostatics, 

Aerostatics or Pheumatics— 

Whatever it be, I take my luck, 

Tis all the same to ancient Puck ; 

Whose head’s so full of all sorts of wares, 

That a brother imp, old Smugden, 
_ swears 

If I had but of Jaw a little smatt’ring, 

Τὰ then be perfect*—which is flatt’ring. 


My skill as a linguist all must know 

Who inet me abroad some months ago ; 
(And heard me abroad exceedingly, too, 
In the moods and tenses of parlez-vous,) 


* Verbatim, as said. This tribute is only 
equalled by that of Talleyrand to his medical 
friend, Dr. ——: ‘Il se connoit en tout; et 
méme un peu en médecine.” 


WORKS. 


MOORE’S 


When, as old Chambaud’s shade stood 
mute, 

I spoke such French to the Institute 

As puzzled those learned Thebans much, 

To know if ’twas Sanscrit or High Dutch 

And might have pass’d with th’ unob- 
serving 

As one ofthe unknown tongues of Irving 

As to my talent for ubiquity, 

There’s nothing like it in all antiquity. 

Like Mungo, (my peculiar care,) 

“1 ἢ here, I’m dere, I’m ebery where. ’t 

If any one’s wanted to take the chair, 

Upon any subject, anywhere, 

Just look around, and—Puck is there! 

When slaughter’s at hand, your bird of 
prey ; 

Is never known to be out of the way ; 

And wherever mischief’s to be got, 

There’s Puck instanter, on the spot. 


Only find me in negus and applause, 

And Tm your man for any cause. 

If wrong the cause, the more my delight; 

But J don’t object to it, ev’n when right, 

If I only can vex some old friend by’t ; 

There’s D—rh—m, for instance ;—to 
worry him 

Fills up my cup of bliss to the brim! 


(NOTE BY THE EDITOR.) 
Those who are anxious to run a muck 
Can’t do better than join with Puck; 
They'll find him bon diable—spite of 
his phiz— 
And, in fact, his great ambition is, 
While playing old Puck in first-rate style, 
To be thought Robin Goodfellow all the 
while. 


POLICE REPORTS. 
CASE OF IMPOSTURE. 


Amona other stray flashmen, disposed 
of, this week, 
Was a youngster, named St—nl—y, 
genteelly connected, [as antique, 
Who has lately been passing off coins, 
Which have proved to be sham ones, 
though long unsuspected. 


The ancients, our readers need hardly 
be told, [for wholesale demands; 
Had a coin they eall’d ‘‘ Talents,” 


t Song in “ The Padlock.” 

: For an account of the coin called Talents 
by the ancients, see Budzeus de Asse, and tlie 
other writers de Re Nummaria. 


- 


And ’twas some of said coinage this 
youth was so bold 

As to fancy he’d got, God knows 

- how, in his hands. 


People took him, however, like fools, at 
his word ; [own valuation ) 

And these talents (all prized at his 
Were bid for, with eagerness ev’n more 
absurd [great thinking nation. 

Than has often distinguish’d this 


Talk of wonders one now and then sees 
advertised, 

“Black swans ”—‘‘ Queen Anne far- 
things’’—or ev’n “‘achild’s caul?’— 

Much and justly as all these rare objects 
are prized, 

“*St—nl—y’s talents ” outdid them— 
swans, farthings, and all! 


At length, some mistrust of this coin 
got abroad ; ito doubt of it ; 
Even quondam believers began much 
Some rung it, some rubb’d it, suspect- 
ing a fraud— 
And the hard rubs it got rather took 
the shine out of it. 


Others, wishing to break the poor pro- 
digy’s fall, [studied the matter, 
Said ‘twas known well to all who had 
That the Greeks had not only great tal- 
ents but small,* 
And those found on the youngster 
were Clearly the latter. 


While others, who view’d the grave farce 
with a grin— Lage so massy, 


By way of a hint to the dolts taken in, 
Appropriately quoted Budeus de 
Asse. 


In short, the whole sham by degrees 
was found out, 
And this coin, which they chose by 
such fine names to call, 
Proyed a mere lacker’d article—showy, 
no doubt, [Talent at ail. 
But, ye gods, not the true Attic 


to repent, [grandee connection, 
And, besides, had some claims to a 


* The Talentum Magnum and the Talentum 
Atticum appear to have been the same coin. 

t En fait d'amour, trop méme n'est pas assez. 
—Barbier de Seville. 
1 Grant of Ireland to Henry II. by Pope 
jAarian. 


Seeing counterfeits pass thus for coin- | 


— SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


As th’ impostor was still young enough | 


00] 


Their Worships—considerate for once— 
only sent [House of Correction. 
The young Thimblerig off to the 


REFLECTIONS. 


ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ARTICLE OF 
THE CHURCH, IN THE LAST NUMBER OF THE 


QUARTERLY REVIEW. 


I’m quite of your mind ;—though these 
Pats cry aloud 
That they’ve got ‘‘too much Church,” 
‘tis all nonsense and stuff; 
For Church is like Love, of which Figaro 
νον ἃ {enough. 
That even too much of it’s not quite 


Ay, dose them with parsons, ‘twill cure 
all their ills ;— [box undaunted he 

Copy Morison’s mode when from pill- 
Pours through the patient his black- 
coated pills, [but quantity. 

Nor cares what their quality, so there’s 


I verily think, ’twould be worth Eng- 
land's while [whether 

To consider, for Paddy’s own benefit, 
7Twould not be as well to give up the 
green isle [Church altogether. 

To the care, wear and tear of the 


The Irish are well used to treatment so 
pleasant ; [ry Plantagenet, 

The harlot Church gave them to Hen- 
And now, if King William would make 
them a present [imagine it! 

To t’other chaste lady—ye Saints, just 


Shief Sees., Lord-Lieutenants, Com- 
manders-in-chief, [copal benches ; 
Might then all be cull’d from th’ epis- 
While colonels in black would afford 
some relief [old searlet wench’s. 

From the hue that reminds one of th’ 


Think how fierce at a charge (being 
practised therein) 
The Right Reverend Brigadier Ph—l- 
1—tts would slash on! 
How Genera! Bl —mf—d, through thick 
and through thin, 
To the end of the chapter (or chap- 
ters) would dash on ! 


For, in one point alone do the amply fed 


race 
Of bishops to beggars similitude bear— 


662 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


That, set them on horseback, in full 
steeple chase, 
And they’ll ride, if not pull’d up in 
time—you know where. 
But, bless you, in Ireland, that matters 
not much, [the same way ; 
Where affairs have for centuries gone 
And a good stanch Conservative’s sys- 
tem is such [long-founded sway. 
That he’d back even Beelzebub’s 


I am therefore, dear Quarterly, quite of 
your mind;— [Erin let’s pour; 
Church, Church, in all shapes, into 
And the more she rejecteth our med’cine 
so kind, [dose, as before.” 

The more let’s repeat it—‘ Black 


Let Coercion, that peace-maker, go hand 
in hand {ter and brother ; 

With demure-eyed Conversion, fit sis- 
And, covering with prisons and churches 
the land, [the other. 

All that won’t go to one, we'll put into 


For the sole, leading maxim of us who’re 
inclined [ligiously, 
To rule over Ireland, not well, but re- 
Is to treat her like ladies, who’ve just 
been confined, [her prodigiously. 
(Or who ought to be so) and to church 
NEW GRAND EXHIBITION OF 
MODELS 
OF THE 
TWO HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT. 
Comg, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may 
view 
An exact and nat’ral representation 
(Like Siburn’s Model of Waterloo”) 
Of the Lords and Commons of this 
here nation. 


There they are—all cut out in cork— 
The “ Collective Wisdom” wondrous 
to see ; [work, 
My eyes! when all them heads are at 
What a vastly weighty consarn it 
must be. 


As for the ‘‘ wisdom,”—that may come 
anon ; [see 
Though, to say truth, we sometimes 
(And find the phenomenon no uncom- 
mon ’un) . [that’s M. T. 

A man whose M. P. with a head 


* One of the most interesting and eurious of 
all the exhibitions of the day. 


Our Lords are rather too small, ’tis true: 

But they do well enough for Cabinet 

shelves ; [turs to do 

And, besides,—what’s a man with cree- 

That make such werry small figures 
themselves ? 


There—don’t touch those lords, my pret- 
ty dears—- (Aside. ) 

Curse the children!—this comes of re- 
forming a nation : 

Those meddling young brats have so 

damaged my peers, [ creation. 

I must lay in more cork for a new 


Them yonder’s our bishops—‘‘to whom 
much is given,” 
And who’re ready to take as much 
more as you please: [ heaven, 
The seers of old times saw visions of 
But these holy seers see nothing but 
Sees. 


Like old Atlas,t (the chap, in Cheapside, 
there below, ) 
Tis for so much per cent. they take 
heaven on their shoulders, 
And joy ’tis to know that old High 
Church and Co., [eapitai-holders. 
Though not capital priests, are such 


There’s one on ’em, Ph—Ilp—ts, who 
now is away, [bustible stuff, 

As we’re having him filled with bum- 
Small crackers and squibs, for a great 
gala-day, [erence off. 
When we annually fire his Right Rey- 


’Twould do your heart good, ma’am, 
then to be by, [of with bile, 

When, bursting with gunpowder,’stead 
Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while 
dowagers cry, [matter and style !” 
‘‘How like the dear man, both in 


Should you want a few Peers and M.P.s 
to bestow, [mend these :}— 
As presents to friends, we can recom- 
Our nobles are come down to nine- 
pence, you know, 
And we charge but a penny a piece 
for M. P.s. 


Those of bottle-corks made take most 
with the trade, 
(At least, ’mong such as my Irish 
writ summons, ) 
} The sign of the Insurance Office in Cheap- 


side. 
| Producing a bag full of lords and gentlemen. 


Q 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


Of old whiskey corks our 0’Connells are 
made, [froys of, are rwm "uns. 
But those we make Shaws and Le- 


So, step in, gentlefolks, &e. &e. 
Da Capo. 


ANNOUNCEMENT 


OF 


A NEW GRAND ACCELERATION COM- 


PANY FOR THE PROMOTION OF THE 
SPEED OF LITERATURE. 


Loup complaints being made, in these 
quick-reading times, 

Of too slack a supply, both of prose 
works and rhymes, [moving plan, 

Anew Company, form’d on the keep- 


First proposed by .the great firm of 


Catch~em-who-can, 
Beg to say they’ve now Yeady, in full 
wind and speed, [breed— 
Some fast-going authors, of quite a new 
Such as not he who runs but who gal- 
lops may read— 
And who, if well curried and fed, 
they’ve no doubt, [and out. 
Will beat ev’n Bentley’s swift stud out 
It is true, in these days, such a drug is 
renown, [about town ; 
We’ve “Immortals” as rife as M. P.s 
And not a Blue’s rout but can off-hand 
supply [to die.” 
Some invalid bard who’s insured “ not 
Still, let England but once try owr au- 
thors, she’ll find [mortals behind ; 
How fast they'll leave ev’n these Im- 
And ἊΝ truly the toils of Alcides were 
ight, 
Eativarcd with his toil who can read 
all they write. 


In fact, there’s no saying, so gainful the 

trade, {made ; 

How fast immortalities now may be 

Since Helicon never will want an “ Un- 

One,” [ing One; 

As long as the public continues a Buy- 

And the Company hope yet to witness 
the hour, 


* “Tis money makes the mare to go.” 
t = ae lodgings apart, for our posthumous 


ne a Pa ie if left with the live ones, 
they k 
t “ Bottom: where me play the lion ; I will roar 
you as ‘twere any nightingale.” 


663 


When, by strongly applying the mare- 


motive* power, 
A three-decker novel, ’mid oceans of 
praise, 


May be written, launch’d, read, and— 
forgot in three days ! 


In addition to all this stupendous celer- 
ity, [terity— 
Which—to the no small relief of pos- 
Pays off at sight the whole debt of fame, 
Nor troubles ‘futurity ev’n with a name, 
(A project that wo’n’t as much tickle 
Tom Tegg as us, 
twill rob him of his second- 
priced Pegasus;) [how immense 
We, the Company—still more to show 
Is the power o’er the mind of pounds, 
shillings, and pence; [our day, 
And that not even Phoebus himself, in 
Could get up a lay without first an out- 
ay— [compare, 
Beg to add, as our literature soon may 
In its quick make and vent, with our 
Birmingham ware, [these lines, 
And it doesn’t at all matter in either of 
How sham is the article, so it but 
shines, — {in hand, 
We keep authors ready, all perch’d, pen 
To write off, in any given style, at com- 
mand. { dead, t 
No matter what bard, be he living or 
Ask a work from his pen, and ’tis done 
soon as said: [ Walter Scots, 
There being, on th’ establishment, six 
One capital Wordsworth, and Southeys 
in lots ;— [like syrens, 
Three choice Mrs. Nortons, all singing 
While most of our pallid young clerks 
are Lord Byrons. 
Then we’ve ***s and ***s, (for whom 
there’s aT call, ) [all.) 
And. "sand. "278, (for. whom no e@all at 


Since 


In short, whosoe’er the last ‘ Lion” 
may be, [to a T, 
We’ve a Bottom who'll copy his roart 
And so well, that not one οἵ the buyers 
who’ve got ’em [ Bottom. 
Can tell which is lion, and which only 


N. B.—The company, since they set up 
in this line, [αὖ the sign 
Have moved their concern, and are now 
Of the Muse’s Velocipede, Fleet Street, 
where ail [to call. 
Who wish well to the scheme are invited 


664 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE 
DINNER TO DAN. 


From tongue to tongue the rumor flew ; 
All ask’d, aghast, “ Is’t true ? is’t true ?” 
But none knew whether ’twas fact or 
fable : 
And still the unholy rumor ran, 
From Tory woman to Tory man, 
Though none to come at the truth 
was able— 
Till, lo, at last, the fact came out, 
The horrible fact, beyond all doubt, 
That Dan had dined at the Viceroy’s 
table ; 
Had flesh’d his Popish knife and fork 
In the heart of th’ Hstablish’d mutton 
and pork ! 


Who ean forget the deep sensation 
That news produced in this orthodox na- 
Deans, rectors, curates, all agreed, [tion ? 
If Dan was allow’d at the Castle to feed, 
’Twas clearly all wp with the Protestant 
creed ! 
There hadn’t, indeed, such an apparition 
Been heard of, in Dublin, since that day 
When, during the first grand exhibition 
Of Don Giovanni, that naughty play, 
There appeared, as if raised by necro- 
mancers, 
An extra devil among the dancers! 
_ Yes—ey’ry one saw, with fearful thrill, 
That a devil too much had join’d the 
quadrille ; [let fall 
And sulphur was smelt, and the lamps 
A grim, green light o’er the ghastly ball, 
And the poor sham devils didn’t like it at 
all ; {had come, 
For, they knew from whence th’ intruder 
Though he left, that night, his tail at 
home. 


This fact, we see, is a parallel case 
To the dinner that some weeks since, 
took place. {man, 
With the difference slight of fiend and 
It shows what a nest of Popish sin- 
ners {and Dan 
That city must be, where the devil 
May thus drop in, at quadrilles and 
dinners. 


But, mark the end of these foul pro- 


ceedings, ings. 
These demon hops and Popish feed- 


Some comfort ’twill be—to those, at 
least, [question— 
Who’ve studied this awful dinner 


To know that Dan, on the night of that 

feast, 
Was seized with a dreadful indigestion ; 

That envoys were sent, post-haste, to 
his priest, 

To come and absolve the suffering sinner, 

For eating so much at a heretic dinner ; 

And some good people were even afraid 

That Peel’s old confectioner—still at the 
trade— 

Had poison’d the Papist with orangeade. 


NEW HOSPITAL FOR SICK LITE- 
RATI. 


WITH all humility we beg 

To inform the public, that Tom Tegg— 

Known for his spunky speculations, 

In buying up dead reputations, 

And, by a mode of galvanizing 

Which, all must own, is quite surprising, 

Making dead authors move again, 

As though they still were living men ;— 

All this, too, managed in a trice, 

By those two magic words, ‘“ Half 
Price,” 

Which brings the charm so quick about; " 

That worn-out poets, left without 

A second foot whereon to stand, 

Are made to go at second hand ;— 

’T will please the public, we repeat, 

To learn that Tegg, who works this feat, 


And, therefore, knows what care itneeds 


To keep alive Fame’s invalids, 

Has oped an Hospital, in town, 

For cases of knock’d-up renown— 

Falls, fractures, dangerous Epic jits, 

(By some call’d Cantos,) stabs from 
wits ; [nursed, 

And, of all wounds for which they’re 

Dead cuts from publishers, the worst ;— 

All these, and other such fatalities, 

That happen to frail immortalities, 

By Tegg are so expertly treated, [ed, 

That oft-times, when the cure’s complet- 

The patient’s made robust enough 

To stand a few more rounds of puff 

Till, like the ghosts of Dante’s lay, 

He’s puff’d into thin air away ! 

As titled poets (being phenomenons) 


Don’t like to mix with low and common 
᾽ 
uns, 


_Tegg’s Hospital has separate wards, 


xpress for literary lords, [length, 

Where prose-peers, of immoderate 

Are nursed, when they’vye outgrown 
their strength, 


ey or 


=  .°).- "= 


—_— ὦ wo |. οὖς 


a ΨΥ ee ree er 


ae) at ΑΣ 


— ἐδ 
2 


a} 
Εἰ 
. 
te 
. 


“ 
é 


4 


W 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


665 


And poets, whom their friends despair of, 
Are—put to bed and taken care care of. 


Tegg begs to contradict a story, 

Now current both with Whig and Tory, 

That Doctor W—rb--t—n, M. P., 

Well known for his antipathy, 

His deadly hate, good man, to all 

The race of poets, great and small— 

So much, that he’s been heard to own, 

He would most willingly cut down 

The holiest groves on Pindus’ mount, 

To turn the timber to account !— 

The story actually goes, that he 

Preseribes at Tegg’s Infirmary ; 

nd oft, not only stints, for spite, 

The patients in their copy-right, 

But that, on being call’d in lately 

To two sick poets, suffering greatly, 

This vaticidal Doctor sent them 

So strong a dose of Jeremy Bentham, 

‘That one of the poor bards but cried, 

*‘Oh, Jerry, Jerry !’ and then died ; 

While t’other, though less stuff was 
given, 

Ts on his road, ’tis fear’d, to heaven! 


Of this event, howe’er unpleasant, 
Tegz means to say no more at present,— 
Intending shortly to prepare 

A statement of the whole affair, 

With full accounts, at the same time, 
Of some late cases, (prose and rhyme, ) 
Subscribed with every author’s name, 
That’s now on the Sick List of Fame. 


RELIGION AND TRADE. 


“Sir Robert Peel believed it. was necessary 

to originate all respecting religion and trade in 

a Committee of the House.”"—Church DPxten- 
sion, May 22, 1830. 

Say, who was the wag, indecorously 

witty, [vey’d; 

Who, first in a statute, this libel con- 

And thus slyly referr’d to the self-same 

committee, [ Trade? 

As matters congenial, Religion and 


Oh surely, my Ph—lIlp—ts, ’twas thou 
didst the deed; [ brother, 

For none but thyself, or some pluralist 
Accustom’d to mix up the craft with the 
creed, [with each other. 

Could bring such a pair thus to twin 


$ And yet, when one thinks of times pres- 


ent and gone, [reflection, 


One is forced to confess, on maturer | 


That ’tisn’t in the eyes of committees 
alone, [have some connection. 
That the shrine and the shop seem to 


Not to mention those monarchs of Asia’s 
fair land, [paid ; 
Whose civil list all is in ‘‘ god-money ” 
And where the whole people, by royal 
command, [ready made ;*— 

Buy their gods atthe government mart, 


There was also (as mention’d, in rhyme 
and in prose, is) [every shrine, 

Gold heap’d, throughout Egypt, on 
To make rings for right reverend croco- 
diles’ noses— [look well in thine. 

Just such as, my Ph—llp—ts, would 


But one needn’t fly off, in this erudite 
mood ; [so sunny, 
And’tis clear, without going to regions 
That priests love to do the least possi- 
ble good, [of money. 

For the largest most possible quantum 


‘‘Of him,” said the text, ‘unto whom 
much is given, [required 7’— 
“ΟΥ̓ him much, in turn, will be also 
“ΒΥ me,” quoth the sleek and obese 
man of heayen— 
“Give as much as you will—more 
will still be desired.” 


More money ! more churches !—oh Nim- 
rod, hadst thou [er way gone— 
*Stead of Tower-extension, some short- 
Hadst thou known by what methods we 
mount to heaven now, 
And tried Chwrch-extension, the feat 
had been done ! 


MUSINGS, 
SUGGESTED BY TIE LATE PROMOTION OF MRs, 
NETHERCOAT, 

“The widow Nethercoat is ap sh S| wg 
of Loughrea, in the room of her deceased hus- 
band.” —Limerick Chronicle. 

WHETHER as queens or subjects, in 
these days, [each station ;— 

Women seem form’d to grace alike 
As Captain Flaherty gallantly says, 

“You, ladies, are the lords of the 

creation !” 
Thus o’er my mind did prescient visions 
float [ be; 

Of all that matchless woman yet may 

* The Birmans may not bny the sacred mar- 


ble in mass, but must purchase figures of the 
deity already made.—SyMus. 


666 


When, hark, in rumors less and less re- 
mote, [bient sea, 
Came the glad news o’er Hrin’s ain- 
The important news—that Mrs. Nether- 
coat [rea ; 
Had been appointed jailer of Lough- 
Yes, mark it, History—Nethercoat is 
dead, [stead ; 
And Mrs. N. now rules his realm in- 
Hers the high task to wield th’ uplocking 
keys, [rees! 
To rivet rogues and reign o’er Rappa- 
Thus, while your blust’rers of the ‘Tory 
school [rule, 
Find Ireland’s sanest sons so hard to 
One meek-eyed matron, in Whig doc- 
trines nursed, [ worst ! 
Ts all that’s ask’d to curb the maddest, 
Show me the man that dares, with 
blushless brow, 
Prate about Erin’s rage and riot now ;— 
Now, when her temperance forms her 
sole excess ; [from her sight, 
When long-loved whiskey, fading 
ἐς Small by degrees, and beautifully less,” 
_ Will soon, like other spirits, vanish 
quite ; [so small, 
When of red coats the number’s grown 
That soon, to cheer the warlike par- 
son’s eyes, 
No glimpse of scarlet will be seen at all, 
Save that which she of Babylon sup- 
plies, — Lbe, 
Or, at the most, a corporal’s guard will 
Of Ireland’s red defence the sole re- 
mais ; 
While of its jails bright woman keeps 
the key, [chains ! 
And captive Paddies languish in her 


Long may such lot be Hrin’s, long be | 


mine ! [it shine 

Oh yes—if ev’n this world, though bright 
In Wisdom’ seyes ἃ prison-house must 
be, [ twine, 

At least let woman’s hand our fetters 
And blithe P’ll sing, more joyous than 
if free, [me ! 

The Nethercoats, the Nethercoats for 


INTENDED TRIBUTE 
TO THE 
AUTHOR OF AN ARTICLE IN THE LAST NUMBER 
OF THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, 
ENTITLED 
“ROMANISM IN IRELAND.” 
Tr glads us much to be able to say, 
That a meetingisfix’d, forsome early day, 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Of all such dowagers—he or she— 
(No matter the sex, so they dowagers be, ) 
Whose opinions, concerning Church and 
State, [date— 
From about the time of the Curfew 
Stanch sticklers still for days bygone, 
And admiring them for their rust alone— 
To whom if we would a leader give, 
Worthy their tastes conservative, [raise, 
We need but some mummy-statesman 
Who was pickled and potted in Ptole- 
my’s days ; [shelf, 
For that’s the man, if waked from his 
To conserve and swaddle this world, 
like himself. 


Such, we’re happy to state, are the old 
he-dames [their names, 

Who’ve met in committee, and given 

(In good hieroglyphies, ) with kind intent 

To pay some handsome compliment 

To their sister-author, the nameless he, 

Who wrote, in the last new Quarterly, 

That charming assault upon Popery ; 

An article justly prized by them, 

Asa perfect antediluvian gem— 

The work, as Sir Sampson Legend . 
would say, [wash away.”* 

Of some ‘‘fellow the Flood couldn't 


The fund being raised, there remain’d 
but to see [be. 
What the dowager-author’s gift was to 
And here, I must say, the Sisters Blue 
Show’d delicate taste and judgment 
too. { greatly 
For, finding the poor man suffermg— 
From the awful stuff he has thrown up 
lately— 
So much so, indeed, to the alarm of all, 
To bring on a fit of what doctors call 
The Antipapistico-monomania, 
(I’m sorry with such a long word to de- 
tain ye, ) [ cian, 
They’ve acted the part of a kind physi- 
By suiting their gift to the patient's con- 
dition ; [ tion, 
And, as soon as ’tis ready for presenta- 
We shall publish the facts for the grati- 
fication [ tion. 
Of this highly-fayor’d and Protestant na- 


Meanwhile, to the great alarm of his 
neighbors, 

He still continues his Quarterly labors ; 

And often has strong No-Popery fits, 


* See Congreve's Love for Loye. 


wits. [play,* 
Sometimes he screams, like Scrub in the 
“« Thieves! Jesuits! Popery!” night 

and day; { Dens, t 
Takes the Printer’s Devil for Doctor 
And shies at him heaps of High-church 
) pens ;t [senter) 
_ Which the Devil (himself a touchy Dis- 
Feels all in his hide, like arrows, enter. 
*Stead of swallowing wholesome stuff 
4 from the druggist’s, 
Ἷ He will keep raving of ‘Irish Thug- 
᾿ 


— 


ists ;’’$ 
Tells us they all go murd’ring, for fun, 
From rise of morn till set of sun, 
ἅ Pop, Τ᾿ , as fast as ἃ minute-gun }|| 
If ask’d, how comes it the gown and 
cassock are [cre— 
Safe and fat, ’mid this general massa- 
How haps it that Pat’s own population 
But swarms the more for this trucida- 
tion— 
He refers you, for all such memoranda, 
To the ‘archives of the Propagan- 
da !’F 
This is all we’ve got, for the present to 
say — [ture day. 
But shall take up the subject some fu- 


——_-- 


EE νὰν Se δοργι 


GRAND DINNER OF TYPE AND 
Co. 
A POOR PORT’S DREAM.** 


As I sate in my study, lone and still, 

Thinking of Sergeant Talfourd’s Bill, 

And the speech by Lawyer Sugden 
made, 

In spirit congenial, for ‘‘ the Trade,” 

Sudden I sunk to sleep, and, lo, 

Upon Faney’s reinless night-mare 

flitting, 

I found myself, in a second or so, 

At the table of Messrs. Type and Co. 

With a goodly group of diners sitting ;— 

All in the printing and publishing line, 

Dress’d, I thought, extremely fine, 

And sipping, like lords, their rosy wine; 


ee Nae ee le 


ee as Se 


* Beaux Stratagem. 

+ The writer of the article las groped about, 
~ with much success, in what he calls “ the dark 
- recesses of Dr. Dens’s disquisitions.”—Quar- 
—— terly Review. 

ε t ‘*Pray, may we ask, has there been any 
rebellious movement of Popery in Ireland, 
since the planting of the Ulster colonies, in 
which something of the kind was not visible 
among the Presbyterians of the North ?’’—Jbid. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POPMS. 


667 


Which frighten his old nurse out of her | While I, in a state near inanition, 


With coat that hadn’t much nap to 
spare, [ tion, ) 
(Having just gone into its second edi- 
Was the only wretch of an author 
there. 
But think, how great was my surprise, 
When I saw, in casting round my eyes, 
That the dishes, sent up by Type’s she- 
cooks, [ books, 
Bore all, in appearance, the shape of 
Large folios—God knows where they 
got ’em, [tom ; 
In these small times—at top and bot- 
And quartos (such as the Press pro- 
vides [ sides. 
Tor no one to read them) down the 
Then flash’d a horrible thought to my 
brain, 
AndTsaid to myself, ‘’Tis all too plain ; 
‘* Like those well known in school quo- 
tations, [tions, 
“Who ate up for dinner their own rela- 
““T see now, before me, smoking here, 
“The bodies and bones of my brethren 
dear ;— 
“ Bright sous of the lyric and epic Muse, 
“All cut up in cutlets, or hash’d in 
stews ; 
“Their works, a light through ages to 
0, [ Co, !” 
“ Themselves, eaten up by Type and 


While thus I moralized, on they went, 
linding the fare most excellent; 

And all so kindly, brother to brother, 
Helping the titbits to each other ; 

“A slice of Southey let me send you’— 
“This cut of Campbell I recommend 


you ”— 
‘* And here, my friends, is a treat indeed, 
“The immortal Wordsworth fricas- 
seed !” 


Thus haying, the cormorants, fed some 
time, 

Upon joints of poetry—all of the prime— 

With also (as Type in a whisper averr’d 


it) 


§ ‘‘Lord Lorton, for instance, who, for clear- 
ing his estate of a village of Lrish Thuggists,”’ 
&e., &e.—Quarterly Review. 

\| ‘Observe how murder after murder is 
committed like minute-guns.”’"—Jbid. 

“Might not the archives of the Propa- 


| ganda possibly supply the key?” 


** Written during the late agitation of the 
question of Copyright. 


668 


MOORHE’S WORKS. 


“Cold prose on the sideboard, for such 
as preferr’d it ”— 

They rested awhile, to recruit their 
force, [ond course, 

Then pounced, like kites, on the sec- 

Which was singing-birds merely—Moore 
and others— 

Who all went the way of their larger 
brothers ; 

And, num’rous now though such: song- 
sters be, 

’Twas really quite distressing to see 

A whole dishful of Toms—Moore, Dib- 
din, Bayly,— 

Bolted by Type and Co. so gayly! 


Nor was this the worst—I shudder to 
think [eame to drink. 
What a scene was disclosed when they 
The warriors of Odin, as every one 
knows, ’ [foes ; 
Used to drink out of skulls of slaughter’d 
And Type’s old port, to my horror I 
found, [round. 
Was in skulls of bards sent merrily 
And still as each well-fill’d cranium 
came, [name ; 
A health was pledged to its owner’s 
While Type said slyly, ’midst general 
laughter, [them after.” 
“Weeat them up first, then drink to 


There was no standing this—incensed I 
broke [ woke, 

From my bonds of sleep, and indignant 

Exelaiming, ‘‘ Oh shades of other times, 

‘““ Whose voices still sound, like death- 
less chimes, 

“Could you e’er have foretold a day 
would be, 

‘““When a dreamer of dreams should 
live to see { Bulls 

“A party of sleek and honest John 

“ Hobnobbing each other in poet’s 


skulls !” 


* “Por a certain man named Demetrius, a 
silversmith, which made shrines for Diana, 
brought no small gain unto the craftsmen ; 
whom he ealled together with the workmen of 
like occupation, and said, Sirs, ye know that by 
this craft we have our wealth. ’—Acts, xix. 


t Tria Virginis ora Dianz. 


t The ‘‘ shrines” are supposed to have been 
small churches, or ehapele adjoining to the 
great temples;—‘‘dicule, in quibus statue 
reponebantuy.”-— ERASM. 


CHURCH EXTENSION. 


TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. 


Sir,—A well-known classical traveller, while 
employed in exploring, some time since, the 
supposed site of the Temple of Diana of Ephe- 
sus, was 80 fortunate, in the course of his re- 
searches, as to light upon a very ancient bark 
manuscript, which has turned out, on examina- 
tion, to be part of an old Ephesian newspaper: 
—a newspaper published, as you will see, so 
far back as the time when Demetrius, the great 
Shrine-Extender,* flourished. - 

I am, Sir, yours, &e. 


EPHESIAN GAZETTE. 
Second edition. 


ImporTANT event for the rich and re~ 

ligious ! [Queen Square :— 

Great Meeting of Silversmiths held in 

Church Extension, their object,—th’ ex- 
citement prodigious ;— 

Demetrius, head man of the craft, 

takes the chair ! 

Third edition. 

The Chairman still up, when our devil 

came away ; [usual state prayer, 

Having prefaced his speech with the 

That the Three-headed Diant would 

kindly, this day, {her care. 

Take the Silversmiths’ Company under 


Being ask’d by some low, unestablish’d 
divines, [are flocks to be got?” 
‘When your churches are up, where 
He manfully answer’d, ‘Let ws build 
the shrines,f [for them or not.” 

‘‘ And we care not if flocks are found 


He then added—to show that the Silver- 
smiths’ Guild [ant views— 
Were above all confined and intoler- 
‘Only pay through the nose to the 
altars we build, 
“You may pray through the nose to 
what altars you choose.” 


This tolerance, rare from a shrine-deal- 
er’s lip, [taste for the till, )— 
(Though a tolerance mix’d with due 
So much charm’d all the holders of 
scriptural serip, 
That their shouts of ‘* Hear!” ‘‘ Hear!” 
are re-echoing still. 
Fourth edition. 
Great stir in the Shrine Market! altars 
to Phoebus [a rebus. 
Are going dog-cheap—may be had for 
Old Dian’s, as usual, outsell all the 
rest ;— 
But Venus’s also are much in request. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


LATEST ACCOUNTS FROM OLYM- 
PUS. 


As news from Olympus has grown rath- 
er rare, [to touch there, 
Since bards, in their cruises, have ceased 
We extract for our readers th’ intelli- 
gence given, [vant heayen— 
In our latest accounts from that ci-de- 
That realm of the By-gones, where still 
sit, in state, {out of date. 
Old god-heads and nod-heads, now long 


Jove himself, it appears, since his love- 
days are o’er, 

Seems to findimmortality rather a bore ; 

Though he still asks for news of earth’s 
capers aud crimes, 

And reads daily his old fellow-Thun- 
αὐτου, the Times. 

He and Vulcan, it seems, by their wives 
still hen-peck'd are, [ tar, 

And kept on a stinted allowance of nec- 


Old Pheebus, poor lad, has given up in- 
spiration, { ulation. 
And pack’d off to earth on a puff-spec- 
The fact is, he found his old shrines had 
grown dim, [burn, not him. 
Since bards look’d to Bentley and Col- 
So, he sold off his stud of ambrosia-fed 
nags, [writes for the Mags ; 
Came incog. down to earth, and now 
Taking care that his work not a gleam 
hath to linger in’t, 
From which men could guess that the 
god had a finger in’t. 


There are other small facts, well desery- 
ing attention, [ mention. 
Of which our Olympic dispatches make 
Poor Bacchus is still very ill, they allege, 
Having never recoyer'd the Temperance 
ledge. [look’d to the most ! 
‘“‘What, the Irish!” he cried—‘“ those I 
“If they give up the spirit, I give up 
the ghost :” [make fun, 
While Momus, who used of the gods to 
Is turn’d Socialist now, and declares 
there are none ! 


But these changes, though curious, are 
all a mere farce, Mars, 

Compared to the new ‘casus belli” of 

Who, for years, has been suffering the 
horrors of quiet, [or riot ! 

Uncheer’d by one glimmer of bloodshed 

In yain from the clouds his belligerent 
brow 


669 


Did he pop forth, in hopes that some- 
where or somehow, [a row :” 
Like Pat at a fair, he might ‘‘ coax up 
But the joke wouldn’t take—the whole 
world had got wiser; [adviser ; 
Men liked not to take a Great Gun for 
And, still less, to march in fine clothes 
to be shot, [or for what. 
Without very well knowing for whom 


The French, who of slaughter had had 
their full swing, [at their King; 

Were content with a shot, now and then, 

While, in England, good fighting’s a 
pastime so hard to gain, 

Nobodys left to fight with, but Lord 
C—rd—g—n. 


ΙΒ. needless to say, then, how mon- 
strously happy {on the tapis ; 

Old Mars has been made by what’s now 

How much it delights him to see the 
French rally, (Ali; 

In Liberty’s name, around Meheimet 

Well knowing that Satan himself could 
not find {his mind 

A confection of mischief much more to 

Than the old Bonnet Rouge and the 
Bashaw combined. 

Right well, too, he knows, that there 
ne’er were attackers, 

Whatever their cause, that they didn’t 
find backers ; 

While any slight care for Humanity’s 
woes [ tique,” which shows 

May be sooth’d by that ‘‘ Art Diploma- 

How to come, in the most approved 
method, to blows. 


This is all, for to-day—whether Mars is 
much vex’d [by our next. 
At his friend Thiers’s exit, we’ll know 


THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE. 


Our earth, as it rolls through the regions 
of space, [the sunny; 
Wears Ν᾽ ways two faces, the dark and 
And poor human life runs the same sort 
of race, (side, funny. 
Being sad, on one side—on the other 


Thus oft we, at eve, to the Haymarket 
hie, [—but scarce 

To weep o’er the woes of Macready ; 
Hath the tear-drop of Tragedy pass’d 
from the eye, [at the Farce. 
When, lo, we’re all laughing in fits 


670 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And still let us langh—preach the world 
as it may— 
Where the cream of the joke is, the 
swarm will soon follow;  [way, 
Heroies are very grand things, in their 
But the laugh at the long run will 
carry it hollow. 


For instance, what sermon on human 
affairs [other day 

Could equal the scene that took place 
’Tixt Romeo and Louis Philippe, on 
the stairs— [half-way ! 

The Sublime and Ridiculous meeting 


Yes, Jocus! gay god, whom the Gen- 
tiles supplied, 
And whose worship not ΟΥ̓ among 
Christians declines, 
In our senate thou’st languish’d since 
Sheridan died, { our shrines. 
But Sydney still keeps thee alive in 


Rare Sydney! thrice honor’d the stall 
where he sits, 
And be his every honor he deigneth 
to climb at! [wits, 
Had England a hierarchy form’d all of 
Who but Sydney would England pro- 
claim as its primate ? 


And long may he flourish, frank, mer- 
ry, and braye— [read ;* 
A Horace to hear, and a Paschal to 
While he laughs, all is safe, but, when 
Sydney grows grave, 
We shall then think the Church is in 
danger indeed. 


Meanwhile, it much glads us to find 
he’s preparing [right way;’t 

To teach other bishops to ‘‘seek the 
And means shortly to treat the whole 
bench toan airing, [t’other day. 

Just such as he gave to Charles James 


For our parts, though gravity’s good 
for the soul, 

Such a fancy have we for the side 

that there’s fun on, 
We'd rather with Sydney southwest 
take a ‘‘ stroll,” 

Than coach it northeast with 

Lordship of Lunnun. 

* Some parts of the Provinciales may be said 
to be of the highest order of jeux d'esprit, or 
squibs. 

| «This stroll in the metropolis is extremely 
well contrived for your Lordship's speech; but 


his 


THOUGHTS ON PATRONS, PUFFS, 
AND OTHER MATTERS. 
IN AN EPISTLE FROM T. M. TO 8. Rt. 


Wuat, thou, my friend! a man of 
rhymes, 
And, better still, a man of guineas, 
To talk of ‘‘patrons,” in these times, 
When authors thrive, like spinning 
jennies, [page 
And Arkwright’s twist and Bulwer’s 
Alike may laugh at patronage! 


No, no—those times are pass’d away, 
When, doom’d in upper floors to star 
The bard inscribed to lords his lay,— Lit, 
Himself, the while, my Lord Mount- 
garret. 
No more he begs, with air dependent, 
His ‘little bark may sail attendant” 
Under some lordly skipper’s steerage ; 
But launch’d triumphant in the Row, 
Or ta’en by Murray’s self in tow, 
Cuts both Star Chamber and the 
peerage. 


Patrons, indeed! when searce a sail 

Is whisk’d from England by the gale, 

But bears on board some authors, 
shipp’d 

For foreign shores, all well-equipp’d 

With proper book-making machinery, 

To sketch the morals, manners, scenery, 

Of all such lands as they shall see, 

Or not see, as the case may be :— 

It being enjoin’d on all who go 

To study first Miss M********, 

And learn from her the method true, 

To do one’s books—and readers, too. 

For so this nymph of nous and nerve 

Teaches mankind ‘*‘ How to Observe ;” 

And, lest mankind at all should swerve, 

Teaches them also ‘“‘ What to Observe.” 


No, no, my friend—it can’t be blink’d— 

The Patron is a race extinct; 

As dead as any Megatherion 

That ever Buckland built a theory on. 

Instead of bartering, in this age, 

Our praise for pence and patronage, 

We authors, now, more prosperous 
elves, 

Have learn’d to patronize ourselves ; 

And since all-potent Putling’s made 


suppose, my dear Lord, that instead of going 
E. and N. E. you had turned about,” &¢., &e. 
—SypNry Smiru’s Last Letter to the Bishop of 
London. 


εὖ 
= 


. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


The life of song, the soul of trade, 
More frugal of our praises grown, 
We puff no merits but our own. 


Unlike those feeble gales of praise 
Which critics blew in former days, 

Our modern puffs are of a kind 

That truly, really raise the wind ; 

And since they’ve fairly set in blowing, 
We find them the best trade-winds go- 


ing. 
Stead Ἡ1ΉΘΕ ΣΙ paths so slippy 
As her old haunts near Aganippe, 
The Muse, now, taking to the till, 
Has open’d shop on Ludgate Hill, 
(Par handier than the Hill of Pindus, 
As seen from bard’s back attic win- 
dows ;) 
And swallowing there without cessation 
Large draughts (at sight) of inspiration, 
Touches the notes for each new theme, 


. While still fresh “ change comes o’er her 


dream.” 


What Steam is on the deep—and more— 
Is the vast power of Puff on shore ; 
Which jumps to giory’s future tenses 
Before the present even commences ; 
And makes “immortal” and “ divine” 


of us 
Before the world has read one line of us. 


Tn old times, when the God of Song 

Drove his own two-horse team along, 

Carrying inside a bard or two, 

Book’d for posterity ‘“‘ all through;—” 

Their luggage, a few close-pack’d 
rhymes, [times— 


(Like yours, my friend,) for after- | 


So slow the pull to Fame’s abode, 

That folks oft slept upon the road ;— 
And Homer’s self, sometimes, they say, 
Took to his nightcap on the way.* 


Ye Gods! how different is the story 
With our new galloping sons of glory, 
Who, scorning all such siack and slow 
Dash to posterity in no time! [time, 
Raise but one general blast of Pull 
To start your author—thac’s enough. 
In vain the critics, set to watch him, 
Try at the starting post to catch him: 
He’s off —the puffers carry it hollow— 
The critics, if they please, may follow. 
Ere they’ve laid down their first posi- 
tions, 


* Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.— 
loratT. 


671 


He’s fairly blown through six editions! 
In vain doth Edinburgh dispense 

Her blue and yellow pestilence 

(That plague so awful in my time 

To young and touchy sons of rhyme)— 
The Quarterly, at three months’ date, 
To catch th’ Unread One, comes too 
And nonsense, litter’d in a burry,[late ; 
Becomes ‘‘immortal,” spite of Murray. 


But, bless me !—while I thus keep fool- 
ing, 
I hear a ΟΝ ery, “ Dinner’s cooling.” 
The postman, too, (who, truth to tell, 
’Mong men of letters bears the bell, ) 
Keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally, 
That 1 must stop— 
Yours sempiternally. 


THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF. 


BY LORD ST—NL—Y. 
(HIS FIRST ATTEMPT IN VERSE.) 
“Evil, be thou my good."—MILTON. 


How various are the inspirations 

Of different men, in different nations ! 
As genius prompts to good or evil, [1]. 
Some call the Muse, some raise thedey- 
Old Socrates, that pink of sages, 

| Kept a pet demon, on board wages 

To go about with him incog., 

And sometimes give his wits a jog. 

So L—nd—st, in our day, we know, 
Keeps fresh relays of imps below, 

To forward, from that nameless spot, 
His inspirations, hot and hot. 


But, neat as are old L—nd—st’s do- 
ings— [ brewings— 
“Beyond even Hecate’s ‘ hell-broth ” 
Had I, Lord Stanley, but my will, 
V’dshow you mischief prettier still; 
Mischief, combining boyhood’s tricks 
With age’s sourest politics ; 
|The urchin’s freaks. the veteran’s gall, 
Both duly mix’d, and matchless all; 
A compound naught in history reaches 
But Machiavel, when first in breeches! 


Yes, Mischief, Goddess multiform, 
Whene’er thou, witch-like, rid’st the 
storm, 

Let Stanley ride cockhorse behind thee— 
No livelier lackey could they find thee. 
And, Goddess, as I’m well aware, 

So mischief’s done, you care not where, 
I own, ’twill most my faney tickle 

‘In Paddyland to play the Pickle ; 


672 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


WS ee ς-ς - ΞΘΘΘΘΟΘῸ  ἸΕΕΟΟ 


Having got credit for inventing 

A new, brisk method of tormenting— 
A way, they call the Stanley fashion, 
Which puts all Ireland in a passion ; 
So neat it hits the mixture due 

Of injury and insult too ; 

So legibly it bears upon’t 

The stamp of Stanley’s brazen front. 


Treland, we’re told, means land of Ire ; 
And why she’s so, none need inquire, 
Who sees her millions, martial, manly, 
Spat upon thus by me, Lord St—nl—y. 
Already in the breeze [scent 

The whiff of coming devilment; 

Of strife, to me more stirring far 

Than th’ Opium or th’ Sulphur war, 

Or any such drug ferments are. 
Yes—sweeter to this Tory soul 

Than all such pests, from pole to pole, 
Ts the rich, “‘ swelter’d venom ” got 
By stirring Ireland’s ‘‘ charmed pot se 
‘And, thanks to practice on that land, 

I stir it with a master-hand. 


Again thou’lt see, when forth hath gone — 


The War-Chureb-ery, “On, Stanley, 
How Caravats and Shanavests {on !” 
Shall swarm from out their mountain 

nests, Lers, 
With all their merry moonlight broth- 
To whom the Church (step-dame to oth- 


ers) 
Hath been the best of nursing mothers. 
Again o’er Brin’s rich domain 
Shall Rockites and right reverends reign ; 
And both, exempt from vulgar toil, 
Between them share that titheful soil ; 
Puzzling ambition which to climb at, 
The post of Captain, or of Primate. 


And so, long life to Church and Co.— 
Hurrah for mischief !—here we go. 


EPISTLE FROM CAPTAIN ROCK TO 
LORD L—NDH—T. 


DEAR L—ndh—t,—youw'll pardon my 
making thus free,— 

But form is all fudge ’twixt such ‘‘ com- 
rogues” as we, 

Who, whate’er the smooth views we, in 
public, may drive at, 

* “Swelter’d venom, sleeping got, 

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.” 


t Excliequer tithe processes, served under a) 


commission of rebellion.-—-Chronicle. 


Have both the -same praiseworthy ob- 
ject, in private— [riot, 

Namely, never to let the old regions of 

Where Rock hath long reign’d, have one 
instant of quiet, {taught her 

But keep Ireland still in that liquid we’ve 

To love more than meat, drink, or cloth- 
ing—hot water. 


All the difference betwixt you and me 
as I take it, [break it» 
Is simply, that you make the law and I 
And never, of big-wigs and small, were 
there two [we do; 
Play’d so well into each other’s hands as 
Insomuch, that the laws you and yours 
manufacture, [to fracture. 
Seem all made express for the Rock-boys 
Not Birmingham’s self—to her shame be 
it spoken— [to be broken ; 
P’er made things more neatly contrived 
And hence, I confess, in this island re- . 
| ligious, [ prodigious. 
|The breakage of laws—and of heads ἐδ 


And long may it thrive, my Ex-Bigwig, 
say I,— {fun was gone by ; 
Though, of late, much 1 fear’d all our 
As, except when some tithe-hunting par- 
son show’d sport, [ port, 
Some rector—a cool hand at pistols and 
Who ‘ keeps dry” his powder, but never 
himself— [ shelf, 
One who, leaving his Bible to rust on the 
Sends his pious texts home, in the shape 
of ball-cartridges, [tridges ;— 
Shooting his ‘‘ dearly beloved,” like par- 
Except when some hero of this sort 
turn’d out, [tithe-writst about— 
Or, th’ Exchequer sent, flaming, its 
ΠΑ contrivance more neat, I may say, 
without flattery, 
Than e’er yet Was thought of for blood- 
shed and battery ; Lallow, 
So neat, that even J might be proud, 1 
To have hit off so rich a receipt for a 
TOW ;— 
Except for such rigs turning up, now 
and then, {men ; 
I was actually growing the dullest of 
And, had this blank fit been allow’d to 
increase, [Justice of Peace. 
Might have snored myself down to a 
| Like you, Reformation in Church and in 
| State 
‘Is the thing of all things I most cordially 
hate ; 


Porat 7). Sig 
é ‘ 
. 


SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. 


673 


If once these cursed Ministers do as they | | 
like, [and my pike, 
All’s o’er, my good Lord, with your wig | 


And one may be hung up on t’other, 
henceforth, 

Just to show what such Captains ati 
Chancellors were worth. 


But we must not despair—even already 
Hope sees [up a breeze 
Yowre about, my bold Baron, to kick 
Of the true battling sort, such as suits | 
me and you, [ party right through, | 
Who have box’d the whole compass of 
Aud care not one farthing, as all the 
world knows, [quarter it blows. 
So we but raise the wind, from what 
Forgive me, dear Lord, that thus rudely 
I dare 
My own small resources with thme to 
Not even Jerry Diddler, in “ raising the 
wind,” durst [dear L—ndh—t. 
Compete, for one instant, with thee, my 


But, hark, there’s a shot!—some par- | 


sonic practitioner? [missioner ; 
No—merely a bran-new Rebellion Com- | 
The Courts having now, with true law 
erudition, [ sion.” 
Put even Rebellion itself ‘‘in commis- 
As seldom, in this way, ’m any man’s 
debtor, {this letter. 
Tl just pay my shot, and then fold up 
In the mean time, hurrah for the Tories 
and rocks ! [their flocks! 
Huwrah for the parsons who fleece well 
Hwrah for all mischief in all ranks and) 
spheres, [ House of Peers! 


And, above all, hurrah for that dear | 


CAPTAIN ROCK IN LONDON. 


‘LETTER FROM THE CAPTAIN TO TERRY in | 


ESQ.* 


HERE I am, at head-quarters, dear Ter- | 
ry, once more, [before :— 


Deep in Tory designs, as I've oft been | 


For, bless them! if ’twasn’t for this 
wrong-headed crew, 

You and 1, 
know what to do; [are growing 

So ready they’re always, when “dull we 

To set our old concert of discord a- going, 

While L—ndh—t’s the lad, with his 
Tory-Whig face, [ base. 

To play, in such concert, the true double- 


*The subordinate officer or lieutenant of) 


Captain Rock. 


[compare : | 


Terry Alt, would scarce | 


I had fear’d this old prop of my realm 
was beginning 
To tire of his course of political sinning, 
| And, like Mother Cole, when her hey- 
day was past, [virtue at last. 
Meant, by way of a change, to try 
But I wron the old boy, who as 
| stanchly derides [besides ; 
All reform in himself as in most things 
And, by using two faces through life, all 
allow, [thing now. 
Has acquired face sufficient for any 


In short, he’s all right; and, if man- 
kind’s old foe, 

ΝΥ “ Lord Harry” himself—who’s the 
leader, we know, 

Of another red-hot Opposition, below— 

| If that “ Lord,” in his well-known dis- 
cernment, but spares 

Me and L—ndh—t, to look after Ire- 
land’s affairs, 

_ We shall soon such a region of devil- 
ment make it, 

| That Old Nick himself for his own may 
mistake it. 


Even already—long life to such Big- 

wigs, say I, {cannot die— 

For, as long as they flourish, we Rocks 

He has served our right riotous cause by 
a speech [could reach ; 

Whose perfection of mischief he only 

"As it shows off both his and my merits 

alike, 

Both the swell of the wig, and the point 

of the pike; 

Mixes up with a skill which one can’t 
| but admire, {diary’s fire, 
| The lawyer’s cool craft with th’ incen- 

| And enlists, in the gravest, most plaus- 

ible manner, [ery’s banner! 
Seven millions of souls under Rock- 

Oh Terry, my man, let this speech never 
die ; 

Through the regions of Rockland, like 

“flame, let it fly ; 
| Let each syllable dark the Law-Oracle 
utter’d [ ter’d, 
By all Tipperary’s wild echoes be mut- 
, Til naught shall be heard, over hill, 
dale, or flood, 
But *‘ You're aliens in language, in 
creed, and in blood ;” [afar, 
| While voices, from sweet Connemara 

Shall answer, like true Jrish echoes, 
‘We are!” 


074 


And, though false be the cry, and 
though sense must abhor it, 

Still th’ echoes may quote Law author- 
ity for it, 

And naught L—ndh—t cares for my 
spread of dominion, 

So he, in the end, touches cash “ for th’ 
opinion.” 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


But Τνο no time for more, my dear 
Terry, just now, 

Being busy in helping these Lords 
through their row : 

They’re bad hands at mob-work, but, 
once they begin, 

They'll have plenty of practice to break 
them well in. 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND, 


BEING A SEQUEL TO 


“THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS.” 


PREFACE, 


THE name of the country town, in 
England—a_ well-known _ fashionable 
watering-place—in which the events 
that gave rise to the following corres- 
pondence occurred, is, for obvious rea- 
sons, suppressed. The interest attached, 
however, to the facts and personages of 
the story, renders it independent of all 
time and place ; and when it is recollect- 
ed that the whole train of romantic cir- 
cumstances so fully unfolded in these 
Letters has passed during the short pe- 
riod which has now elapsed since the 
great Meetings in Exeter Hall, due 
credit will, it is hoped, be allowed to 
the Editor for the rapidity with which 
he has brought the details before the 
Public; while, at the same time, any 
errors that may have been the result of 
such ‘haste will, he trusts, with equal 
consideration, be pardoned. 


LETTER 1. 


FROM PATRICK MAGAN, 
RICHARD 


ΕΒΩ., TO THE REV. 
» CURATE OF , INIRELAND. 


πὸ d’ye think we’ve got here?— 
quite reform’d from the giddy, 

Fantastic young thing, that once made 

such a noise— [delectable Biddy, 

Why, the famous Miss Fudge—that 


Whem youand I saw once at Puris, 

when boys, [ands, and airs, 

In the fuil blaze of bonnets, and rib- 

Such a thing as no rainbow hath col- 

ors to paint ; {and prayers, 

Ere time hath reduced her to wrinkles 

And the Flirt found a decent retreat 
in the Saint. 


Poor ““ Pa” hath popp’d off—gone, as 
charity judges, {the udges ; 
To some choice Elysium reserved for 
And Miss, with a fortune, besides ex- 
pectations [ palsied relations, 
From some much revered and much- 
Now wants but a husband, with requi- 
sites meet— [six feet, 
Age thirty, or thereabouts—stature 
And warranted godly —to make all com- 
plete. [if he’s high, 
Nota Bene—a Churchman would suit, 
But Socinians or Catholics need not ap- 
ply. 


What say you, Dick? doesn’t this 
tempt your ambition ? 
The whole wealth of Fudge, that re- 
nown’d man of pith, me 
brought to the hamme. 
Church competition, 
Sole encumbrance, Miss Fudge, to be 
taken therewith. [ous a catch! 
Tink, my boy, for a Curate how glori- 


All for 


᾿ 
7 
». 
; 
ι 


| 
While, instead of the thousands of souls 
you now watch, (do; | 
To save Biddy Fudge’s is all you need | 
And her purse will, meanwhile, be the | 
saving of you. | 
You may ask, Dick, how comes it, that | 
I, a poor elf, [your spiritual self, | 
Wanting substance even more than 
Should thus generously Jay my own 
claims on the shelf, 
When, 


God knows! there ne’er was | 
young gentleman yet 
So much lack’d an old spinster to rid 
him from debt, { assail her 
Or had cogenter reasons than mine to 
With tender love-suit—at the suit of his 
tailor. 


But thereby their hangs a soft secret, 
my friend, [commend : 

Which thus to your reverend breast I 

Miss Fudge hath a niece—such a crea- 
ture !—with eyes 

Like those sparklers that peep out from 
summer-night skies {delight 

At astronomers-royal, and laugh with 

To see elderly gentlemenspying all night. 


While her figure—oh, bring all the grace- 
fullest things [feet or by wings, 
That are borne through the hght air by 
Not a single new grace to that form 
could they teach, - Lof each ; 
Which combines in itself the perfection 
While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet 
fall, [all. 
The mute music of symmetry modulates 


Ne’er, in short, was there creature more 
form’d to bewilder [aérial 

A gay youth like me, who of castles 
(And only of such) am, God help me! a 
builder ; [ers ethereal, 

Still peopling each mansion with lodg- 
And now, to thisnymph of the seraph- 
like eye, {next the sky.* 
Letting out, as you see, my first floor 


But, alas! nothing’s perfect on earth— 
even she, [things sometimes ; 

This divine little gipsy, does odd 
Talks learning—looks wise, (rather pain- 
ful to see,) {her rhymes ; 
Prints already in two County papers 


* That floor which a facetious garreteer called 
“le premier en descendant du ciel.” 

tSee the Dublin Evening Post, of the 9th of 
this month, (July,) for an account of a scene 


: THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


| Having 


which lately took place at a meeting of the 


And raves—the sweet, charming, absurd 
little dear! [next year, 
About Amulets, Bijous, and Keepsakes, 
In a manner which plainly bad symp- 
toms portends [to friends ; 
Of that Annual blue fit, so distressing 
A fit which, though lasting but one short 
edition, [anition. 
Leaves the patient long after in sad in- 


However, let’s hope for the best—and, 


meanwhile, {warm smile ; 


i Beit mine still to bask in the niece’s 


While you, if yowre wise, Dick, will 
play the gallant [an Aunt. 


| (Uphill work, I confess) to her Saint of 


Think, my boy, fora youngster like you, 
who’ve a lack, [specie, 
Not indeed of rupees, but of all other 
What luck thus to find a kind witch at 
your back, [debts to release ye ; 
Anold goose with gold eggs, froin all 
Never mind, tho’ the spinster be rever- 
end and thin, 
What are all the Three Graces to 
her Three per Cents. ? 
While her acres !—oh Dick, it don’t 
matter one pin, [touch the rents ; 
How she touchesth’ affections, so you 
And Love never looks half so pleased, 
as when, bless him! he [sameé.” 
Sings to an old lady’s purse ‘‘ Open, Se- 
By the way, I’ve just heard, in my 
walks, a report, {some sport. 
Which, if true, will insure for your visit 


Tis rumor’d our Manager means to be- 


speak {for next week ; 
The Church tumblers from Exeter Hall 
And certainly ne’er did a queerer or rum- 
mer set [a summerset. 
Throw, for th’ amusement of Christians, 
’Tis fear’d their chief ‘ Merriman,”’ 
C—ke, cannotcome, [at home ;t 
Being call’d off,at present, to play Punch 
And the loss of so practised a wag in di- 
vinity {the Trinity ;— 
Will grieve much all lovers of jokes on 
His pun on the name Unigenitus, lately, 
pleased Robert Taylor, the 
Reverend, greatly.t 
’T will prove a sad drawback, if absent 
ne be, [to see; 
As a wag Presbyterian’s a thing quite 
Synod of Ulster, in which the performance of 


| the above-mentioned part by the personage in 


question appears to have been worthy of all its 
former reputation in that line. 
}“ All are punsters if they have the wit to 


076 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


And, ’mong the Five Points of the Cal- 
vinists, none of ’em ->Pem, 
Ever yet reckon’d a point of wit one of 
But even though deprived of this comi- 
cal elf, [self, 
We've a host of buffont in Murtagh him- 
Who of all the whole troop, is chief 
mummer and mime, 
As C—ke takes the Ground tumbling, 
he the Sublime ;* [come in time. 
And of him we’re quite certain, so, pray, 


LETTER II. 


FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MRS. 
ELIZABETH 


JusT in time for the post, dear, and 

monstrously busy, [ly ones, too; 

With godly concernments—and world- 

Things carnal and spiritual mix’d, my 

dear Lizzy, [ dizzy, 

Tn this little brain till, bewilder’d and 

’Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce 
know what I do. 


First, I’ve been to see all the gay fash- 
ions from Town, 
Which our favorite Miss Gimp for the 
spring has had down. [ἃ la folle, 
Sleeves still worn (which J think is wise ) 
Charming hats, pou de soie—though the 
shape rather droll. [of tulle lace, 
But you can’t think how nicely the caps 
With the mentonnicres, look on this poor 
sinful face; {thinks right, 
And I mean, if the Lord in his merey 
To wear one at Mrs. Fitz-wigram’s to- 
night. [ too, to say, 
The silks are quite heavenly :—I’m glad, 
Gimp herself grows more godly and 
good every day; ; doth begin 
Hath had sweet experience—yea, even 
To turn from the Gentiles, and put away 
sin— [laid in. 
And all since her last stock of goods was 
What a blessing one’s milliner, careless 
of pelf, [as one’s self! 
Should thus ‘‘ walk in newness” as well 


So much for the blessings, the comforts 
of Spirit [than I merit !— 
T’ve had since we met, and they’re more 


be so; and therefore when an Irishman has to 
commence with a Bull, you will naturally pro- 
nounce it a bull. (A ljauch.) Allow me to 
bring before you the famous Bull that is called 
Unigenitus, referring to the only-begotten Son 
of God.’’--Report of the Rev. Doctor's speech, 
June 20, in the Record Newspaper, 


Poor, sinful, weak creature in every re- 
spect ; [be one of th’ Elect. 
Though ordain’d (God knows why) to 
But now for the picture’s reverse.— You 
remember [December ; 
That footman and cook-maid I hired last 
He, a Baptist Particular—she, of some 
sect 
Not particular, I fancy, in any respect ; 
But desirous, poor thing, to be fed with 
the Word, [Fudge and the Lord.” 
And “‘to wait,” as she said, ‘on Miss 


Well, my dear, of all men, that Partic- 
ular Baptist [the aptest ; 
At preaching a sermon, off hand, was 
And, iong as he stay’d, do him justice, 
more rich in [was kitchen. 
Sweet favors of doctrine, there never 
He preach’d in the parlor, he preach’d 
in the hall, [lions, and all. — 

He preach’d to the chambermaids, seul- 
All heard with delight his reprovings 
of sin. [would she tire— 
But above all, the cook-maid ;— oh, ne’er 
Though, in learning to save sinful souls 
from the fire, [frying fall in. 
She would oft let the soles she was 


(God forgive me for punning on points 
thus of piety !— [en society.) 

A sad trick ve learn’d in Bob’s heath- 

But ah! there remains still the worst of 
my tale ; [truth to veil— 

Come, Asterisks, and help me the sad 

Conscious stars, that at even your own 
secret tun pale! 


* * * * 
* * * * 

In short, dear, this preaching and 
psalm-singing pair, 

Chosen “vessels of mercy,” as. I 


thought they were, [making bold 
Have together this last week eloped; 
To whip off as much goods as both ves- 
' sels could hold— 
Not forgetting some scores of sweet 
tracts from my shelves, [selves, 
Two Family Bibles as large as them- 
And besides, from the drawer—I ne- 
glected to lock it— [the pocket.”t 
My neat ‘“‘ Morning Manna, done up for 

* In the language of the play-bills, ‘Ground 
and Lofty Tumbling.” 

t ‘*Morning Manna, or British Verse-book, 
neatly done up for the pocket,” and chiefly in- 
tended to assist the members of the British 
Verse Association, whose design is, we are 
told, ‘‘to induce the inhabitants of Great Brit- 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


677 


Was there e’er known a case so distress- 
ing, dear Liz? [of it is, 
It has made me quite ill :—and the worst 
When rogues are all pious, ’tis hard to 
detect [the elect. 
Which rogues are the reprobate, which 
This man ‘“‘had a call,” he said—impu- 
dent mockery ! [ery ! 
What call had he to my linen and crock- 


T’m now, and have been for this week 
past, in chase {to replace. 
Of some godly young couple this pair 
The inclosed two announcements have 
just met my eyes, {advertise 
Tn that venerable Monthly where Saints 
For such temperal comforts as this 
world supplies ;* [made 
And the fruits of the Spirit are properly 
An essential in every craft, calling, and 
trade, [’prentice some youth 
Where th’ attorney requires for his 
Who has ‘‘learn’d to fear God, and to 
ὃ walk in the truth ;” 
Where the sempstress, in search of em- 
ployment, declares, —[ prayers; 
That pay is no object, soshe can have 
And th’ Establish’d Wine Company 
proudly gives out, [are devout. 
That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, 
Happy London, one feels, as one reads 
o’er the pages, [dant thansages ; 
Where Saints are so much more abun- 
Where Parsons may soon be all laid on 
the shelf, {for himself, 
As each Cit can cite chapter and verse 
And the serious frequenters of market 
and dock 


ain and Ireland to commit one and the same 
verse of Scripture to memory every morning. 
Already, it is known, several thousand persons 
in Scotland, besides tens of thousands in 
America and Africa, are every morning learn- 
ing the same verse.” 

* The Evangelical Magazine.—A few speci- 
mens taken at random from the wrapper of 
this highly esteemed periodical will fully justify 
the character which Miss Pudge has here given 
ofit. ** Wanted, ina pious pawnbroker's family, 
im active lad as an apprentice.” ‘* Wanted, as 
housemaid, a young female who has been 
brought to a saving knowledge of the truth.” 
“ Wanted immediately, aman of decided piety, 
to assist inthe baking business.” “Δ gentle- 
mun who understands the Wine Trade is de- 
sirous of entering into partnership, &e., &e. 
He is not desirous of being connected with 
any one whose system of business is not of the 
strictest integrity as in the sight of God, and 
seeks connection only with a truly pious man, 
either Churchman or Dissenter.”’ 


All lay in religion as part of their stock. ἢ 
Who can tell to what lengths we may 

go on improving, [keeps moving, 
When thus through all London the Spirit 
And heaven’s so in vogue, that each 

shop advertisement [skies meant ? 
Is now not so much for the earth as the 


Pep: 
Have mislaid the two paragraphs—can’t 
stop to look, [man and Cook, 
But both describe charming—both Foot- 
She, ‘‘decidedly pious’—with pathos 
deplores {on our shores ; 
Th’ increase of French cookery and sin 
And adds—(while for further account 
she refers [hers, ) 
To a great Gospel preacher, a cousin of 
That ‘‘though some make their Sabbaths 
mere matter-of-fun days, 
She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on 
Sundays.” [knowledge ;— 
The footman, too, full of the true saving 
Has late been to Cambridge—to Trinity 
College ; {ing divinity, 
Served last a young gentleman, study- 
But left—not approving the morals of 
Trinity. 


Eps 

I enclose, too, according to promise, 
some scraps [of my heart ; 

Of my Journal—that Day-book I keep 
Where, at some little item, (partaking, 
perhaps, [prudery may start, 

More of earth than of heaven,) thy 
And suspect something tender, sly girl 
as thou art. [e’er may befall, 

For the present, I’m mute—but, what- 


+ According to the late Mr. Irving, there is 
even a peculiar form of theology got up ex- 
pressly for the money-market. ‘I know how 
far wide,” he says, “of the mark my views of 
Christ's work in the flesh will be viewed by 
those who are working with the stock-jobbing 
theology of the religious world.” ‘* Let these 
preachers,” he adds, (‘* for I wall not. eall them 
theologians,) ery up, broker-like, their article.” 

Morning Watch.—No. iii., 442, 443. 

From the statement of another writer, in the 
same publication, it would appear that the 
stock-brokers have even set up anew Divinity 
of their own. ‘This shows,” says the writer 
in question, “that the doctrine of the union 
between Christ and his members is quite as 
essential as that of substitution, by taking which 
latter alone the Stock-Eaxchange Divinity has 
been produced." —No. x., p. 370. 

Among the ancients, we know the money- 
market was provided with more than one pre- 


| siding Deity—‘ Deze Peeuniw (says an ancient 
author) commendabantur ut pecuniosi essent. 


678 


MOORS 


WORKS. 


Mecollect, dear, (in Hebrews, xiii. 4,) 
St. Paul [honorable im all.” 
Hath himself declared, ‘‘ Marriage is 


EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 
Monday. 
TRIED a new Chalé gown on—pretty. 
No cne to see me in it—pity ! 
Flew in a passion with Friz, my maid ;— 
The Lord forgive me!—she look’d dis- 
may’d; 
But got her to sing the 100th Psalm, 
While she eurl’d my hair, which made 
me calm 
Nothing so soothes a Christian heart 
As sacred music—heavenly art ! 
Tuesday. 
At two, a visit from Mr. Magan— 
A remarkably handsome, nice young 
And, all Hibernian though he be, [man ; 
As civilized, strange to say, as we! 


I own this young man’s spiritual state 
Hath much engross’d my thoughts of 
late ; [{ gone 
And I mean, as soon as my niece is 
To have some talk with him thereupon. 
At present, I naught can do or say, 
But that troublesome child is inthe way ; 
Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he 
Would also her absence much prefer, 
As oft, while list’ning intent to me, [her. 
He’s forced, from politeness, to look at 


Heigho!—what a blessing should Mr. 
Magan [man ; 
Turn out, after all, a ‘‘renew’d” young 
Aud to me should fall the task, on earth, 
To assist at the dear youth’s second birth. 
Blest thought ! and, ah! more blest the 
tie, [1-- 
Were it heaven’s high will, that he and 
But 1 blush to write the nuptial word— 
Should wed, as St. Paul says, “1m the 
Lord ;” [lant, 
Not this world’s wedlock—gross, gal- 
But pure—as when Amram married his 
aunt. 


Our ages differ—but who would count 
One’s natural sinful life’s amount, 

Or look in the Register’s vulgar page 
for a regular twice-born Christian’s age, 
Who, blessed privilege ! only then 
Begin’s to live when he’s born again. 


And, counting in this way—let me see— 
T myself but five years old shall be, 


And dear Magan, when th’ event takos 
place, 

An actual new-born child of grace— 

Should Heaven in mercy so dispose— 

A six-foot baby, in swaddling clothes. 

Wednesday. 

Finding myself, by some good fate, 

With Mr. Magan left téte-d-téte, 

Had just begun—having stirr’d the fire, 

And drawn my chair near his—to inquire 

What his notions were of Original Sin, 

When that naughty Fanny again 
bounced in ; 

And all the sweet things I had got to say 

Of the flesh and the devil were whisk’d 
away ! 


Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan 

Is actually pleased and amused with 
Fan! 

What charms any sensible man can see 

In a child so foolishly young as she— 

But just eighteen, come next May-day, 

With eyes, like herself, full of naught 
but play— 

Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me. 


LETTER 111. 


FROM MiSs FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, 
MISS KITTY 


STANZAS (ENCLOSED 
WHY ?—WHAT ?—l10W ? 


TO MY SHADOW; OR, 


Dark comrade of my path ! while earth 

and sky [array’d, 

Thus wed their charms, in bridal light 

Why in this bright hour, walk’st thou 

ever nigh, [length of shade— 

Blacl’ning my footsteps with thy 
Dark comrade, Wiy ? 


Thou mimic Shape that, 'mid these flow- 
ery scenes, 
Glidest beside me o’er each sunny spot, 
Sad@ning them as thou goest —say, what 
means 
So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot— 
Grim goblin, Wirar ἢ 


Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend 
my brow, [1 rise ;— 
Thou bendest, too—then risest when 
Say, mute mysterious Thing! how is’t 
that thou 
Thus comest between me and those 
bless’d skies— 
Dim shadow, How ? 


THE FUDGES 


IN ENGLAND. 679 


. 
(ADDITIONAL STANZA, BY ANOTHER HAND.) 


Thus said I to that Shape, far less in 
grudge [cried, 
Than gloom of soul ; while, as I eager 
Oh, Why? What? How?—a Voice, 
that one might judge 
To be some Irish echo’s, faint replied, 
Oh fudge, fudge, fudge ! 


You have here, dearest Coz, my last 

lyrie effusion ; {stanza,” 

And, with it, that odious “ additional 

Which Aunt will insist I must keep, as 

conclusion, [Magan’s ;—a 

And which, you'll at once see, is Mr. 

Most cruel and dark-design’d extrava- 

ganza, [my Aunt are 

And part of that plot in which he and 

To stifle the flights of my genius by 
banter. 


Just so ’twas with Byron’s young eagle- | 
=) 


eyed strain, [critics, vain, 
Just so did they taunt him ;—but vain, 
All your efforts to saddle Wit’s fire with 
a chain! [young stream, 
To blot out the splendor of Fancy’s 
Or crop, in its cradle, her newly-fledged 
beam!!! [these lines 1 indite, 
Thou perceiy’st, dear, that, even while 
Thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break 
out, wrong or right, [spite ! 
And I’m all over poet, in Criticisni’s 


That my Aunt, who deals onlyin Psalms, 
and regards Lall bards— 


Messrs. Sternhold and Co. as the first of 


That she should make light of my works 
LTean’t blame; [—what ashame ! 
But that nice, handsome, odious Magan 
Do you know, dear, that, high as on 
most points 1 rate him, [δὴ 
I’m really afraid—after all, I—must hate 


He is so proyoking—naught’s safe from | 
g ἕ 


his tongue ; [young. 
He spares no one authoress, ancient or 


Were you Sappho herself. and in Keep- | 


sake or Bijou [he’d quiz you! 
Once shone as contributor, Lord how 
He laughs at all Monthlies—I’ve actu- 
ally seen [zine !— 
A sneer on his brow at the Court Maga- 
While of Weeklies, poor things, there’s 
hut one he peruses, [abuses. 
And buys every book which that Weekly 


But I care not how others such sareasm | 


may fear, [sneer ; 
One spivit, at least, will net bend to his 


| And though tried by the fire, my young 
genius shall burn as [nace ! 
_Uninjured as crucified gold in the fur- 
(I suspect the word ‘‘ crucified” must 

be made “ crucible,” [ducible.) 
_ Before this fine image of mine is pro- 


'And now, dear—to tell you a secret 
which, pray [you may— 
Only trust to such friends as with safety 
You know, and indeed the whole Coun- 
| ty suspects, [things rejects, ) 
(Though the Editor often my best 
That the verses signed so, (, which 
you now and thensee [Ὁ me. 
In our County Gazette (vide last) are 
But ’tis dreadtul to think what proyol- 
ing mistakes [ody makes. 
|The vile country Press in one’s pros- 
or you know, dear—I may, without 
vanity, hint—[devils must print; 
| Though an angel should write, still ’tis 
| And you can’t think what havoc these 
demons sometimes, 
Choose to make of one’s sense, and 
what’s worse, of one’s rhymes. 
But a weekor two since, in my Ode upon 
Spring, [beautiful thing, 
| Which 1 meant to have made a most 
Where I talk’d of the ‘* dew-drops from 
freshly-blown roses,” 
The nasty things made it ‘from fresh- 
ly-blown noses "ἢ 
/And once when, to please my cross 
Aunt, I had tried, 
ΤῸ commemorate some saint of her 
clique, who’d just died, 
Having said he “‘ had tak’n up inheaven 
his position,” [his physician !” 
They made it he'd “ taken up to heaven 


This is very disheartening ;—but bright- 
er days shine, [the Nine ; 
I rejoice, love, to say, both for me and 
For, what do you think ?—so delightful ! 
next year, [news prepare— 
Oh, prepare, dearest girl, forthe grand 
I’m to write in the Keepsake—yes, Kit- 
ty, my dear, [you're there 1! 
To write in the Keepsake, as sure as 
T’other night, at a Ball, ’twas my fortu- 
nate chance { lance, 
With a very nice elderly Dandy to 
Who, ’tywas plain, from some hints which 
I now and then caught, 
Was the author of something—one 
couldn’t tell what ; 


080 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


But his satisfied manner left no room for 
doubt [lately brought out. 
It was something that Colburn had 


We conversed of belles-lettres through 

all the quadrille,— [still ; 

Of poetry, dancing, of prose, standing 

Talk’d of Intellect’s march—whether 

right ’twas or wrong—[en avant. 

And then settled the point in a bold 

In the course of this talk ’twas that, 

haying just hinted [to be printed, 

That I too had Poems which—long’d 

He protested, kind man, he had seen, 

at first sight, [ write. 

1 was actually born in the Keepsake to 

‘in the Annals of England, let some,” 

he said, “ shine, { thine. 

“ But a place in her Annuals, Lady, be 

“ven now future Keepsakes seem | 

brightly to rise, [on those eyes,— 

«Through the vista of years, as I gaze 

‘* All letter’d and press’d, and of large- 

paper size!” [ius would smother. 

How unlike that Magan, who my gen- 

And how we, true geniuses, find out 
each other ! 


This, and much more he said, with that 
fine phrensied glance, 
One so rarely now sees, as we slid 
through the dance; [next year, 
Till between us ’twas finally fix’d, that, 
In this exquisite task I my pen should 
engage ; {lisp’d in my ear 
And, at parting, he stoop’d down and 
These mystical words, which I could | 
but just hear, 
“Terms for rhyme—if it’s pr'ime— 
ten and sixpence per page.” 
Kitty, my dear, if I heard his 
words right, [small head contains; 
What a mint of half -oineas this 
If for nothing to write isitself a delight, 


Think, 


Ye Gods, what a bliss to be paid for | 
; Such a sermon!—though not about dan- 


one’s strains ! 
Having dropp’d the dear fellow 
sy profound, 
Off at once, to inquire all about him, 
And from what I could learn, do you 
know, dear, I’ve found 
That he’s quite a new species of liter- 
ary man; [fashion accustom us? 


a court’- 


One, whose task is—to what will not | 


* With regard to the exact time of this event, 
there appears to be a difference only of about | 
{wo or three years among the respective caleu- 
lators. M. Alphonse Nicole, Docteur en Droit, 


| 


To edite live authors, as if they were 
posthumous. [the oddest !— 
For instance—the plan, to be sure, is 
Ifany young he or she author feels mod- 
est [man-usher 
In venturing abroad, this kind gentle- 
Lends promptly a hand to the interest- 
ing blusher ; [to light, 
Indites a smooth Preface, brings merit 
Which else might, by accident, shrink 
out of sight, [ics polite. 
And, in short, renders readers and crit- 
My Aunt says—though scarce on such 
points one can credit her— 
He was Lady Jane Thingumbob’s last 
novel’s editor. 
’Tis certain the fashion’s but newly in- 
vented ; [and all names is, 
And, quick as the change of all things 
Who knows but, as authors, like girls, 
are presented, [James’s? 
We girls, may be edited soon at St. 


I must now close my letter—there’s 
Aunt, in full screech, 

Wants to take me to hear some great 
Trvingite preach. [I must say, 

God forgive me, I’m not much inclined, 

To go and sit still to be preach’d at, to- 
day, {ing, no doubt, 

And, besides—’twill be all against dane- 

Which my poor Aunt abhors, with such 
hatred devout, 

That, so far from presenting young 
nymphs with a head, 

| For their skill in the dance, as of He- 
rod is said, ter, instead. 


'She’d wish their own heads in the plat- 


[I ran; | 


again—coming, Ma’am !—I’]l 
write more, if I can, 

| Before the post goes, 

Your affectionate Fan. 


There, 


Four o'clock. 


cing, my dear ; [ being near. 
"Twas only on th’ end of the world 
Lighteen Hundred and Forty’s the year 

that some state  [Forty-Hight :* 
As the time for that accident—some 
And I own, of the two, I’d prefer much 

the latter, [’twon’t matter. 
As then I shall be an old maid, and 
et Avocat, merely doubts whether it is to be in 
1846 or 1847. ‘A cette ὁ oque,” he says, ‘les 


fidcles peuvent espérer ¢ e voir s’effectuer la 
' purification du Sanctuaire.’ 


THE FUDGES 


Once more, love, good-by—I’ve to make 


a new cap; 
But am now so dead tired with this hor- 
rid misha 
Of the end of the world, that I must 
take a nap. 
LETTER IV. 
FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. 


RICHARD 


HE comes from Erin’s speechful shore 
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o’er 
With hot effusions—hot and weak ; 
Sound, Humbug, all your hollowest 
drums, 
He comes, of Erin’s martyrdoms 
To Britain’s well-fed Church to speak. 
Puff him, ye Journals of the Lord,* 
’T win prosers, Watchman and Record ! 
Journals reserved for realms of bliss, 
Being much too good to sell in this. 
Prepare, ye wealthier Saints, your din- 
ners, [crumpets ; 
Ye Spinsters, spread your tea and 
And you, ye countless Tracts for Sin- 


ners, 
Blow all your little penny trumpets. 
He comes, the reverend man, to tell 
To all who still the Church’s let take, 
Tales of parsonic wo, that wel 
Might make ev’n grim Dissenter’s 
heart ache :— 
Of ten whole Bishops snatch’d away 
Forever from the light of day ; 
(With God knows, too, how many more, 
~ For whom that doom is yet in store )— 
Of Rectors, cruelly compell’d 
From Bath and Cheltenham to haste 
home, 
Because the tithes, by Pat withheld, 


Will not to Bath or Cheltenham come; | 


Nor will the flocks consent to pay 
Their parsons thus to stay away :— 
Though, with such parsons, one may 
doubt 
Tf ’tisn’t money, well laid out ;— 
Of all, in short, and each degree 
Of that once happy Hierarchy, 
Which used to roll in wealth so 
pleasantly ; 
But now, alas, is doom’d to see 
Its surplus brought to nonplus pres- 
ently ! 


* “ Our anxious desire is to be found on the 
side of the Lord.’’—Record Newspaper. 


IN ENGLAND. 681 


Such are the themes this man of pathos, 
| Priest of prose and Lord of bathos, 
| Will preach and preach t’ye, till 
ou’re dull again ; (claim, 
Then, hail him, Saints, with joint ac- 
Shout to the stars his tuneful name, 
Which Murtagh was, ere known to fame, 
But now is Mortimer O’ Mulligan ! 


All true, Dick, true as you’re alive— 

I’ve seen him, some hours since, arrive. 

Murtagh is come, the great Itinerant— 

| And Tuesday, in the market-place, 

Intends, to every saint and sinner in’t, 
To state what he calls Ireland’s Case; 

Meaning thereby the case of his shop,— 

Of curate, vicar, rector, bishop, 

And all those other grades seraphic. 

That make men’s souls their special 

traffic, 

| Though caring not a pin which way 

Th’ erratic souls go, so they pay.— 

Just as some roguish country nurse, 
Who takes a foundling babe to suckle, 

| First pops the payment in her purse, 

| Then leaves poor dear to—suck its 

knuckle. 

| Even so these reverend rigmaroles 

| Pocket the money—starve the souls. 

| Murtagh, however, in his glory, 

| Will tell, next week, a different story; 

| Will make out all these men of barter, 

| As each a saint, ἃ downright martyr, 

Brought to the stake—i. e. a beef one ; 

Of ail their martyrdoms the chief one ; 

Though try them even at this, they'll 

“bear it, 
| [f tender and wash’d down with claret. 


/Meanwhile Miss Fudge, who loves all 

lions, [’uns— 

/Your saintly, next to great and high 

(A Viscount, be he what he may, 

| Would cut a Saint out, any day,) 

Has just announced a godly rout, 

Where Murtagh’s to be first brought out, 

And shown in his tame, week-day 
state :— 

ἐς Prayers, half-past seven, tea at eight.” 

Even so the circular missive orders— 

Pink ecards, with cherubs round the 
borders. 


Haste, Dick—you’re lost, if you lose 
time ; 
Spinsters at forty-five grow giddy, 
And Murtagh, with his tropes sublime, 
Will surely carry off old Biddy, 


632 


Unless some spark at once propose, 
And distance him by downright prose. 
That sick, rich squire, whose wealth and 
lands 
All pass, they say, to Biddy’s hands, 
(The patron, Dick, of three fat rectories !) 
15 dying of angina pectoris ;— x 
So that, unless you’re stirring soon, 
Murtagh, that priest of put and pelf, 
May come in for a honey-moon, 
And be the man of it, himself ! 


As for me, Dick—’tis whim, ’tis folly, 
But this young niece absorbs me wholly. 
’Tis true, the girl’s a vile verse-maker— 
Would rhyme all nature, if you'd let 
her ;— 
But even her oddities, plague take her, 
But make me love her all the better. 
Too true it is, she’s bitten sadly 
With this new rage for rhyming badly, 
Which late hath seized ‘all ranks and 
classes, 
Down to that new Estate, ‘the masses;” 
‘Till one pursuit all taste combines— 
One common railroad o’er Parnassus, 
Where, sliding in those tuneful grooves, 
Call’d couplets, all creation moves. 
And the whole world runs mad in 
lines. 


Add to all this—what’s even still worse 
Asrhyme itself, though still a curse, 
Sounds better to a chinking purse— 
Scarce sixpence hath my charmer got, 
While I can muster just a groat ; 
So that, computing self and Venus, 
Tenpence would clear th’ amount be- 
tween us. 


However, things may yet prove better ;— 
Me: utime, that awful length of letter ! 
And how, while heaping thus with gibes 
The Pegasus of modern scribes, 

My own small hobby of farrago  [go! 
Hath beat the pace at which even they 


LETTER V. 


FROM LARRY O’BRANNIGAN, IN ENGLAND, TO HIS 
WIFE JUDY, AT MULLINAFAD. 
DEAR Jupy, I sind you this bit of a 
letther, {of a betther— 
By inail-coach conveyance--for want 
To tell you what luck in this world I 
have had [fad. 
Since I left the sweet cabin, at Mullina- 


MOORHE’S WORKS. 


Och, Judy, that night !—when the pig 
which we meant [the rent, 
To dry-nurse in the parlor, to pay off 
Julianna, the craythur—that name was 
the death of her*— 
Gave us the shlip and we saw the last 
breath of her! [cent sowls, 
And there were the childher, six inno- 
For their nate little play-fellow tuning 
up howls [grievin’s a folly, ) 
While yourself, my dear Judy, (though 
Stud over Julianna’s remains melan- 
choly— [for the money, 
Cryin’, half for the craythur, and half 
“¢ Arrah, why did ye die till we’d sowl’d 
you, my honey ?” 


But God’s will be done !—and then, 
faith, sure enough, [time to be off. 
As the pig was desaiced, ’twas high 
So we gother’d up all the poor duds we 
could catch [in the thatch, 
Lock’d the owld cabin-door, put the kay 
Then tuk laave of each other’s sweet 
lips in the dark, [out of the Ark ; 
And set off, like the Chrishtians turn’d 
The six childher with you, my dear 
Judy, ochone! alone. 
And poor I wid myself, left condolin’ 


How I came to this England, o’er say 
and o’er lands, [on my hands, 
And what cruel hard walkin’ I’ve had 
Is, at this present writin’, too tadious to 
speak, [ week :— 
So Τ] mintion it all in a postscript, next 
Only starved 1 was, surely, as thin as a 
lath, {eall Bath, 


| Till T came to an up-and-down place they 


Where, as luck was, I managed to make 
a meal’s meat, [the street— 
By dhraggin’ owld ladies all day through 
Which their docthors (who pocket, like 
fun, the pound starlins) 
Have brought into fashion to plase the 
owld darlins. [could carry 
Div’la boy in all Bath, though I say it, 
The grannies up hill half so handy as 
Larry ; [crows, in the air, 
And the Hehe they lived like owld 
The more J was wanted to lug them up 
there. 


* The Irish peasantry are very fond of giving 
fine names to their pigs. I have heard of one 
instanee in which a couple of young pigs were 
named, at their birth, Abelard and Eloisa. 


But luck has two handles, dear Judy, 

they say, [wrong way. 

And mine has both handles put on the 

For, pondherin’, one morn, on a drame 

Τὰ just had {fad, 

Of yourself and the babbies, at Mullina- 

Och, there caine o’er my sinses so plasin’ 

a flutther, [in the gutther, 

That I spilt an owld Countess right clane 

Muff, feathers and all !—the descint was 

most awful, 

And—what was still worse, faith—I 
knew ’twas unlawful : 

For though, with mere women, no very 

great evil, [divil ! 

T’ upset an owld Countess in Bath is the 

So, liftin’ the chair, with herself safe 

upon it, __ [bonnet, ) 

For nothin’ about her was kilc, but her 

ithout even mentionin’ “By your 

lave, ima’am,” [am! 

I tuk to my heels and—here, Judy, I 


What’s the name of this town I can’t say 
very well, {hear what befell 
But your heart sure will jump when you 
Your own beautiful Larry, tlie very first 
day, (gay, ) 
(And a Sunday it was, shinin’ out mighty 
When his brogues to this city of luck 
found their way [in’ to stop, 
Bein’ hungry, God help me, and happen- 
Just to dine on the shmell of a pastry- 
cook’s shop, [paper, 
I saw, in the window a large printed 
And read there a name, och! that made 
my heart caper— [A B OC, 
Though printed it was in some quare 
That might bother a schoolmasther, let 
alone me. [γοῦν but listen’d, 
By gor, you’d have laugh’d, Judy, could 
As, doubtin’, I cried, ‘‘ why it ἐδ /—no, 
it isn’t ;” [quite slow, 
But it was, after all—for, by spellin’ 
First I made out ‘ Rev. Mortimer ”— 
then a great ‘0;” 
And, at last, by hard readin’ and rackin’ 
my skull again, {ligan !” 
Out it came, nate as imported, “ O’Mul- 


Up I jump’d like a sky-lark, my jewel, 
at that name,— [be the same. 

Div'l a doubt on my mind, bat it mest 

*“‘Masther Murthagh, himself,” says I, 
‘all the world over ! 

“My own_fosther-brother —by finks, 
I’m in clover. 


~ 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


633 


‘‘Though there, in the play-bill, he fig- 
ures so grand, {up by hand, 

“One wet-nurse it was brought us both 

‘And he’ll not let me shtarve in the 
inemy’s land !” 


Well, to make a long hishtory short, 
niver doubt [lad out ; 
But I managed, in no time, to find the 
And the joy of the meetin’ bethuxt him 
and me, [charmin’to see. 
Such a pair of owld cumrogues—was 
Nor is Murthagh less plased with th’ 
evint than J am, de-sham ; 
As he just then was wanting a Valley- 
And, for dressiv’ a gintleman, one way 
or t’other, {other. 
Your nate Irish lad is beyant every 


But now, Judy, comes the quare part 
of the case ; [on τὴν place, 
And, in throth, it’s the only drawback 
’T was Murthagh’s ill luck to be cross’d, 
as you know, [short time ago; 
With an awkward misfortune some 
That’s to say, he turn’d Protestant— 
why, 1 can’t lar; [my consarn. 
But, of coorse, he knew best, and it’s not 
All I know is,,we both were good Cath’- 
lies, at nurse, {ther nor worse. 
And myself am so still—nayther bet- 
Well, our bargain was all right and tight 
in a jiffey, [ Liffey, 
And lads more contint never yet left the 
When Murthagh—or Morthimer, as he’s 
now chrishen’d, [he isn’t— 
His name being convarted, at laist, if 
Lookin’ sly at me (faith, twas divartin’ 
to see) [ry,”says he, 
“ΟΥ̓ coorse, youre a Protestant, Lar- 
Upon which says myself, wid a wink 
just as shly, [says I ;— 
‘*“Ts’t a Protestant ?—oh yes, 7 am, sir,” 
And there the chat ended, and div’] a 
more word [oceurr’d, 
Controyarsial between us has since then 


What Murthagh could mane, and, in 
troth, Judy, dear, [mighty clear; 

What J myself meant, doesn’t seem 

But the thruth is, though still for the 
Owld Light a stickler, 


| I was just then too shtarved to be over 


partic’lar : — 

And, God knows, between us, a comic’- 
ler pair 

Of twin Protestants couldn’t be seen 
any where. 


084 


Next Tuesday (as towld in the play-bills 
τ J mintion’d, [ tion’d) 
Address’d to the loyal and godly intin- 
His rivirence, my master, comes for- 
ward to preach,— [or speech, 
Myself doesn’t know whether sarmon 
But it’s all one to him, he’s a dead hand 
at each ; [in orations 
Like us, Paddys, in gin’ral, whose skill 
Quite bothers the blarmey of all other 
nations. 


But, whisht !—there’s his 
shoutin’ out ‘‘ Larry, 
And sorra a word more Wall this shmall 
paper carry ; _ [letther, 
So, here, Judy, ends my short bit of a 
Which, faix, Γ᾿ ἃ have made a much big- 
ger and betther, [town 
But div’! a one Post-office hole in this 
Fit to swallow a dacent-sized billy-dux 
down. [I love her; 
So good luck to the childer !—tell Molly, 
Kiss Oonagh’s sweet mouth, and kiss 
Katty all over— __ [rant whiskey 
Not forgettin’ the mark of the red cur- 
She σοῦ. at the fair when yourself was so 
frisky. [when I can again, 
The heavens be your bed!—I will write 
Yours to the world’s end, 
Larry O’ BRANIGAN. 


, Rivirence, 


LETTER VI. 


FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS. ELIZA- 

BETH 

How I grieve youre not with us!— 

pray, come, if you can, [man, 

Hre we’re robb’d of this dear oratorical 

Who combines in himself all the multi- 

ple glory [and Tory ;— 

Of Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist 

(Choice mixture! like that from which, 
duly confounded, 

The best sort of brass was, in old times, 

compounded) — [ godly, 

The sly and the saintly, the worldly and 

All fused down in brogue so deliciously 

oddly ! [ces draws, 

In short, he’s a dear—and such audien- 

Such loud peals of laughter and shouts 

of applause, [ cause. 

As can't but do good to the Protestant 

dear Irish Church !—he_ to-day 

sketch’d a view [least new, 

Of her history and prospects, to me at 


Poor 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


| And which (if it takes as it ought) must 


arouse [to espouse. 
The whole Christian world her just rights 
As to reasoning—you know, dear, that’s 
now of no use, [ures produce, 
People still will their Jacts and dry fig- 
As if saving the souls of a Protestant 
flock were [Cocker !” 
A thing to be managed “ according to 
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals 
hector [ Rector, 
At paying some thousands a year to a 
In places where Protestants never yet 
were, ) [may be born there ?” 
“Who knows but young Protestants 
And granting such accident, think, what 
a shame, [they came ! 
If they didn’t find Rector and Clerk when 


| It is clear that, without such a staff on 


full pay, [astray ; 
These little Church embryos must go 
And, while fools are computing what 
Parsons would cost, 
Precious souls are meanwhile to th’ Es- 
tablishment lost ! 


In vain do we put the case sensibly 
thus ;- - [make a fuss, 
They’ll still with their figures and facts 
And ask, ‘‘if, while all, choosing each 
his own road, [Heavenly Abode, 
“« Journey on, aS we can, towards the 
“Tt is right that seven eighths of the 
travellers should pay 
“Por one eighth that goes quite a dif- 
ferent way ?”— [in reality, 
Just as if, foolish people, this wasn’t, 
A proof of the Church’s extreme liberal- 
ity, Lrespects, 
That, though hating Popery in other 
She to Catholic money in no way ob- 
jects ; [ this sense, 
And so liberal her very best Saints, in 
That they even go to heaven at the 
Catholic’s expense. 


But, though clear to owr minds all these 
arguments be, [see 5 
People cannot or w ill not their cogency 
And, I grieve to confess, did the poor 
Irish Church [in the lurch. 
Stand on reasoning alone, she’d be left 
It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy 
most sincere, [thing we’ve here, 
That I heard thisnice Reverend O’ some- 
Produce, from the depths of his knowl- 
edge and reading, [exceeding, 
A view of that marvellous Church, far 


THE FUDGES IN 


In meee στο, and profoundness of 
thou (taught. 
All that ting himself, in his glory, e’er 


Looking through the whole history, ie 
ent and past, [to the last ; 
Of the Irish Law Church, from the first 
Considering how strange its original 
birth — [en earth— 
Such a thing having never before been 
How opposed to the instinct, the law, 
and the force [ course; 
Of nature and reason has been its whole 
Through centuries encount’ring repug- 
nance, resistance, 
Scorn, hate, execration—yet still in ex- 
istence ! ! [draws 
Considering all this, the conclusion he 
Is that Nature exempts this one Church 
from her laws— ς 
That Reason, dumb-founder’d, gives 
up the dispute, 
And before the portentous anomaly 
stands mute ;— [once begun, 
That, in short, ’tis a Miracle !— and, 
And transmitted through ages from fa- 
ther to son, [on. 
For the honor of miracles, ought to go 


Nor yet was conclusion so cogent and 
sound, {confound. 
Or so fitted the Church’s weak foes to 
For, observe, the more low all her mer- 
its they place, [ case, 
The more they make out the miraculous 
And the more all good Christians must 
deem it profane [reign. 
To disturb such a prodigy’s marvellous 


As for scriptural proofs, he quite 
placed beyond doubt 

That the whole in the Apocalypse may 
be found out, 

As clear and well- proved, he would 
venture to swear, {there :— 

As anything else has been ever found 

While the mode in which, bless the 
dear fellow, he deals 

With that whole lot of vials and trum- 
pets and seals, [ strings, 

And the ease with which vial on vial he 

Shows him ie a first-rate at all these 
sort of things. 


So much for theology :—as for th’ affairs | 
Of this temporal w orld—the light, dravw- | 
| And w hy a nice bonnet should stand in 


in g-room cares 


ENGLAND. 685 


From no love of such things, but in 
humbleness meek, 

And to be, as th’ Apostle was, ‘‘ weak 
with the weak,” 

Thou wilt find quite enough (till I’m 
somewhat less busy) 

In th’ extracts enclosed, my dear news- 
loving Lizzy. 


EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 
Thursday. 
Last night, having naught more holy to 
do, [new, 
Wrote a letter to dear Sir Andrew Ag- 
About the ‘ Do-nothing-on-Sunday- 
Club,” {dub 
Which we wish by some shorter name to 
As the use of more vowels and conso- 
nants [L wants, 
Than a Christian, on Sunday, really 
Is a grievance that ought to be done 


away 
And the Alphabet left to rest, that day. 
Sunday. 
Sir Andrew’s answer!—but, shocking 
to say, 


Being frank’d unthinkingly yesterday, 
To the horrer of Agnews yet unborn, 
It arrived on this blessed Sunday 
morn! !— 
How shocking!—the postman’s _ self 
cried ‘‘shame on’t,” [οὐ !! 
Seeing th’ immaculate Andrew’s name 
What will the Club do?—meet, no 
doubt. { vout, 
"Tis a matter that touches the Class De- 
And the friends of the Sabbath mus¢ 
speak out. 
Tuesday. 
Saw to-day, at the rafle—and saw it with 
pain— [dress plain. 
That those stylish Fitzwigrams begin to 
νοι gay little Sophy smart trimmings 
renounces— 
She, who long has stood by me through 
all sorts of flounces, 
And show’d, by fg re the toilet’s 
sweet rites, [out being frights. 
That we, girls, may be Christians, with- 
This, I own, much alarms me; for 
though one’s religious, 
all that, 
Cay, to be hideous ; 


there’s no 
[the way 


And gay tous of the toilet, which, God | Of one’s going to heaven, ’tisn’t easy to 


knows, I seek, 


say. 


MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


Then, there’s Gimp, the poor thing—if 
her custom we drop, 
Pray, whats to become of her soul 
aud her shop? [ders are given, 
If by saiats like ourselves no more or- 
She’ll lose all theinterest she now takes 
in heaven; [from the burning,” 
And this nice little ‘* fire-brand, pluck’d 
May fall inagain at the very next turn- 
ing. 
: Wednesday. 
Mem.—To write to the India-Mission 
Society ; 
And send £20—heavy tax upon piety ! 


Of all Indian luxuries we now-a-days 
boast, [haps costs the most. 
Making ‘‘Company’s Christians’’* per- 
And the worst of if is, that these con- 
verts full grown, [their own,t 
Having lived in our faith, mostly die in 
Praying hard, at the last, to some god 
who, they say, [curds and whey.t 
When incarnate on earth, used to steal 
Think how horrid, my dear!—so that’s 
all thrown away ; [the rice 
And (what is still worse) for the rum and 
They consumed, while believers, we 
saints pay the price. 


Still ’tis cheering to find that we do save 
a few— [nangcadoo; 

The Report gives six Christians for Cun- 

Doorkotchum reckons seven, and four 
Trevandrum, [padun. 

While but one and a half’s left at Cooroo- 

In this last-mention’d place ’tis the bar- 
bers enslave ’em, 

For, once they turn Christians, no bar- 
ber will shave ’em.$§ 


To atone for this rather small Heathen 
amount, [tack’d to th’ account. 
Some Papists, turn’d Christians,]|| are 
And though, to catch Papists, onc 
needn’t go so far, [they are ; 
Such fish are worth hooking, wherever 


* The title given by the natives to such of 
their countrymen as become converts. 

t Of such relapses we find innumerable in- 
stances in the accounts of the Missionaries. 

! The god Krishna, one of the incarnations 
of the god Vishnu. ‘One day (says the Bhaga 
vata) Krishna’s play-fellows complained to 
Tasiuda that he had pilfered and ate their 
eurds.” 

δ" Roteen wants shaving; but the barber 
here will not do it. He is run awny lest he 
should be compelled. He says he will not 


And now, when so great of such conyerts 
the lack is, Lof Blackies. 
One Papist well caught is worth millions 


Friday. 


Last night had a dream so odd and 
funny, 
I cannot resist recording it here.— 
Methought that the Genius of Matri- 
mony 
Before me stood, with a joyous leer, 
Leading a husband in each hand, 
And both for me, which look’d rather 
queer ;— 
One I could perfectly understand, 
But why there were two wasn’t quite 
so clear. 
*T was meant, however, I soon could see, 
To afford me a choice—a most excel- 
lent plan ; [dates be, 
And—who should this brace of candi- 
But Messrs. O’Mulligan and Magan :— 
A thing, I suppose, unheard of till then, 
To dream, at once, of two Irishmen !— 
That handsome Magan, too, with wings 
on his shoulders, [ Bless’d, ) 
(For all this pass’d in the realms of the 
And quite a creature to dazzle behold-! 
ers: [dress’d 
While even O’ Mulligan, feather’d and 
As an elderly cherub, was looking his 
best. [doubt 
Ah Liz, you, who know me, scarce can 
As to which of the two I singled out. 
But—awful to tell—when, all in dread 
Of losing so bright a vision’s charms, 
I grasp'd at Magan, his image fled, 
Like a mist away, and I found but the 
head farms! 
Of O’Mulligan, wings and all, in my 
The Angel had flown to some nest di- 
vine, 
And the elderly Cherub alone was mine! 
ILeigho !—it is certain that foolish Ma- 
gan [be the man; 
Wither can’t or won’t see that he might 


shave Yesoo Kreest's people.”—Bapt. Mission 
Society, vol. ii. p. 493. 

| In the Reports of the Missionaries, the 
Roman Catholies are almost always classed 


along with the Heathen. ‘I have extended 
| my labors (says James Venning, in a Report for 

1831) to the Heathen, Mahomedans, and Roman 

Catholics.” ‘* The Heathen and Roman Catho- 
| Les in this neighborhood (says another mission- 
| ary for the year 1832) are not indifferent, but 
| withstand, rather than yield to, the foree of 
| truth.” 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


687 


And, perhaps, dear—who knows ?—if 
naught better befall all. 
But—O’ Muliigan may be the man after 
N.B. 
Next week mean to have my first scrip- 
tural rout, [vout ;— 
For the special discussion of matters de- 
Like those soirées, at Powerscourt,” so 
justly renown’d 
For the zeal with which doctrine and 
negus went round ; 
Those theology routs which the pious 
Lord KR—d—n, {mode in; 
That pink of Christianity, first set the 
Where, blessed down-pouring ΕΓ from 
tea until nine, {line ;— 
The subjects lay all in the Prophecy 
Then, supper—and then, if for topics 
hard driven, [was given; 
From thence until bed-time to Satan 
While R—d—n, deepread in each topic 
and tome, [at home. 
On all subjects (especially the last) was 


LETTER VII. 


FROM MISS FANNY FODGE, TO HER COUSIN, 
MISS ΚΙΤ ΤῪ 


IRREGULAR ODE. 


BrinG me the slumbering souls of flow- 

ers, [sky, 

While yet, beneath some northern 

Ungilt by beams, ungemm’d by show- 
ers 

They wait the breath of summer hours, 


* An account of these Powerscourt Conver- 
saziones, (under the direct presidency of Lord 
Ttoden,) as well as a list of the subjects dis- 
cussed at the different meetings, may be found 
in the Christian Herald for the month of De- 
cember, 1832. The following is a specimen of 
the nature of the question submitted to the 
company :—* Monday Bvening, Six o'clock, 
September 24, 1832.—‘ An examination into the 
quotations given inthe New Testament from 
the Old, with their connection and explanation, 
viz. &¢., &e.'—Wednesday.—‘ Should we ex- 

ect a personal Antichrist? and to whom will 
he be revealed?’ &¢., &e.—Friday.— What 
light does Seripture throw on present events, 
audtheir moral character?’ Whatis next to be 
looked for or expected γ᾽ &c. 

The rapid progress made at these tea-parties 
in settling points of Scripture, may be judged 
from a paragraph in the account given of one 
of their evenings, by the Christian Herald :— 

* On Daniel a good deal of light was thrown, 
and there was some, I think not so much, per- 


To wake to light each diamond eye, 
And let loose every florid sigh ! 


Bring me the first-born ocean waves, 

From out those deep primeval caves, 

Where from the dawn of Time they’ve 
' lain— 

THE EMBRYOS OF A FUTURE MAIN — 
Untaught as yet, young things, to speak 
The language of their PARENT SEA, 

(Polyphlysbzeant named in Greek, ) 
Though soon, too soon, in bay and 
creek, Ϊ peak, 
Round startled isle and wondering 
They'll thunder loud and long as HE! 


Bring me, from Hecla’s iced abode, 
Young fires 


Thad got, dear, thus far in my ΟΡῈ, 
Intending to fill the whole page to the 
bottom, [things, 
But, having invoked such a lot of fine 
Flowers, billows and thunderbolts, 
rainbows and wings, 
Didn’t know what to do with ’em, when 
1 had got ’em. [this minute, 
The truth is, my thoughts are too full at 
Of past MSS. any new ones to try. 
This very night’s coach brings my des- 
tiny in it— Tor to die! 
Decides the great question, to live or 
And, whether I’m henceforth immortal 
or no, [and Co, 
All depends on the answer of Simpkins 
Yow’ll think, love, I rave, so ’tis best to 
let out 


haps, upon the Revelations; though particular 
parts of it were discussed with considerable 
accession of knowledge. ‘There was some very 
interesting inquiry as to the quotation of the 
Old Testament in the New, particularly on the 
point, whether there was any ‘accommoda- 
tion,’ or whether they were quoted according 
to the mind of the Spirit in the Old: this gave 
occasion to some very interesting develop- 
nent of Scripture. The progress of the Anti- 
christian powers was very fully discussed.” 

t** About eight o'clock the Lord began to 
pour down his spirit copiously upon us—for 
they had all by this time assembled in my room 
for the purpose of prayer. This downpouring 
continued till about ten o'clock.’’—Letter from 
Mary Campbell to the Rey. John Campbell, οὖν 
Row, (dated Fernicary, April 4, 1830,) giving 
an account of her “ wn le i cure.” 

61 you guess what this word means, ‘tis 

more than J can :— 
I but give’t as I got it from Mr. Magan. 
FB. EF. 


688 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


The whole secret, at once—I have 
publish’d a Book!!! [ doubt, 
Yes, an actual Book :—if the marvelyou 
You have only in last Monday’s Cour- 
ier to look, 
And yowll find “This day publish’d 
5 by Simpkins and Co. [‘ Wo Wo!’ 
“Α Romaunt, in twelve Cantos, entitled 
“By Miss Fanny F——, known more 
commonly so Z&.” 
This I put that my friends mayn’t be 
leftin the dark, [ing my mark. 
But may guess at my writing by know- 


How I managed, at last, this great deed | 


to achieve, 
Is itself a “Romaunt” which yowd 
scarce, dear, believe ; 
Nor can I just now, being all in a whirl, 
Looking out for the Maguet,* expiain it, 
dear girl. [ pense 
Suffice it to say, that one half the ex- 
Of this leasehold of fame, for long cen- 
turies hence — 
(Though “God knows,” as aunt says, ny 
humble ambition — [ Edition, ) — 
Aspires not beyond a small Second 
One half the whole cost of the paper 
and printing, [past, by stinting 
ve managed to scrape up, the year 
My own little wants in gloves, ribands, 
and shoes, {Muse ! 
Thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the 


And who, my dear Kitty, would not do 
the same ? [breath of fame ? 
What’s eau de Cologne to the sweet 
Yards of riband soon end—but the 
measures of rhyme, 
Dipp’d in hues of the rainbow, stretch 
out through all time. [after pair, 
Gloves languish and fade away, pair 
While couplets shine out, but the 
brighter for wear, [ning is gone, 
And the dancing-shoe’s gloss in an eye- 
While light-footed lyrics through ages 
trip on. 


The remaining expense, trouble, risk— 
and, alas! [hands pass; 

My poor. copyright too—into other 

And my friend, the Head Dev’l of the 
“County Gazette,” 

(The only Meceenas I’ve ever had yet, ) 

He who set up in type my first juvenile 
lays, [days; 

[5 now set up by them for the rest of his 


* A day-coach of that name, 


—<——— ee 


And while Gods (as my ‘‘ Heathen My- 
thology” says) 
Live on naught but ambrosia, his lot 
how much sweeter [metre ! 
To live, lucky dev’l, on a young lady’s 
As for pufing—that first of all lit’rary 
boons, [balloons— 
And essential alike both to bards and 
As, unless well supplied with inflation, 
‘tis found — [| from the ground ;— 
Neither bards nor balloons budge aninch 
In this respect, naught could more pros- 
p’rous befall ; [can I call) 
As my friend (for no less this kind imp 
Knows the whole world of erities—the 
hypers and all. [ rhyme, 
T suspect he himself, indeed, dabbles in 
Which, for imps diabolic, is not the first 
time; [known among Gnosties, 
As I’ve heard uncle Bob say, ’twas 
That the Dev’l on Two Sticks was a 
dey’l at Acrostics. 


But hark! there’s the Magnet just 
dash’d in from Town— 
How my heart, Kitty, beats! I shall 
surely drop down. [necum, 
That awful Court Journal, Gazette, Athe- 
All full of my book—I shall sink when 
I see ’em. (Simpkins and Co. 
And then the great point—whether 
Are actually pleased with their bargain 
or no !— 
Five o'clock. 


All’s delightful—such praises !—I really 
fear [dy, my dear; 
That this poor little head will turn gid- 
Ive but time now to send you two ex- 
quisite scraps— [ perhaps. 
All the rest by the Magnet, on Monday, 


FROM THE ‘‘ MORNING POST.” 


Tis known that a certain distinguish’d 
physician [light reading ; 
Prescribes, for dyspepsia, a course of 
And Rhymes by young Ladies, the first, 
fresh edition, {nutrition, ) 
(ire critics have injured their powers of 
Are he thinks, for weak stomachs, 
the best sort of feeding. 
Satires irritate—love-songs are found 
calorific ; [ specifie, 
But smooth, female sonnets he deems a 
And, if taken at bed-time, a sure sopor- 
ifie, [pleasing we know, ' 
Among works of this kind, the most, 


‘ 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


Is a volume just publish’d by Simpkins 
and Co., [ery, the sweet, 
Where all such ingredients—the flow- 
And the gently narcotic—are mix’d per 
receipt, [ tation 
With a Hand so judicious, we’ve no hesi- 
To say that—bove all, for the young 
generation— [ aration. 
Tis an elegant, soothing, and safe prep- 


Nota bene—for readers, whose object’s 
to sleep, [publishers keep 

And who read in their nightcaps, the 

Good fire-proof binding, which comes 
very cheap. 


ANECDOTE—FROM THE ‘‘ COURT JOURNAL.” 


T’other night, at the Countess of * * *’s 
rout, [about, 
An amusing event was much whisper’d 
It was said that Lord , at the Coun- 
cil, that day, [seat like a rocket, 
Had, more than once, jump’d from his 
And flown to a corner, where—heed- 
less, they say, [der’'d away— 
How the country’s resources were squan- 
He kept reading some papers he’d 
brought in his pocket. 
Some thought them dispatches from 
Spain or the Turk, 
Others swore they brought word we 
had lost the Mauritius ; 
But it turn’d out twas only Miss Fudge’s 
new work, 
Which his Lordship devourd with 
such zeal expeditious— (delay, 
Messrs. Simpkins and Co., to avoid all 
Haning sent it in sheets, that his Lord- 
ship might say, 
He had distanced the whole reading 
world by a day ! 


LETTER VIII. 


FROM BOB FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE REY. MORTI- 
MER O'’MULLIGAN. 


Tuesday evening. 


I mucu regret, dear Reverend Sir, 

T could not come to * * * tomeet you: 
But this cursed gout wo’n’t let me stir— 
Hy’n now I but by proxy greet you, 
As this vile scrawl, whate’er its sense is, 

Owes all to an amanuensis. 

Most other scourges of disease 
Reduce men to extremities— 

But gout wo’n’t leave one even these. 


From all my sister writes, I see 
That you and I will quite agree. 
I’m a plain man, who speak the truth, 
And trust you'll think me not uncivil, 
When I declare that, from my youth, 
I’ve wish’d your country at the devil: 
Nor can 1 doubt, indeed, from all 
Τνο heard of your high patriot fame— 
From every word your lips let fall— 
That you most truly wish the same. 
Tt plagues one’s life out—thirty years 
Have 1 had dinning in my ears, 
‘“‘Treland wants this, and that, and 
t?other,” 

And, to this hour, one nothing hears 
But the same vile, eternal bother. 
While, of those countless things she 

wanted, 
Thank God, but little has been granted, 
And ey’n that little, if we’re men 
And Britons, we'll have back again! 


I really think that Catholic question 
Was what brought on my indigestion ; 
And still each year, as Popery’s curse 
Has gather’d round us, I’ve got worse ; 
Till ev’n my pint of port a day 

Can’t keep the Pope and bile away. 
And whereas, till the Catholic bill, 
Tnever wanted draught or pill, 

The settling of that cursed question 
Has quite unsettled my digestion. 


Look what has happen’d since—the 
Of all the bores of every sect, [ Elect 
The chosen triers of men’s patience, 
From all the Three Denominations, 
Let loose upon us ;—even Quakers 
Turn’d into speechers and law-makers, 
Who'll move no question, stiffrump’d 
elves, 
Till first the Spirit moves themselves ; 
And whose shrill Yeas and Nays, in 
chorus, 
Conquering our Ays and Nos sonorous, 
Will soon to death’s own slumber snore 
us. 
Then, too, those Jews !—I really sicken 
To think of such abomination; [en, 
Fellows, who wo’n’t eat ham with chick- 
To legislate for this great nation !— 
Depend upon’t, when once they’ve sway, 
With rich old Goldsmid at the head 
οὐ them! 
Th’ Excise laws will be done away, 
And Circumeise ones pass’d instead 
o’ them ! 


690 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


In short, dear sir, look where one will, 
Things all go on so devilish ill, 
That ’pon my soul, 1 rather fear 
Our reverend Rector may be right, 
Who tells me the Millennium’s near ; 
Nay, swears he knows the very year, 
And regulates his leases by’t ;— 
Meaning their terms should end, no 
doubt, 
Before the world’s own lease is out. 
He thinks, too, that the whole thing’s 
ended 
So much more soon than was intended, 
Purely to scourge those men of sin [in.* 
‘Who brought th’ accursed Reform Bill 


However, let’s not yet despair ; 
Though Toryism’s eclipsed, at present, 
And—like myself, in this vid chair— 
Sits in a state by no means pleasant ; 
Feet crippled—hands, in luckless hour, 
Disabled of their grasping power ; 
And all that rampant glee, which rey- 
ell’d Lil’d-— 
In this world’s sweets, be-dull’d, be-dev- 
Yet, thoughcondemn’d to friskno more, 
And both in Chair of Penance set, 
There’s something tells me, all’s not o’er, 
With Voryism or Bobby yet; 
That though between us, I allow, 
We’ve not a leg to stand on now; 
Though cursed Reform and colchicum 
Have made us both look deuced glum, 
Yet stillin spite of Grote and Gout, 
Again we'll shine triumphant out! 


Yes—hack again shall come, egad, 
Our turn for sport, my reverend lad. 
And then, O’Mulligan-—oh then, 
When mounted on our nags again, 
You, on your high-flown Rosinante, 
Bedizzen’d out, like Show-Gailantee, 
(Glitter great from substance scanty ;)— 
While I, Bob Fudge, Esquire, shall ride 
Your faithful Sancho, by your side ; 
Then—talk of tilts and tournaments ! 
Dam’me, we’ll 
* * 2 * * 


’*Squire Fudge’s clerk presents 

To Reverend Sir his compliments; 
Is grieved to say an accident 
Has just oecurr’d which will prevent 

* This appears to have been the opinion also 
of an eloquent writer in the Morning Watch 
“One great object of Chirist’s second Advent, 
as the Man and as the King of the Jews, is to 
punish the Kings who do not acknowledge that 
their authority is derived from him, and who 


The Squire—though now a little bet- 

From finishing this present letter. [ter— 

Just when hed got to ““ Dam’me, 

we’ll——” 

His Honor, full of martial zeal, 

Grasp’d at his crutch, but not being able 
To keep his balance or his hold, 
Tumbled, both self and crutch, and 

roll’d 

Like ball and bat, beneath the table. 


All’s safe—the table, chair, and erutch;— 
Nothing, thank God, is broken much, 
But the Squire’s head, which, in the fall, 
Got bump’d consid’rably—that’s all. 

At this no great alarm we feel, 

As the Squire’s head can bear a deal. 


Wednesday morning. 


Squire much the same—head rather 

light— [ night. 
Raved about ‘ Barbers’ Wigs” all 
Our housekeeper, old Mrs. Griggs, 


Suspects that he meant ‘barbarous 
Whigs.” 


LETTER IX. 


FROM LARRY O’BRANNIGAN, TO HIS WIFE JUDY. 


As it was but last week that I sint you 
a letther, [is about; 
You'll wondher, dear Judy, what this 
And, throth, it’s a letther myself would 
like betther, [it out ; 
Could I manage to Jave the contints of 
For sure, if it makes even me onaisy, 
Who take things quiet, ’twill drive you 
crazy. 


Oh, Judy, that riverind Murthagh, bad 
seran to him! [ vant-man to him, 
That e’er I should come to’ve been sar- 
Orso fardemane the O’Branigan blood, 
And my Aunts, the Diluvians, (whom 
not ey’n the Flood [the earth, )f 
Was able to wash away clane_ from 
As to sarve one whose name, of mere 
yestherday’s birth, [ purtend, 
Can no more to a great Ὁ, before it, 
Than mine can to wear a great Q at its 
end, 
submit to receive it from that many-headed 
monster, the mob.” No, X. p. 373. 
+I am of your Patriarehs, I, a branch of 
one of your antediluvian families—fellows that 
the Flood could not wash away. ’’—CONGREYVE, 
Love for Love. 


. 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


But that’s now all over—last night I 
gey warnin’, 
And, masth’r as he is, will discharge 
The thief of the world !—but it’s no use 
balraggin’ ;*— (draggin’ 
All I know is, Id fifty times rather be 
Ould ladies up hill totheind of my days, 
Than with Murthagh to rowl in a chaise, 
at my aise, [dirty ways. 
And be foreed to discind thro’ the same 
Arrah, sure, if ’'d heerd where he last 
show’d his phiz, [monsther he is; 


Τὰ have known what a quare sort of | 


For, by gor, ’twas at Exether Change, | 
sture enough, [show’d otf ; 

That himself and’ his other wild Trish 

And it’s pity, so ’tis, that they hadn’t 
got no man 


Who knew the wild craythurs to act | 


as their showman— 

Sayin’, ‘‘Ladics and Gintlemen, plaze 
to take notice, 

“*How shlim and how shleek this black 
animal’s coat is ; 

“All by raison, we’re towld, that the 
nathur o’ the baste 

“Ts to change its coat once in its life- 
time, at laste; 

* And such objiks, in our counthry, 
not bein’ common ones, 


“ Are bought up, as this was, by way of | 


Fine Nomenons. 

“Tn regard of its name—why, 
throth, I’m consarn’d 

“To differ on this point so much with 
the Larn’d, 

“Who call it a ‘Morthimer,’ whereas 
the oe thur 

“Ts plainly a ‘ Murthagh,’ by name and 
by nathur.’ 


This is how I’d have towld them the 
rights of it all, { Hall— 

Had Ibeen their showman at Exether 

Not forgettin’ that other great wond- 
her of Airin  [eall Prosbetairin, ) 

(Of th’ owld bitther breed which they 

The famed Daddy C—ke—who, by gor, 
I'd have shown ’em 


in 


* To balra 
baliyrag, and he is “high authority: but if I 
remember rightly, Curran in his national 
stories used to emyloy the word as above.— 

~See Lover's most amusing and genuine ly Ir ish 
work, the “ Legends and Stories of Tvelind,” 

t Larry evidently means the Regiuim Donum, 
asum contributed by the gov ernment annually 
to the support of the Presbyterian churches iu 
Ireland. 


{him this mornin’. | 


ΟΘΙ 


As proof how such bastes may be 
tamed, when you’ye thrown ’em 

A good frindly sop of the rale Raigin 
Donem.t 


But, throth, I've no Jaisure just now, 
Judy dear, [here, 

For any thing, parrin’ our own doings 
| | And the cursin’ and dammin’ and thund’- 
rin’, like mad, [have had. 

We Papists, God help us, from Murthagh 
He says we're all murtherers—div'l a 
bit less— [go to confess, 

| And that even our prie sts, when we 
Give us lessons in murth’ring, and wish 

us success ! 


When ax’d how he daar’d, by tongue or 
by pen, [men, 
To belie in this way, seven millions of 
|Faith, he said ‘twas all towld him by 

Docther Den ! ¢ 
““ And who the div’ls he?” was the que.- 
tion that flew [a sow! knew. 
From Chrishtian to Chrishtian—but not 
While on went Murthagh, in illigant 
style, 


| Blasphaming us Cath’lics all the while, 


As a pack of desaivers, parjurers, villians, 

All the whole kit of th’ aforesaid mil- 
lions,§ — 

Yourself, dear Judy, as well as the rest, 

And the innocent craythur that’s at your 
breast, 

All rogues together, in word and deed, 

Owld Den our insthructor and Sin our 
creed ! 


When ax’d for his proofs again and 


is to abnse—Mr. Lover mikes it 


again, { Den. 
Div’l an answer he’d give but Docthor 
Couldn’t he call into coort some Livin’ 
men ? (thor Den— 
‘No, thank you”’—he’d stick to Doc- 
An ould gentleman dead a century or 
two, 
Who all about us, live Cath’lics, knew ; 
And of coorse was more handy, to call 
in a hurry, { Murray ! 
Than Docthor Mae Hale or Docthor 


1 Correctly, Dens—Larry not being very 
Baie ‘ular in his nomenclature. 

The deeds of darkness which are reduced 
to peo id practice over the drunken debauch of 
the midnight assassin are debated, in principle, 
in the sober morning religious conferenee of 
the prie sts. "—Speech of the Rev. Mr. Μ᾿ Ghee.— 

‘The character of the Irish people generatlty is, 
thac they are given to lying and to acts of 
theft.”"—Speech of the Rev. Robert Daly. 


. 692 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


But, throth, it’s no case to be jokin’ 
upon, [ὑπ it one. 
Though myself, from bad habits, is mak- 
Hyen you, had you witness’d his grand 
climactherics, [hysterics— 
Which actually threw one owld maid in 
Or, och! had you heerd such a purty 
remark as his, [ casses, 
That Papists are only “ Humanity’s car- 
“Ris’n”—but, by dad, ’m afeard I can’t 
give it ye— [tivity ; 
“ Ris'n from the sepulchre of—inac- 
“ And, like owld corpses, dug up from 
antikity,, [ikity ! /*— 
“ Wandrin’ about in all sorts of in- 
Even you, Judy, true as you are to the 
Owld Light, [iligant flight 
Would have laugh’d, out and out, at this 
Of that figure of speech call’d the Blath- 
erumskite. [and then came tome, 
As for me, though a funny thought now 
Rage got the betther at last—and small 
blame to me! [of Delf,” 
So, slapping my thigh, “by the Powers 
Says I bowldly, “111 make a noration 
myself.” [lint, the minit 
And with that up I jumps—and, my dar- 
I cock’d up my head, div’l a sinse re- 
main’d in it. [ tiful on, 
Though, saited, I could have got beau- 
When I tuk to my legs, faith, the gab 
was all gone :— 
Which was odd, for us, 
whate’er we’ve a hand in, 
At laste in our legs show a sthrong un- 
derstandin’. 


Howsumdever, detarmined the chaps 
should pursaive [tuk lave, 
What I thought of their doin’s, before I 
“Tn regard of all that,” says I—there I 
stopp’d short— 
Not a word more would come, though I 
sthruggled hard for’t. 
So, shnappmg my fingers at what’s 
eall’d the Chair, 
And the owld Lord (or Lady, I b’lieve,) 
that sat there— [again— 
“Tn regard of all that,” says I bowldly 
“ΠῸ owld Nick I pitch Mortimer—and 
Docthor Den ;”— [out “ Amen;” 
Upon which the whole company cried 
* «But she (Popery) is no longer the tenant 
of the sepulchre of inactivity. She has come 
from the burial-place, walking forth a monster, 
as if the spirit of evil had corrupted the carcass 
of her departed humanity ; noxious and noi- 
some, an object of abhorrence and dismay to 


Pats, who, | 


And myself was in hopes ‘twas to what 
Thad said, 

But, by gor, no such thing—they were 
not so well bred: [had read out, 

For, ’twas all to a pray’r Murthagh just 

By way of fit finish to job so devout ; 

That is—afther well damning one-half 
the community, [unity ! 

To pray God to keep all in peace an’ in 


This is all I can shtuff in this letther, 
though plinty [twas twinty. 

Of news, faith, I’ve got to fill more—if 

But Tl add, on the owtside, a line, 
should 1 need it, [may read it, ) 

(Writin ‘‘ Private” upon it, that no one 

To tell you how Mortimer (as the 
Saints chrishten him) 

Bears the big shame of his sarvant’s dis- 
misshin’ him. 


(Private outside.) 


Just come from his rivrence—the job is 
all done— [sure as a gun! 
By the powers, I’ve discharged him as 
And now, Judy dear, what on earth ’m 
to do [good as new— 
With myself and my appetite—both 
Without ev’n a single traneen in my 
pocket, [to stock it— 
Let alone a good, dacent pound-starlin’, 
Is a mysht’ry I lave to the One that’s 
above, [when hard dhrove. 
Who takes care of us, dissolute sowls, 


LETTER X. 


FROM THE REY. MORTIMER O’MULLIGAN, TO THE 
MAON (4, $= 

TuEsE few brief lines, my reverend 

By a safe, private hand I send, [friend, 

(Fearing lest some low Catholic wag 

Should pry into the Letter-bag, 

To tell you, as far as pen can dare, 

How we, poor errant martyrs, fare ;-— 

Martyrs, not quite to fire and rack, 

As Saints were, some few ages back, 

But—searce less trying in its way— 

To laughter, wheresoe’er we stray ; 

To jokes, which Providence mysterious 

Permits on men and things so serious, 


all who are not leagued with her in iniquity.” — 
Report of the Rey. Gentleman’s Speech, June 
20, in the Record Newspaper. : 

We may well ask, after reading this and 
other such reverend ravings, ‘Quis dubitat 
quin omne sit hoe rationis egestas?” 


by 


- 


THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. 


693 


Lowering the Church still more each 
minute, 
And—injuring our preferment in it. 
Just think, how worrying ’tis, my friend, 
To find, where’er our footsteps bend, 
Small jokes, like squibs, around us 
whizzing ; 
And bear the eternal torturing play 
Of that great engine of our day, [zing ! 
Unknown to th’ Inquisition—quiz- 


Your men of thumb-screws and of racks 
Aim’d at the body their attacks ; 

But modern torturers, more refined, 
Work their machinery on the mind. 
Kad St. Sebastian had the luck 

With me to be a godly rover, 

Justead of arrows, he’d be stuck 

With stings of ridicule all over ; 

And poor St. Lawrence, who was kill’d 
By being on a gridir’n grill’d, 

Had he Dut shared my errant lot, 
Instead of grill on gridir’n hot, 

A moral roasting would have got. 

Nor should I (trying as all this is) 

Muchheed the suffering or the shame— 
As, like an actor, used to hisses, 

I long have known no other fame, 
But that (as I may own to you, 
Though to the world it would not do) 
No hope appears of fortune’s beams 
Shining on any of my schemes ; 

No chance of something more per ann. 
As supplement to K— ym—n ; 

No prospect that, by fierce abuse 

Of Ireland, I shall e’er induce 

The rulers of the thinking nation 

To rid us of Emancipation ; 

To forge anew the sever’d chain, 

And bring back Penal Laws again. 


Ah, happy time! when wolves and 
priests 

Alike were hunted, as wild beasts ; 

And five pounds was the price, per head, 

For bagging either, live or dead ;*— 

Though oft, we're told, one outlaw’d 
brother 

Saved cost, by eating up the other. 


*“ Among other amiable enactments against 
the Catholics at this period, (1649,) the price of 
five pounds was set on the head of a Romish 
priest—being exactly the same sum offered by 
the same legislators for the head of a wolf.” 

Memoirs of Captain Rock, book i., chap. 10. 
tIn the first edition of his Dictionary, Dr. 
Johnson very significantly exemplified the 
meaning of the word “alias” by the instance 
of Mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for 


Finding thus all those schemes and 
hopes 

Τ built upon my flowers and tropes 

All seatter’d, one by one, away, 

As flashy and unsound as they, 

The question comes—what’s to be done ? 

And there’s but one course left me—one. 

Heroes, when tired of war’s alarms, 

Seek sweet repose in beauty’s arms. 

The weary Day-God’s last retreat is 

The breast of sily’ry-footed Thetis ; 

And mine, as mighty Love’s my judge, 

Shall be the arms of rich Miss Fudge ! 


Start not, my friend,—the tenderscheme, 

Wild and romantic though it seem, 

Beyond a parson’s fondest dream, 

Yet shines, too, with those golden dyes 

So pleasing to a parson’s eyes— 

That only gilding which the muse 

Cannot around her sons diffuse ;— 

Which, whencesoever flows its bliss, 

From wealthy Miss or benefice, 

To Mortimer indiff’rent is, 

So he can make it only his. 

There is but one slight damp I see 

Upon this scheme’s felicity, 

And that is, the fair heroine’s claim 

That I chall take her family name. 

To this (though it may look henpeck’d) 

T can’t quite decently object, 

Having myself long chos’n to shine 

Conspicuous in the aliast line ; 

So that henceforth, by wife’s decree, 
(For Biddy from this point won’t 

budge, ) 

Your old friend’s new address must be 
The Rev. Mortimer O' Fudge— 

The ‘‘ 0” being kept, that all may see 

We're both of ancient family. 


Such, friend, nor need the fact amaze 
My public life’s calm Euthanasia. [you, 
Thus bid I long farewell to all 
The freaks of Hxeter’s old Hall— 
Freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding, 
And rivalling its bears in breeding. 
Farewell, the platform fill’d with preach- 
ers— [ speechers 
The pray’r giv’n out, as grace,f by 
this more refined name his original Seoteh 
patronymic, MaJloch. ‘* What other proofs he 
gaye (says Johnson) of disrespect to his native 
country, I know not, but it was remarked of 
him that he was the only Scot whom Scotch- 
men did not commend." —Life of Mallet. 

t “I think I am acting in unison with the 
feelingsof a Meeting assembled for this solemn 
object, when I eall on the Rey. Dr. Holloway 
to open it by prayer.” —Speech of Lord Kenyon. 


. 


694 


Ere they cut up their fellow creatures :— 
Farewell to dead old Dens’s yolumes, 
And, scarce less dead, old Standard’s 
columns :— 
From each and all I now retire, 
My task, henceforth, as spouse and sire, 
To bring up little filial Fudges, 
To be M. P.s, and Peers, and Judges— 
Parsons Τ᾽ 4 add too, if alas ! [pass 
There yet were hope the Church could 
The gulf now oped for hers and her, 
Or long survive what Hveter— 
Both Hall and Bishop, of that name— 
Have done to sink her reverend fame. 
Adieu, dear friend—you’ll oft hear from 
me, 
Now I’m no more atravelling drudge ; 
Meanwhile I sign (that you may judge 
How well the surname will become me) 
Yours truly, 
MortTIMER O’ FUDGE. 


LETTER ΧΙ. 


FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., 
RICHARD 


TO THE REV. 


» Ireland. 


Drear Dick—just arrived at my own 
humble gite, [all complete, 

I enclose you, post-haste, the account, 

Just arrived, per express, of our late no- 
ble feat. 


{ Extract from the ‘“ County Gazette.” 
This place is getting gay and full again. 


* * * * * 
Last week was married, ‘‘in the 
Lord,” 


The Reverend Mortimer O’ Mulligan, 
Preacher, in Jrish, of the Word, 

(He, who the Lord’s force lately led on— 

Exeter Hall his Armagh-geddon,*) 

To Miss B. Fudge of Pisgah Place, 

One of the chos’n, as “‘ heir of grace,” 

And likewise heiress of Phil. Fudge, 

Esquire, defunct, of Orange Lodge. 


Same evening, Miss F. Fudge, ’tis hint- 
ed— [Lyre,”’ 
Niece of the above, (whose ‘Sylvan 
In our Gazette, last week, we printed, ) 
Bloped with Pat. Magan, Esquire. 
i gan, 1 
The fugitives were track’d, some time, 
After they’d left the Aunt’s abode, 
By scraps of paper, scrawl’d with rhyme, 
* The Reetory which the Rev. gentleman 
holds is situated in the county of Armagh !—a 
most remarkable eoincidence—and well worthy 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


Found strew’d along the We:tem 
road ;— 
Some of them, ci-devant curl-papers, 
Others, half burnt in lighting tapers. 
This clue, however, to their flight, 
‘After some miles was seen no more 2 
And, from inquiries made last night, 
We find they’ve reach’d the Irish 
shore. 


Every word of it true, Dick—th’ escape 
from Aunt’s thrall— 
Western road—lyric fragments—curl- 
papers and all. [ shrine, 
My sole stipulation, ere linked at the 
(As some balance between Fanny’s nwm- 
bers and mine, ) 
Was that, when we were one, she must 
give up the Nine ; [of MS. 
Nay, devote to the Gods her whole stock 
With a vow never more against prose to 
transgress. [went to bits 
This she did, like a heroine ;—smack 
The whole produce sublime of her dear 
little wits— [nets— 
Sonnets, elegies, epigrams, odes, canzo- 
Some twisted up neatly, to form allu- 
mettes, [rise 
Some turn’d into papillotes, worthy to 
And enwreath Berenice’s bright locks in 
the skies ! [in my pay) 
While the rest, honest Larry (who’s now 
Bege’d, as ‘lover of po’thry,” to read 
on the way. 


Having thus of life’s poetry dared to 
dispose, {through its prose, 
How we now, Dick, shall manage to get 
With such slender materials for Sue 
Heaven knows ! [Express ! 
But—I’m call’d off abruptly—another 
What the deuce can it mean?—I’m 
alarm’d, I confess. : 


ΡΟΣ 

Hurrah, Dick, hurrah, Dick, ten thous- 
and burrahs ! [days. 

I’m a happy, rich dog to the end of my 

There—read the good news—and while 
glad, for my sake, 

That Wealth should thus follow in Love’s 
shining wake, [elf, 

Admire also the moral—that he, the sly 

Who has fudged all the w orld, should 
be now fudged himself / 


of the attention of certain expounders of the 
Apocalypse. 


ie 


SONGS FROM M.P.; OR, THE BLUE-STOCKING. 


EXTRACT FROM LETTER ENCLOSED. 


With pain the mournful news I write, 
Miss I’udge’s uncle died last night ; 
And much to mine and friends’ surprise, 
By will doth all his wealth devise— 
Lands, dwellings—rectories likewise— 


695 


To his ‘beloved grand-niece,” Miss 
Fanny, 
Leaving Miss Fudge herself, who many 
Long years hath waited—not a penny ! 
Have notified the same to latter, 
And wait instructions in the matter. 
For self and partners, ἄς. &e. 


SONGS FROM M. P.; OR, THE BLUE-STOCKING, 


SONG. 
SUSAN. 


YounG Love lived once in an humble 
Where roses breathing, [shed, 
And woodbines wreathing 

Around the lattice their tendrils spread, 

As wild and sweet as the life he led. 
His garden flourish’d, 

For young Hope nourish’d 
The infant buds with beams and show 
ers 5 [fed, 

But lips, though blooming, must still be 

And not even Love can live on flow- 
ers. 


Alas! that Poverty’s evil eye 
Should e’er come hither, 
Such sweets to wither ! 
The flowers laid down their heads to die, 


And Hope fell sick as the witch drew | 


She came one morning, 

re Love had warning, 

And raised the latch, where the young 

god lay ; 

“*Oh ho!” said Love—‘‘is it you? good- 

So he oped the window, and flew 
away ! 


(nigh. 


To sigh, yet feel no pain, 
To weep, yet scarce know why ; 
To sport an hour with Beauty’s chain, 
Then throw it idly by. 
To kneel at many a shrine, 
Yet lay the heart on none; 
To think all other charms divine, 
But those we just haye won. 


[by ” | 


This is love, faithless love, 
Such as kindieth hearts that rove. 


To keep one sacred flame, 
Through life unchill’d, unmoved, 


| To love, in wintry age, the same 


As first in youth we loved ; 
To feel that we adore, 
Ev’n to such fond excess, 
That, though the heart would break, 
with more, 
It could not live with less 


| This is love, faithful love, 


Such as saints might feel above. 


Sprrit of Joy, thy altar lies [mine ; 
In youthful hearts that hope like 

And ’tis the light of laughing eyes, 
That leads us to thy fairy shrine. 

There if we find the sigh, the tear, 
They are not those to Sorrow known; 

But breath so soft, and drops so clear, 
That Bliss may claim them for her 

own. 

Then give me, give me, while I weep, 
The sanguine hope that brightens wo, 

And teaches ev’n our tears to keep 
The tinge of pleasure as they flow. 


The child, who sees the dew of night 
Upon the spangled hedge at morn, 
Attempts to catch the drops of light, 
But wounds his finger with the thorn. 
Thus oft the brightest joys we seek, 
Are lost, when touch’d, and turn’d to 
ain ; 
The flush they kindled leaves the cheek, 
The tears they waken long remain. 
But give me, give me, &e. &e. 


000 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


WHEN Leila touch’d the lute, 
Not then alone ’twas felt, 
But, when the sounds were mute, 
In memory still they dwelt. 
Sweet lute! in nightly slumbers 
Still we heard thy morning numbers. 


Ah, how could she, who stole 

Such breath from simple wire, 
Be led, in pride of soul, 

To string with gold her lyre? 
Sweet lute! thy chords she breaketh ; 
Golden now the strings she waketh ! 


But where are all the tales 
Her lute so sweetly told ἢ 
In lofty themes she fails, 
And soft ones suit not gold. 
Rich lute! we see thee glisten, 
But, alas! no more we listen! 


BOAT GLEE. 


THE song that lightens our languid way 
When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing, 
Is like the spell of Hope’s airy lay, 
To whose sound through life we stray. 
The beams that flash on the oar awhile, 
As we row along through waves so 
clear, 
Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile 
That shines o’er Sorrow’s tear. 


Nothing is lost on him who sees 
With an eye that Feeling gave ;— 
For him there’s a story in every breeze, 
And a picture in every wave. 
Then sing to lighten the languid way ;— 
When brows are glowing, 
And faint with rowing: 
’Tis like the spell of Hope’s airy lay, 
To whose sound through life we stray. 


On think, when a hero is sighing, 
What danger in such an adorer ! 
What woman could think of denying 

The hand that lays laurels before her ? | 
No heart is so guarded around, [nts 
But the smile of a victor would take 


No bosom can siumber so sound, 

But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. 
| 
| 


Love sometimes is given to sleeping, 
And wo to the heart that allows him; 
For soon neither smiling nor weeping 


vce from such slumber arouse 
1m. 
But though he were sleeping so fast, 
That the life almost seem’d to forsake 
Even then, one soul-thrilling blast [him, 
From the trumpet of Glory would 
wake him. 


CUPID’S LOTTERY. 


A Lottery, a lottery, 
In Cupid’s Court there used to be; 
Two roguish eyes 
The highest prize 
In Cupid’s scheming Lottery ; 
And kisses, too, ᾽ 
As good as new, 
Which weren’t very hard to win, 
For he, who won 
The eyes of fun, 
Was sure to have the kisses in. 
A Lottery, a Lottery, &e. 


This Lottery, this Lottery, 

In Cupid’s Court went merrily, 
And Cupid play’d 
A Jewish trade 

In this his scheming Lottery ; 
For hearts, we’re told, 
In shares he sold 

To many a fond believing drone, 
And cut the hearts 
So well in parts, 

That each believed the whole his own. 


Chor.—A. Lottery, a Lottery, 
In Cupid’s Court there used to 
Two roguish eyes [be ; 
The highest prize 
In Cupid’s scheming Lottery. 


SONG." 


THOUGH sacred the tie that our country 
entwineth, Lbrance remains, 

And dear to the heart her remem- 
Yet dark are the ties where no liberty 
shineth, [ stains. 

And sad the remembrance that slavery 


Oh Liberty, born in the cot of the peas- 
ant, 

But dying of languor in luxury’s dome, 

Our vision, when absent—our glory, 

when present— [my home. 

Where thou art, O Liberty! there is 


* Sung in the character of a Frenchman. 


THE EPICUREAN. 697 


Farewell to the land where in childhood | But hail to thee, Albion! who meet’st 
I wander’d ! [brave ; the commotion [the foam ; 

In vain is she mighty, in vain is she Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet 
Unbless’d is the blood that for tyrants is With no bonds but the law, and no slave 
squander’d, [οὔ the slave. but the ocean, [home. 

And Fame has no wreaths for the brow Hail, Temple of Liberty ! thou art my 


THE EPICUREAN. 


A TALE. 
1827. 
TO 
LORD JOHN RUSSELL, 


THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, 


BY ONE WHO ADMIRES HIS CHARACTER AND TALENTS, AND IS PROUD OF HI FRIENDSHIP. 


A LETTER TO THE TRANSLATOR. | these fragments themselves; but a dis- 


FROM ——Esa. covery lately made by them, saves all 
Cairo, June 19th, 1800. | this trouble. Having dug up ΣΕ my in- 
MY DEAR Sir, formant stated) a chest of old manu- 


DurinG a visit lately paid by me | scripts, which, being chiefly on the sub- 
to the monastery of St. Macarius—which | ject of alchemy, must have been buried 
is situated, as you know, in the Valley | in the time of Dioclesian, ‘*we thought,” 
of the Lakes of Natron—I was lucky | added the monk, ‘that we could not 
enough to obtain possession of a curious | employ such rubbish more properly, 
Greek manuscript which, in the hope | than in tearing it up, as you see, for the 
that you may be induced to translate it, | pigeon-houses of the Arabs.” 

1 herewith transmit to you. Observing | On my expressing a wish to rescue 
one of the monks very busily occupied | some part of these treasures from the 
in tearing up into a variety of fantastic | fate to which his indolent fraternity had 
shapes some papers which had the ap- | consigned them, he produced the manu- 
yearance of being the leaves of old | script which I have now the pleasure of 
ooks, I inquired of him the meaning of | sending to you—the only one, he said, 
his task, and received the following ex- | remaining entire—and ΤΟ very readily 
planation :— paid the price which he demanded for it. 
The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond| You will find the story, I think, not 
of pigeons as the ancient Egyptians, | altogether uninteresting ; and the coin- 
have a superstitious notion that, if they | cidence, in many respects, of the curi- 
place in their pigeon-houses small scraps | ous details in Chap. VI. with the de- 
of paper, written over with learned char- | scription of the same ceremonies in the 
acters, the birds are always sure τὸ Romance of Sethos,* will, I have no 
thrive the better for the charm ; and the doubt, strike you. Hoping that you 
monks, who are never slow in profiting 
by superstition, have, at all times, a!  * The description, here alluded to, may also 
supply of such amulets for purchasers. be found copied verbatim from Sethos, in the 
In general, the fathers of the monas- Voyages d’Anténor.”—In that philosophi- 


5 ὃ ς > : cal romance, called ‘La Vie de Sethos,’” says 
tery have been in the habit of scribbling | Warburton, “we find a much juster account 


098 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


may be induced to give a translation of 
this Tale to the world, 
Iam, my dear Sir, 
Very truly yours, 


THE EPICUREAN. 


CHAPTER I. 


Ir was in the fourth year of the reign 
of the late Emperor Valerian, that the 
followers of Epicurus, who were at that 
time numerous in Athens, proceeded t 0 
the election of a person to fill the vacant 
Chair of their sect ;—and, by the unani- 
mous voice of the School, I was the in- 
dividual chosen for their Chief. I was 
just then entering on my twenty-fourth 
year, and no instance had ever before 
ocewred, of a person so young being 
selected for that high office. Youth, 
however, and the personal advantages 
that adorn it, could not but rank among 
the most agreeable recommendations to 
a sect that included within its circle all 
the beauty as well as the wit of Athens, 
and which, though dignifying its pur- 
suits with the name of philosophy, was 
little else than a plausible pretext for 
the more refined cultivation of pleasure. 

The character of the sect, had, indeed, 
much changed since the time of its wise 
and virtuous founder, who, while he as- 
serted that Pleasure is the only Good, 
inculeated also that Good is the only 
source of Pleasure. The purer part of 
this doctrine had long evaporated, and 


the temperate Epicurus would have as | 


little recognized his own sect in the as- 
semblage of refined voluptuaries who 
now usurped its name, as he woutd have 
known his own quiet Garden in the iux- 
urious groves and bowers among which 
the meetings of the School were now 
held. 

Many causes concurred, at this period, 
besides the attractiveness of its doc- 
trines, to render our school by far the 
most popular of any that still survived 
the glory of Greece. It may generally 
be observed, that the prevalence, in one 
half of a community, of very rigid no- 
tions on the subject of religion, produces 
of old Egpytian wisdom, than in all the pre- 
toned Histoire du Ciel.’ ”.—Div. Leg. book iv 
sect. 14, 


the opposite extreme of Jaxity and infi- 
delity in the other; and this kind of reac- 
tion it was that now mainly contributed 
to render the doctrines of the Garden the 
most fashionable philosophy of the day. 
The rapid progress of the Christian 
faith had alarmed all those, who, either 
from piety or worldliness, were interest- 
ed in the continuance of the old estab- 
lished creed—all who believed in the 
Deities of Olympus, and all who lived 
by them. The natural consequence was, 
a considerable increase of zeal and ac- 
tivity, throughout the constituted au- 
thorities and priesthood of the whole 
Heathen world. What was wanting in 
sincerity of belief was made up In rigor ; 
—the weakest parts of the Mythology 
were those, of course, most angrily de- 
fended, and any reflections, tending to 
bring Saturn, or his wife Ops, into con- 
tempt, were punished with the utmost 
severity of the law. 

In this state of affairs, between the 
alarmed bigotry of the declining Faith, 
and the simple, sublime austerity of her 
rival, it was not wonderful that those 
lovers of ease and pleasure, who had no 
interest, reversionary or otherwise, in 
the old religion, and were too indolent 
to inquire into the sanctions of the new, 
should take refuge from the severities of 
both in the arms of a luxurious philos- 
ophy, which, leaving to others the task 
of disputing about the future, centred 


all its wisdom in the full enjoyment of 


the present. 

The sectaries of the Garden had, ever 
since the death of their founder, been 
accustomed to dedicate to his memory 
the twentieth day of every month. To 
these monthly rites had, for some time, 
been added a grand annual Festival, in 
commemoration of his birth. The feasts 
given on this occasion by my predeces- 
sors ia the Chair, had been invariably 


| distinguished for their taste and splea- 


dor; and it was my ambition, not mere- 
ly to imitate this example, but even to 
render the anniversary, now celebrated 
under my auspices, so lively and bril- 
liant as to efface the recollection of all 


that had preceded it. 


Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed 
so bright a scene. The grounds that. 
formed the original site of the Garden 
had received, from time to time, consid- 


an ah 


THE EPICUREAN. 


erable additions; and the whole extent 


was now laid out with that perfect taste | 


which understands how to wed Nature 
with Art, without sacrificing any of her 
simplicity to the alliance. Walks, lead- 
ing through wildernesses of shade and 
fragrance—glades, opening, asif to af- 
ford a playground for the sunshine — 
temples, rising on the very spots where 
Imagination herself would have called 
them up, and fountains and lakes, in al- 
ternate motion and repose, either wan- 
tonly courting the verdure, or calmly 
sleeping in its embrace—such was the 
variety of feature that diversified these 
fair gardens; and, animated as they 
were on this occasion, by all the living 
wit and loveliness of Athens, it afforded 
a scene such as my own youthful fancy, 
rich as it was then in images of luxury 
and beauty, could hardly have antici- 
pated. 

The ceremonies of the day began with 
the very dawn, when, according to the 
form of simpler and better times, those 
among the disciples who had apartments 


within the Garden, bore the image of | 


our Founder in procession from cham- 
ber to chamber, chanting verses in 

raise of what had long ceased to be ob- 
Jects of our imitation—his frugality and 
temperance. 

Round a beautiful lake, in the centre 
of the Garden, stocd four white Doric 
temples, in one of which was collected 
a library containing all the flowers of 
Grecian literature ; while, in the remain- 
ing three, Conversation, the Song, and 
the Dance, held, uninterrupted by each 
other, their respective rites. In the 
Library stood busts of all the most illus- 
trious Epicurians, both of Rome and 
Greece—Horace, Atticus, Pliny the el- 
der, the poet Lucretius, Lucian, and the 
lamented biographer of the Philoso- 
phers, lately lost to us, Diogenes Laer- 
tius. There were also the portraits, in 
marble, of all the eminent female vota- 


‘ries of the school—Leontium and her 


fair daughter Danaé, Themista, Philee- 
nis, and others. 

It was here that, in my capacity of 
Tleresiarch, on the morning of the Fes- 
tival, I received the felicitations of the 
day from some of the fairest lips of Ath- 
es; and, in pronouncing the customary 
oration to the memory of our Master, 


699 


| (in which if was usual to dwell upon the 

doctrines he had ᾿πσηπραεοῆκι endeavored 
᾿ἴο attain that art, so useful before such 
an audience, of lending to the gravest 
subjects a charm, which secures them 
listeners even among the simplest and 
most volatile. 

Though study, as may be supposed, 
engrossed but little the nights or morn- 
ings of the Garden, yet all the lighter 
parts of learning—that portion of its at- 
tic honey, for which the bee is not com- 
pelled to go very deep into the flower— 
was somewhat zealously cultivated by 
us. Even here, however, the young 
student had to encounter that kind of 
distraction, which is, of all others, the 
least fuvorable to composure of thought ; 
and, with more than one of my fair dis- 
ciples, there used to occur such scenes 
as the following, which .a poet of the 
| Garden, taking his picture from life, thus 
_ deseribed :— 


| ‘As o’er the lake, in evening’s glow, 

That temple threw its lengthening shade, 
Upon the marble steps below 

There sate a fair Corinthian maid, 
Gracefully o'er some volume bending ; 

W hile, τ her side, the youthful Sage 
Held back her ringlets, lest, descending, 

They should o’ershadow all the page.” 


But it was for the evening of that 
day that the richest of our luxuries were 
reserved. Every part of the Garden 
was illuminated, with the most skilful 
variety of lustre; while over the Lake 
of the Temples were scattered wreaths 
of flowers, through which boats, filled 
with beautiful children, floated, as 
through a liquid parterre. 

Between two of these boats a mock 
combaga was perpetually carried on :— 
theirrespective commanders, two bloom- 
ing youths, being habited to represent 
Eros and Anteros: the former, the Ce- 
lestial Love of the Platonists, and the 
latter, that more earthly spirit, which 
usurps the name of Love among the 
Epicureans. Throughout the whole 
evening their conflict was maintained 
with various success; the timid distance 
/at which Eros kept aloof from his lively 
antagonist being his only safeguard 
against those darts of fire, with showers 
of which the other assailed him, but 
which, falling short of their mark upon 
the lake, only scorched the few flowers 


700 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


on which they fell, and were extin- 
guished. 

In another part of the Gardens, on a 
wild glade, illuminated only by the 
moon, was performed an imitation of 
the torch-race of the Panatheneea by 
young boys chosen for their fleetness, 
and arrayed with wings, like Cupids ; 
while, not far off, a group of seven 
nymphs, with each a star on her fore- 
head, represented the movements of the 
planetary choir, andembodied the dream 
of Pythagoras into real motion and 
song. 

At every turning some new enchant- 
ment broke unexpectedly on the eye or 
ear; and now, from the depth of a dark 
erove, from which a fountain at the 
same time issued, there came a strain of 
sweet music, which, mingling with the 
murmur of the water, seemed like the 
voice of the spirit that presided over its 
flow ;—while, at other times, the same 
strain appeared to come breathing from 
among flowers, or was heard suddenly 
from underground, as if the foot had 
just touched some spring that set its 
melody in motion. 

It may seem strange that I should 
now dwell upon all these trifling de- 
tails; but they were to me full of the 


future ; and everything connected with | 


that iemorable night—even its long-re- 
pented follies—must forever live fondly 
and sacredly in my memory. 
tival concluded with a banquet, at 
which, as master of the Sect, I presided ; 
and being, myself, in every sense, the 
ascendant spirit of the whole scene, 
gave life to all around ine, and saw my 
own happiness reflected in that of oth- 
ers. 
ἽΝ 
CHAPTER II. 


THE festival was over;—the sounds | 


of the song and dance ceased, and I was 
now left in those luxurious gardens, 
alone. Though so ardent and active a 
votary of pleasure, I had, by nature, a 
disposition full of melancholy ;—an im- 
agination that, even in the midst of 
mirth and happiness, presented sadden- 
ing thoughts, and threw the shadow of 
the future over the gayest illusions of 
the present. Melancholy was, indeed, 
twin-born in my soul with Passion ; and 


The fes- | 


not even in the fullest fervor of the lat- 
ter were they ever separated. From the 
first moment that I was conscious of 
thought and feeling, the same dark 
thread had run across the web; and 
images of death and annihilation came 
to mingle themselves with even the 
most smiling scenes through which love 
and enjoyment led me. My very pas- 
sion for pleasure but deepened these 
gloomy thoughts. For, shut out, as I 
was by my creed, froma future life, and 
having no- hope beyond the narrow hor- 
izon of this, every minute of earthly de- 
light assumed, in my eyes, a mournful 
preciousness; and pleasure, like the 
| flower of the cemetery, grew but more 
‘luxuriant from the neighborhood of 
death. 

This very night my triumph, my hap- 
piness, had seemed complete. I had 
been the presiding genius of that yolup- 
tuous scene. Both my ambition and 
my love of pleasure had drunk deep of 
the rich cup for which they thirsted. 
Looked up toas I was by the learned, and 
admired and loved by the beautiful 
and the young, I had seen, in every eye 
'that met mine, either the acknowledg- 
‘ment of bright triumphs already won, 
| or the promise of others, still brighter, 
that awaited me. Yet, even in the 
| midst of allthis, the same dark thoughts 
had presented themselves ;—the perish- 
ableness of myselfand all around me had 
recurred every instant to my mind. 
Those hands I had pressed—those eyes, 
\in which I had seen sparkling a spirit 
'of light and life that ought never to die 
—those voices, that had spoken of eter- 
nal Jove—all, all I felt, were but a mock- 
ery of the moment, and would leave 
nothing eternal but the silence of their 

dust ! 


Oh. were it not for this sad voice, 
Stealing amid our mirth to say, 
That all in which we most rejoice, 
Ere night may be the earth-worm’s prey, 


But for this bitter—only this— 

Full as the world is brimm’d with bliss, 
And capable as feels my soul 

Of draining to its depth the whole, 

Τ should turn earth to heaven, and be, 
If bliss made gods, a deity ! 


| Such was the description I gave of my 
own feelings in one of those wild, pas- 
sionate songs, to which this mixture of 


ie a oh 


| 


THE ΒΡΙΟΠΒΈΕΑΛΝ. 


TOL 


mirth and melancholy, in a spirit so 
buoyant, naturally gave birth. 

And seldom had my heart so fully 
surrendered itself to this sort of vague 
sadness as at that very moment, when, 
as I paced thoughtfully among the fad- 
ing lights and flowers of the banquet, 
the echo of my own step was all that 
now sounded, where so many gay forms 
had lately been revelling. The moon 
was still up, the morning had not 
glimmered, and the calm glories of the 
night still rested on all around. Un- 
conscious whither my a RN led, I 
continued to wander along, till I, at 
length,found myself before that fair stat- 
ue of Venus, with which the chisel of ΑἹ. 
camenes had embellished our Garden ; — 
that image of deified woman, the onl y 
idol to which I had ever vet bent the 
knee. Leaning against the pedestal of 
the statue, I raised my eyes to heaven, 
and fixing them sadly and intently on 
the ever- burning stars, as if seeking to 
read the mourntul secret in their light, 

asked, wherefore was it Man alone must 
fade and perish, 
less wonderful, less godlike than he, 
thus still lived on in radiance unchange- 
able and forever! 
were some spell, some talisman,” I ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ to make the spirit that burns 
within us deathless as those stars, and 
open to it a career like theirs, as bright 
and inextinguishable throughout all 
time !” 

While thus indulging in wild and 
melancholy fancies, I felt that lassitude 
which earthly pleasure, however sweet, 
still leaves behind, come insensibly 
over me, and at length sunk at the base 
of the statue to sleep. 

But even in sleep, the same fancies 
continued to haunt me; and a dream, ἢ 
so distinct and vivid as to leave behind 
‘it the i impression of reality, thus pre- 
sented itselfte my mind. I found my- 
self suddenly transported te 2 wide and 
desolate plain, where nothing appeared 
to breathe, or moye, or live. ‘lhe very 
sky that hung above it looked pale and 
extinct, giving the idea, not of darkness, 
but of ‘light that had become dead,— 
and had that whole region been the re- 


* For the importance attached to dreams by 
the ancients, see Jortin, Remarks on Ecclesi- 
astical History, voi. i., p. 90. 


mains of some older world, left broken 
up and sunless, it could not have pre- 
sented an aspect more quenched and 
desolate. The only thing that bespoke 


life, throughout this melancholy waste, 


length, 


yet | 


was a small spark of light, that at first 
glimmered in the distance, but, at 
slowly approached the bleak 
spot where I stood. As it drew near, I 
could see that its small but steady 
gleam came from a taper in the hand of 
an ancient and venerable man, who now 
stood, like.a pale messenger from the 
grave, before me. After a few moments 


, of awful silence, during which he look- 


‘my very soul, 


ed at me with a sadness that thrilled 
he said, ‘Thou, who 


'seekest eternal life, go unto the shores 


of the dark Nile—go unto the shores of 
the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the 
eternal life thou seekest!’’ 

No sooner had he uttered these 
words than the deathlike hue of his 


/cheek at once brightened into a smile 


‘of more than eatthly 


while they, so much | 


‘Oh, that there | 


' vent in some other. 


promise ; while 
the small torch he held in his hand 
sent forth a glow of radiance, by 
which suddenly the whole surface of 
the desert was illuminated;—the light 
spreading even to the distant horizon’s 
edge, along whose line I could now see 
gardens, palaces, and spires, all as 
bright as the rich architecture of the 
clouds at sunset. Sweet music, too, 
came floating in every direction through 
the air, and, from all sides such yarieties 
of enchantment broke upon me, that, 
with the excess alike of harmony and of 
radiance, I awoke. 

That infidels should be superstitious 
is an anomaly neither unusual nor 
strange. A belief in superhuman 
agency seems natural and necessary to 
the mind; and, if not suffered to flow 
in the obvious channels, it will find a 
Hence, many who 
have doubted the existence of a God, 
have yet implicitly placed themselves 
nnder the patronage of Fate or the stars. 
Muck the same inconsistency I was con- 
scious of iin my own feelings. Though 
rejecting all belief in a Divine Provi- 
dence, I had yet a faith in dreams, the* 
all my philosophy could not conquc. 
Nor was experience wanting to confirm 
mein my delusion ; for, by some of those 
accidental coincidences, which make the 


702 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


fortune of soothsayers and 
dreams, more than once, ha 
me 


prophets, 
been to 


Oracles, truer far than oak, 

Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. 
It was not wonderful, therefore, that 
the vision of that night—touching, as it 
did, a chord so ready to vibrate—should 
have affected me with more than ordi- 
nary power, and even sunk deeper into 
my memory with every effort I made 
to forget it. In vain did I mock at my 
own weakness;—such self-derision is 
seldom sincere. In vain did I pursue 
my accustomed pleasures. Their zest 
was, as usual, forever new; but still, in 
the midst of all my enjoyment, came 
the cold and saddening consciousness 
of mortality, and, with it, the recollec- 
tion of that visionary promise, to which 
my fancy, in defiance of reason, still 
continued to cling. 

At times indulging in reveries, that 
were little else than a continuation of 
my dream, I even contemplated the 
possible existence of some mighty se- 
eret, by which youth, if not perpetu- 
ated, might be at least prolonged, and 
that dreadful vicinity of death, within 
whose circle love pines and pleasure sick- 
ens, might be for a while averted. 
“Who knows,” I would ask, “but that 
in egypt, that region of wonders where 
Mystery hath yet unfolded but half her 
treasures— where still remain, wunde- 
ciphered, upon the pillars of Seth, so 
many written secrets of the antediluvian 
world—who can tell but that some pow- 
erful charm, some amulet, may there lie 
hid, whose discovery, as this phantom 
hath promised, but awaits my coming— 
some compound of the same pure atoms 
that form the essence of the living stars, 
and whose infusion into the frame of 
man might render him also unfading and 
immortal !” 

Thus fondly did I sometimes specu- 
late, in those vague moods of mind, 
when the life of excitement in which I 
Was engaged, acting upon a warm heart 
and vivid fancy, produced an intoxica- 
tion of spirit, during which I was not 
wholly myself. This bewilderment, too, 
was uot alittle increased by the constant 
struggle I experienced between my own 


cape from whose deadening bondage I 
but broke loose into the realms of fan- 
tasy and romance. 

Even in my soberest moments, how- 
ever, that strange vision forever haunted 
me; and every effort I made to chase it 
from my recollection was unavailing. 
The deliberate conclusion, therefore, to- 
which I at last came, was, that to visit 


_ Egypt was now my only resouree ; that, 
without seeing that land of wonders, 1 


could not rest, nor, until convinced of 
mny folly by disappointment, be reason- 
able. Without delay, accordingly, I an- 
nounced to my friends of the Garden, 
the intention I had formed to pay a visit 
to the land of Pyramids. ‘l'o none of 
them, however, did I dare to confess the 
vague, visionary impulse that actuated 
me ;—knowledge being the object that I 


,alleged, while Pleasure was that for 


which they gave me credit. The inter- 
ests of the School, it was feared, might 
suffer by my absence; and there were 
some tenderer ties, which had still more 
to fear from separation. But for the 
former inconvenience a temporary rem- 
edy was provided; while the latter a 


| skilful distribution of vows and sighs al- 


leviated. Being furnished with recom- 
mendatory letters to all parts of Egypt, 
Τ set sail in the summer of the year 257, 
A. D., for Alexandria. 


CHAPTER 111. 


To one, who so well knew how to ex- 
tract pleasure from every moment on 
land, a sea-voyage, however smooth 
and favorable, appeared the least agree- 
able mode of losing time that could be 
devised. Often, indeed, did my imagi- 
nation, in passing some isle of those seas, 
people it with fair forms and loving 
hearts, to which most willingly would 
[ have paused to offer homage. But the 
wind blew direct towards the land of 
Mystery; and, still more, I heard a 
voice within me, whispering forever, 
HO) 

As we approached the coast of Ngypt, 
our course became less prosperous ; and 
we had a specimen of the benevolence 
of the divinities of the Nile, in the shape 
of a storm, or rather whirlwind, which 


natural feelings, and the cold, mortal had nearly sunk our vessel, and which 
creed of my sect—in endeavoring to cz- the Egyptians on board declared to be 


THE EPICUREAN. 


703 


the work of their deity, Typhon. After 
a day and night of danger, during which | 
we were driven out of our course to the 
eastward, some benigner influence pre- 
vailed above ; and, at length, as the 
morning freshly broke, we saw the beau- 
tiful city of Alexandria rising from the | 
sea with its proud Palace of Kings, its | 

ortico of four hundred columns, and the 
air Pillar of Pillars,* towering in the 
midst to heaven. 

After passing in review this splendid 
vision, we shot rapidly round the Rock 
of Pharos, and, in a few minutes, found | 
ouwrs*lves in the harbor of Eunostus. The | 
sun had risen, but the light on the Great 
Tower of the Rock was still burning; 
and there was a languor in the first | 
waking movements of that voluptuous | 
city— whose houses and temples lay | 

| 


shining in silence around the harbor— 
that sufficiently attested the festivities 
of the preceding night. 

We were soon landed on the quay ; 
and, as [ walked through a line of pala- 
ces and shrines, up the street which 
leads from the sea to the gate of Cato- 
pus, fresh as I was froin the contempla- 
tion of my own lovely Athens, Lyet felt 
a glow of admiration at the scene 
around me, whichits novelty, even more 
than its magnificence, inspired. Nor 
were the luxuries and delights which 
such a city promised, among the least 
of the considerations upon which my 
fancy dwelt. On the contrary, every- 
thing around me seemed prophetic of 
love and pleasure. The very forms of 
the architecture, to my Epicwwean ima- 
ination, appeared to call up images of 
iving grace; and even the din seclu- 
sion of the temples and groves spoke 
only of tender mysteries to my mind. 
As the whole bright scene grew animat- 
ed around me, [felt that though Egypt 
might not enable me to lengthen lite, 
she could teach the next best art—that | 
of multiplying its enjoyments. 

The population of Alexandria, f at this 
period, consisted of the most motley 


* More properly, perhaps, “the Column of | 
the Pillars.” Vide Abdallatif, Relation de 
l'Egypte, and the notes of M. de Sacy. The 
great portico around this column (formerly 
designated Pompey's, but now known to have 
been erected in honor of Dioclesian) was still 
standing, M. de Sacy says, in the time of Sala- 
ἐξ ide Tord Valentia’s Travels. 


miscellany of nations, religions and 
sects, that had ever been brought to- 
gether in one city. Besides the school 
of the Grecian Platonist was seen the 
oratory of the cabalistic Jew ; while the 
church of the Christian stood, undis- 
turbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian 
Hierophant. Here, the adorer of Fire, 
from the Last, langhed at the less ele- 
gant superstition of the worshipper of 
cats, from the West. Here, Christiani- 
ty, too, had learned to emulate the pious 
vagaries of Paganism; and while, on 
one side, her Ophite professor was seen 
bending his knee gravely before a ser- 


| pent, on the other, a Nicosian Christian 


was beard contending with no less grav- 
ity, that there could be no chance what- 


ever of salvation out of the pale of the 


Greek alphabet. Still worse, the un- 
charitableness of Christian schism was 


/already, with equal vigor, distinguish- 


ing itself; and I heard everywhere, on 
my arrival, of the fierce rancor and hate 
with which the Greek and Latin church- 
men were then persecuting each other, 
because, forsooth, the one fasted on the 
seventh day of the week, and the others 


fasted upon the fourth aud sixth! 


To none, however, of these different 
creeds and sects, except in as far as 
they furnished food for ridicule, had 
I time to pay much attention. I was 
nowinthe most luxurious city of the 
universe, and accordingly gave way, 
without reserve, to the various seduc- 
tions that surrounded me. My reputa- 
tion, both as a philosopher and a man 
of pleasure, had preceded my coming ; 
and Alexandria, the second Athens of 
the world, welcomed me as her own. I 
found my celebrity, indeed, act as a tal- 
isman, that opened all hearts and doors 
αὖ την approach. The usual novitiate of 
acquaintance was dispensed with in my 
favor, und not only intimacies, but loves 
and friendships, ripened as rapidly in my 
path, as vegetation springs up where 
the Nile has flowed. ‘The dafk beauty 
of the Egyptian woment possessed a noy- 

t Ammianus thus speaks of the state of Alex- 
andria in his time, which was, I believe, as 
late us the end of the fourth century :—*‘ Ne 
nune quidem in eadem urbe Doetrinw varie 
silent, non apud nos exaruit Musica nee Har- 
monia conticuit.”” Lib. 22. 


¢t From the character of the features of the 
Sphinx, and a passage in Herodotus, describ- 


704 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


elty in my eyes that enhanced its other 
charms; and the hue left by the sun on 
their rounded cheeks seemed but an 
earnest of the genial ardor he must have 
kindied in their hearts— 


Th’ imbrowning of the fruit, that tells, 
How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells. 


Some weeks had now passed in such 
constant and ever-changing pleasures, 
that even the melancholy voice deep 


within my heart, though it still spoke, | 


was but seldom listened to, and soon 
died away in the sound of the siren 
songs that surrounded me. At length, 
as the novelty of these gay scenes wore 
off, the same vague and gloomy bodings 


began to mingle with all my joys; and! 


an incident that occurred, at this time, 
during one of my gayest revels, con- 
duced still more to deepen their gloom. 


The celebration of the annual festival | 


of Serapis happened to take place dur- 
ing my stay; and I was, more than 
once, induced to mingle with the gay 
multitudes that flocked to the shrine at 
Canopus on the oceasion. Day and 
night, as long as this festival lasted, the 
great canal, which led from Alexandria 
to Canopus, was covered with boats full 
of pilgrims of both sexes, all hastening 
to avail themselves of this pious license, 


ing the Egyptians as wed oes και ovA Aes, | : St 
5 ΕΥ͂Ρ (κε, LE ie aca ΟΝ ΘΟ aT Volney has been afforded within these few 


Volney, Bruce, and a few cthers, have eon- 
elnded that the ancient inhabitants of Egypt 
were negroes. 
by a host of authorities. See Castera’s notes 
upon Browne's Travels, tor the result of Blu- 


menbach’s disseetion of a variety of mummies. | 
Denon, Speaking ofthe character of the heads | 


presented in the ancient sepulehre and paint- 
ing of Egypt, says, ‘‘ Celle des femmes ressem- 
ble encore ala figure des jolies femmes 
@aujourd’hui: de la rondeur, de la yolupsé, le 
nez petit, les yenx longs, peu ouverts,” &e., 
&e. He could judge, too, he says, from the 
female mummies, ‘*que leurs cheveux €toient 


longs et lisses, que le ecaractére de téte de la | 


plupart tenoit du beaustyle.”—*' Jerapportai,” 
he adds, ‘‘une téte de vieille femme qui étoit 
aussi belle que celles de Michel-Ange, et leur 
ressembloit beaucoup.” 


In a“ Description générale de Thebes,” by | 


Messrs. Jollois et Desvilliers, they say, “'Loutes 
les sculptures Egyptiennes, depuis les plus 
gfands colosses de Thebes jusqu’aux plus 
yetites idoles, ne rappelent en aucune maniére 
es traits de la figure des négres. outre que les 
tétes des momies des eatacombes de ‘Thebes 
présentent des profils droits.’ (See also M 
Jomard’s “ Deseription of Syene and the Cata- 
racts:’ 


physique” of the Egyptians, &c.) 


But this opinion is contradicted | 


Baron Larrey, on the * conformation | 
But the! 


which lent the zest of a religious sanc- 
tion to pleasure, and gave a holyday to 
the follies and passions of earth, in 
honor of heaven. 

I was returning, one lovely night, to 
Alexandria. The north wind, that wel- 
come visitor, had cooled and freshened 
the air, while the banks, on either side 
of the stream, sent forth, from groves of 
orange and henna, the most delicious 
odors. As I had left all the crowd be- 
hind me at Canopus, there was not a 
boat to be seen on the canal but my 
own; and I was just yielding to the 
thoughts which solitude at such an hour 
inspires, when my reveries were sud- 
denly broken by the sound of some 
female voices, coming mingled with 
laughter and screams, from the garden 
of a pavilion, that stood, brilliantly il- 
luminated, upon the bank of the canal. 

In rowing nearer, I perceived that 
both the mirth and the alarm had been 
caused by the efforts of some playful 
girls to reach a hedge of jasmine which 
grew near the water, and in bending 
towards which they had nearly fallen 
into the stream. Hastening to proffer 
my assistance, I soon recognised the 
voice of one of my fair Alexandrian 
friends ; and, springing on the bank, 
was surrounded by the whole group, 
most satisfactory refutation of the opinion of 
years, by Doctor Granville, who, having been 


lueky enough to obtain possession of a perfect 
female munmy, has, by the dissection and 


| admeasurement of its form, completely estab- 


lished the fact, that the ancient Egyptians 
were of the Caueasian race, not of the Ethio- 
pian. See this gentleman’s curious “ Lssay on 
Lgyptian Mummies,” read before the Royal 
Society, April 14, 1825. 

De Pauw, the great depreciator of every 
thing Eeyptian, has, on the authority of a pas- 
sage in Adlian, presumed to affix to the country- 
women of Cleopatra the stigma of complete 
and unredeemed ugliness. The following line 
of Euripides, however, is an answer to such 
eharges :— 


Νείλου μεν aide καλλιπαρθενοι poat. 


In addition to the celebrated instances of 
Cleopatra, Rhodope, &c., we are told, on the 
authority of Manetho, (as given by Zoega 
from Georgius Synecellus,) of a beautiful queeu 
of Memphis, Nitocris, of the sixth dynasty, 
who, in addition to other charms and _ perfee- 
tious, Was (rather inconsistently with the negro 
hypothesis) ¢av@y τὴν xpovay, i. e., yellow-huired. 
See fora tribute to the beauty of the Beyp 
tian women, Montesquieu’s Temple de Gnide. 


ra 


THE EPICUREAN. 


705 


--- 


who insisted on my joining their party 


in the pavilion; and, having flung 
around me, as fetters, the tendrils of 
jasmine which they had just plucked, 
conducted me, no unwilling captive, to 
the banquet-room. 

I found here an assemblage of the 
very flower of Alexandrian society. 
The unexpectedness of the meeting ad- 
ded new zest to it on both sides; and 
seldom had I ever felt more enlivened 
inyself, or succeeded better in infusing 
lite and gayety into others. 

Among the company were some Greek | 
women, who, according to the fashion 
of their country, wore veils; but, as 
usual, rather to set off than to conceal 


their beauty, some bright gleams of | 


which were constantly escaping from | 
under the cloud. There was, however, 
one female, who particularly attracted 
my attention, on whose head was a chap- 


Jet of dark colored flowers, and who) 


sat veiled and silent during the whole 
of the banquet. She took no share, I 
observed, in what was passing around ; 


the viands and the wine went by her | 


untouched, nor did a word that was 
spoken seem addressed to her ear, This 
ieirantion from a scene so sparkling 
with gayety, though apparently unno- 
ticed by any one but myself, struck me 
as mysterious and strange. I inquired 
of my fair neighbor the cause of it, but 
she looked grave, and was silent. 

In the mean time, the lyre and the. 
cup went round; and a young maid | 
from Athens, as if inspired by the pres- 
ence of her countryman, took her tute, 
and sung to it some of the songs of 
Greece, with a warmth of feeling that 
bore ine back to the banks of the Ilissus, 
and, even in the bosom of present pleas- 
ure, drew a sigh from my heart for that 
which had passed away. It was day- 
break ere our delighted party rose, and 
most unwillingly re-embarked to return 
to the city. 

We were searce afloat, when it was 
discovered that the lute of the young | 
Athenian had been left behind; and, | 
with a heart still full of its sweet sounds, 
I most readily sprang on shore to seek | 
it. 1 hastened at once to the banquet- 
room, which was now dim and solitary, 
except that—there, to my utter aston- 
ishment, was still seated that silent 


| figure which had awakened so much my 
curiosity during the evening. A vague 
feeling of awe came over me, as I now 
slowly approached it. There was no 
motion, no sound of breathing in that 
form;—not a leaf of the dark chaplet 
upon its brow stirred. By the light of a 
dying lamp which stood on the table be- 
fore the figure, I raised, with a hesitat- 
ing hand, the veil; and saw—what my 
fancy had already anticipated—that the 
shape underneath was lifeless, was a 
skeleton! Startled and shocked, I hur- 
ried back with the lute to the boat, and 
was almost as silent as that shape it- 
self during the remainder of the voy- 
age. 

This custom among the Egyptians of 
placing a mummy, or skeleton, at the 
banquet-table, had been for some time 
disused, except at particular ceremo- 
/ nies; and, eyen on such occasions, it had 
been the practice of the luxurious Alex- 
andrians to disguise this memorial of 
/mortality in the manner just described. 
But to me, who was wholly unprepared 
for such a spectacle, it gave a shock from 
which my imagination did not speedily 
recover. This silent and ghastly witness 
of mirth seemed to embody, as it were, 
the shadow in my own heart. ‘The 
features of the grave were thus stamped 


“upon the idea that had long haunted 


me, and this picture of what I was to be 
now associated itself constantly with 
the sunniest aspect of what I was. 

The memory of the dream now re- 


'curred to me more livelily than ever. 


The bright, assuring smile of that ven- 
erable Spirit, and his words, ‘‘ Go to the 
shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt 
find the eternal life thou seekest,” were 
forever present to my mind. But as 
yet, alas, I had done nothing towards 
realizing the proud promise. Alexan- 
dria was not Egvpt;—the very soil on 
which it now stood was not in existence, 
when already Thebes and Memphis had 
numbered ages of glory. 

“No,” I exclaimed; “it is only be- 
neath the pyramids of Memphis, or in 
\the Mystic Halls of the Labyrinth, 
those holy arcana are to be found, of 
which the antediluyian world has made 
Egypt its heir, and among which— 
blessed> thought !—the key to eternal 
‘life may lie.” 


706 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Having formed my determination, I 
took leave of my many Alexandrian 
friends, and departed for Memphis. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Eaypt was, perhaps, of all others, the 
country most calculated, from that mix- 
ture of the melancholy and the voluptu- 
ous which marked the character of her 
people, her religion, and her scenery, to 
affect deeply a fancy and temperament 
like mine, and keep both forever trem- 
blingly alive. Wherever I turned, I 
bebeld the desert and the garden, min- 
eling together their desolation and 
tloom. Isaw the love-bower and the 
tomb standing side by side, as if in that 
land, Pleasure and Death kept hourly 
watch upon each other. In the very 
luxury of the climate there was the same 
saddening influence. The monotonous 
splendor of the days, the solemn radi- 
ance of the nights—all tended to cher- 
ish that ardent melancholy, the offspring 
of passion and of thought, which had 
ey so long the familiar inmate of my 
soul. 

When 1 sailed from Alexandria, the 
inundation of the Nile was atitsfull. The 
whole valley of Egypt lay covered by 
its blood; and, as, looking around me, 
Tsaw in the light of the setting sun, 
shrines, palaces and monuments, en- 
circled by the waters, I could almost 
fancy that I beheld the sinking island of 
Atalantis, on the last evening its temples 
were visible above the wave. Such va- 
rietics, too, of animation as presented 
themselves on every side !— 


While, far as sight could reach, beneath as 
clear 

And blue a heaven as ever bless'd this sphere, 

Gardens, and pillar’d streets, and porphyry 
domes, 

And high-built temples, fit to be the homes 

Of mighty gods—and pyramids, whose hour 

Outlasts all time, above the waters tower! 


Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that 
One theatre of this vast neopIee lake, [make 
Where allthat Love, Religion, Commerce gives 
Of life and motion, ever moves and livcs. 


* Vide Strabo. 

t To & ev Saec τῆς AOnvas, ny και low νομι- 
ζουσιν, €b0s, ἐπιγραφὴν exer τοιαυτὴν, Eyw εἰμι 
παν τὸ γέγονος, και ον και ἐσόμενον, και TOV ἐμὸν 
πέπλον οὐδεις τω amexadvev.—Plutarch. de 
Isid. et Osir. 

{De Ja en remontant toujours le Nil, on 
trouve & deux cent cinquante pas, ou environ 


Here, up the steps of temples, from the waye 

Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 

Priests, in white garments, go, with sacred 
wands 

And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands ; 

While, there, rich barks—fresh from those 
sunny tracts 

Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts— 

Glide with their precious lading to the sea, 

Plumes of bright birds, rhinosceros! ivory, 

Gems from the Isle of Merée, and those grains 

Of gold, wash’d down by Abyssinian rains. 


Here, where the waters wind into a bay 
Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims on their way 
To Sais or Bubastus, among beds 
Oflotus-flowers that close above their heads, 
Push theirlight barks, and hid, as in a bower, 
Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; 
While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 

Gf blossoming aeacias, many a prank 

Is pliy'din the cool eurrent by a train 

Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, whose chain 
Around tivo conquerors of the world was cast, 
But, for a third too feeble, broke at last! 


Enchanted with the whole scene, I 
lingered delightedly on my voyage, vis- 
iting all those luxurious and venerable 
places, whose names have been conse- 
crated by the wonder of ages. At Sais 
I was present during her Festival of 
Lamps, and read, by the blaze of innu- 
merable lights, those sublime words on 
the temple of Neitha :+—‘‘I am all that 
has been, that is, and that will be, and 
no man hath ever lifted my veil.” I 
wandered among the prostrate obelisks 
of Heliopolis, and saw, not without a 
sigh, the sun smiling over her ruins, as 
if in mockery of the mass of perishable 


grandeur that had once called itself, im - 


its pride, ‘‘ The City of the Sun.” But 
to the Isle of the Golden Venus was, 
I own, my fondest pilgrimage ;—and 
there, as I rambled through its shades, 
where bowers are the only temples, [ 
felt how far more worthy to form the 
shrine of a Deity are the everliving 
stems of the garden and the grove, tham 
the most precious columns the inani- 
mate quarry can supply. 

Everywhere new pleasures, new in- 
terests awaited me; and though Mel- 
ancholy stood, as usual, forever near, 


dela Matarée, les traces de l'ancienne Hélio- 
polis, ou ville de Soleil, ἃ qui ee lieu étoit par- 
ticuli¢rement consaeré. C'est pour cette rai- 
son qu'on lappeloit encore 1'C2il, oula Fontaine 
du Soleil.”—Maillet. 

§ “On trouve une fle appelGe Venus-Dorée, 
ou le champ Wor, avant de remonter jusqu’d& 
Memphis.’’— Voyages de Pythagore. 


ta 


THE EPICUREAN. 


her shadow fell but half-way over m 
vagrant path, leaving the rest more wel- 
comely brilliant from the contrast. To 
relate my yarious adventures, during 
this short voyage, would only detain 
me from events, far, far more worthy of 
aecord, Amidst all this endless variety of 
attractions, the great object of my jour- 
ney had been forgotten;—the mysteries 
of this land of the sun still remained, to 
me, as much mysteries as ever, and as 
yet I had been initiated in nothing but 
its pleasures. 

It was not till that memorable even- 
ing, when I first stood before the Pyra- 
inids of Memphis, and beheld them tow- 
ering aloft, like the watch-towers of 
Time, from whose summit, when about 
to expire, he will look his last—it was 
not till this moment that the great se- 
cret announced in my dream again rose, 
in all its inscrutable darkness, upon my 
thoughts. There wasa solemnity in the 
sunshine resting upon those monuments 
—a stillness, as of reverence, in the air 
that breathed around them, which 
seemed to steal, like the music of past 
times, into my heart. I thought what 
myriads of the wise, the beautiful, and 
the brave, had sunk into dust since 
earth first saw those wonders; and in 
the sadness of my soul, I exclaimed,— 
“Must man alone, then, perish? must 
minds and hearts be annihilated, while 
ovyramnids endure? Oh, Death, Death ! 
even upon these everlasting tablets— 


the only approach to immortality that | 


kings themselves could purchase—thou 
hast written our doom awfully, and in- 
telligibly, saying, ‘There is for man 
no eternal mansion, but the grave!” 
My heart sunk at the thought; and, 
for the moment, I yielded to that deso- 
late feeling, which overspreads the soul 
that hath no light from the future. But 
again the buoyancy of my nature pre- 
vailed, and again, the willing dupe of 


vain dreams, I deluded myself into the 


* For an account of the Table of Emerald, 
vide Lettres sur V Origine des Dieux αἰ Eqypte. 
De Pauw supposes it to be a modern fiction of 
the Arabs. Many writers have fancied that 
the art of making gold was the great seeret 
that lay hid under the forms of Egyptian the- 
ology. ‘La science hermétique, says the 
Benedictine, Pernetz, ‘Vart sacerdotal, étoit 
la source de toutes les richesses des Rois 
@Egypte, et l'objet de ces mysteres si cachés 
sous le voile de leur prétendue Religion.”— 


707 


belief of all that my heart most wished, 
with that happy facility which enables 
imagination to stanc in the place of 
happiness. ‘ Yes,” I cried, ‘ immor- 
tality must be within man’s reach ; and, 
as wisdom alone is worthy of such a 
blessing, to the wise alone must the se- 
cret have been revealed. It is said, 
|that deep under yonder pyramid, has 
\lain for ages concealed the Table of 
Hmerald,* on which the Thrice-Great 
Hermes, in times before the flood, en- 
graved the secret of Alchemy, which 
| gives gold at will. Why, then, may not 
|the mightier, the more god-like secret 
| that gives life at will, be recorded there 
also? It was by the power of gold, of 
| endless gold, that the kings, who now 
repose in those massy structures, scoop- 
/ed earth to its very centre, and raised 
guamee into the air, to provide for 
| themselves tombs that might outstand 
the world. Who can tell but that the 
| gift of immortality was also theirs? who 
‘knows but that they themselves, tri- 
/wnphant over decay, still live ;—those 
‘mighty mansions, which we call tombs, 
| being rich and everlasting palaces, with- 
‘in whose depths, concealed from this 
| withering world, they still wander, with 
‘the few Elect who have been sharers of 
their gift, through a sunless, but ever il- 
luminated elysium of their own? Else, 
wherefore those structures? wherefore 
that subterranean realm, by which the 
whole valley of Egypt is undermined ? 
Why, else, those labyrinths, which none 
| of earth hath ever beheld—which none 
of heaven, except that God, who stands, 
with finger on his hushed lip,t hath 
ever trodden ?” 

While thus Lindulged in fond dreams, 

the sun, already half sunk beneath the 
| horizon, was taking, calmly and glori- 
ously, his last look of the Pyramids— 
|as he had done, evening after evening, 
for ages, till they had grown familiar 
to him as the earth itself. On the side 
Fables. Equptiennes. The hieroglyphs, that 
formerly covered the Pyramids, are supposed 
by some of these writers to refer to the same 
art. See Mutus Liber, Rupelle. 

t ‘‘Enfin Harpocrate représentoit aussi Je 
Soleil. Il est vrai que e’étoit aussi le Dieu du 
Silence; il mettoit le doigt sur la bouche 
| pareequ’on adoroit le soleil avee un respectuenx 
| silence. et c'est de JA qu est venu le Sigé des 
| Basilidiens, απ tiroient leur origiue de 
! Egypte.” —Beausobre. 


708 


turned to his ray they now presented a 
front of dazzling whiteness,* while, on 
the other, their great shadows, lengthen- 
ing away to the eastward, looked like 
the first steps of Night, hastening to en- 
velope the hills of Araby in her shade. 

No sooner had the last gleam of the 
sun disappeared, than on every house- 
top in Memphis, gay, gilded banners 
were seen waving aloft, to proclaim his 
setting—while, at the same moment, a 
full burst of harmony was heard to peal 
from all the temples along the shores. 

Startled from my musing by these 
sounds, I at once recollected, that, on 
that very evening, the great festival of 
of the Moon was to be celebrated. On 
a little island, half way over between 
the gardens of Memphis and the eastern 
shore, stood the temple of that goddess, 

whose beams 
Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and 
dreams, 
Not the cold Dian of the North, who chains 
In yestal ice the current of young veins; 
But she, who haunts the gay, Bubastiant 
grove, [above 
And owns shesees, from her bright heaven 
Nothing on earth to match that heaven, but 
love! 

Thus did I exclaim, in the words of 
one of their own poets, as, anticipating 
the various delights of the festival, I 
cast away from my mind all gloomy 
thoughts; and, hastening to my little 


bark, in which I now lived the life ofa | 


Nile-bird, on the waters, steered my 
course to the island-temple of the Moon. 


CHAPTER V. 
THE rising of the Moon, slow and ma- 


jestic, as if conscious of the honors that | 


awaited her upon earth, was welcomed 


with a loud acclaim from every emi- | 


nence, where multitudes stood watch- 
ing forher first light. And seldom had 
that light risen upon a more beautifnl 
scene. The city of Memphis—still 
grand, though no longer the unrivalled 
Memphis that had bore away from 


*“ By reflecting the sun’s rays,” says Clarke, 
speaking of the Pyramids, ‘‘ they appeared 
white as snow.” 

+ For Bubastis, the Diana of the Egyptians, 
vide Jablonski, lib. iii. cay. 4. 

t Vide Amailhou,"* Histoire dela Navigation 
et du Commerce des Equptiens. sous les Ptole- 
mies.’ See also, for a description of the vari- 


MOORE'S WORKS. 


Thebes the crown of supremacy, and 
worn it undisputed through ages—now, 


softened by the mild moonlight that har- 


monized with her decline, shone forth 
among her lakes, her pyramids, and her 
shrines, like one of those dreams of hu- 
man glory that must ere long pass away. 
Even already ruin was visible around 
her. The sands of the Libyan desert. 
were gaining upon her like a sea; and 
there, among solitary columns and 
sphinxes, already half sunk from sight, 
Time seemed to stand waiting, till all 
that now flourished around him should 
fall beneath his desolating hand like the 
rest. 

On the waters all was gayety and life. 
As far as eye could reach, the lights of 
innumerable boats were seen studding, 
like rubies, the surface of the stream. 
Vessels of every kind—from the light 
coracle,t built for shooting down the 
cataracts, to the large yacht that glides 
slowly to the sound of flutes—all were 
afloat for this sacred festival, filled with 
crowds of the young and gay, not only 
from Memphis and Babylon, but from 
cities still farther removed from the fes- 
tal scene. 

As I approached the island, I could 
see, glittering through the trees on the 
bank, the lamps of the pilgrims hasten- 
ing to the ceremony. Landing in the 
direction which those lights pointed out, 
Τ soon jomed the crowd; and, passing 
through a long alley of sphinxes, whose 
spangling marble gleamed out from the 
dark syeamores around them, reached 
in ashort time the grand vestibule of 
the temple, where I found the cere- 
monies of the evening already com- 
menced. 

In this vast hall, which was surround- 
ed by a double range of columns, and 
lay open oyer-head to the stars of heay- 


6, 1 saw a group of young maidens, 


moving in a sort of measured step, be- 
tween walk and dance, round a small 
shrine, upon which stood one of those 
sacred birds,§ that, on account of the 


ous kinds of boats used on the Nile, Maillet, 
tom. i. p. 98. 

§ Vide Maurice, Appendix to “ Ruins of 
3abylon.” Another reason, he says, for their 
Worship of the Ibis, ‘founded on their love of 
geometry, was (according to Plutareh) that 


| the space between its legs, when parted asun- 


der, as it walks, together with its beak, forms 


| oe 


THE EPICUREAN. 


variegated color of their wings, are 
dedicated to the worship of the moon. 
The vestibule was dimly lighted—there 
being but one lamp of naphtha hung on 
each of the great pillars that encircled 
it. But, having taken my station be- 
side one of those pillars, I had a clear 
view of the young dancers, as in succes- 
sion they passed me. 

The drapery of all was white as 
snow; and each wore loosely, beneath 
the bosom, a dark-blue zone, or bande- 
let, studded, like the skies at midnight, 
with small silver stars. Through their 
dark locks was wreathed the white lily 
of the Nile—that sacred flower being ac- 
counted no less welcome to the moon 
than the golden blossoms of the bean- 
flower* are known to be to the sun. As 
they passed under tbe lamp, a gleam of 
light flashed from their bosoms, which, 
I could perceive, was the reflection of a 
small mirror, that, in the manner of the 
women of the Hast, each of the dancers 
wore beneath her left shoulder. 

There was no music to regulate their 
steps; but, as they gracefully went 
round the bird on the shrine, some to 
the beat of the castanet, some to the 
shrill ring of a sistrumt—which they 
held uplifted in the attitute of their own 
divine Isis—continued harmoniously to 
time the cadence of their feet; while 
others, at every step, shook a small 
chain of silver, whose sound, mingling 
with those of the castanets and sistrums, 
wroduced a wild, but not unpleasing 

armony. 

They seemed all lovely; but there 
was one—whose face the light had not 
yet reached, so downcast she held it— 
who attracted, and, at length, riveted 
all my looks and thoughts. I know not 
why, but there was a something in those 
half-seen features—a charm in the very 
shadow that hung over their imagined 
beauty—which took my faney more than 
all the out-shining loveliness of her com- 
panions. So enchained was I by this 


a complete equilateral triangle.’ From the 
examination of the embalmed birds, found in 
the Catacombs of Suceara, there seems to be 
no doubt that the Ibis was the same kind of 
bird as that deseribed by Bruce, under the 
Arabian name of Abou Hannes 

*** La fleur en est mille fois plus odoriférante 
que celles de nos féves d'Europe, quoique leur 
parfum nous paroisse si agréxble. Comme on 


709 


coy mystery, that her alone, of all the 
roup, could I either see or think of— 
er alone I watched, as, with the same 
downecast brow, she glided gently and 
aérially round the altar, asifher presence, 
like that of a spirit, was something to 
be felt, not seen. 

Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud 
crash of a thousand cymbals was heard ; 
—the massy gates of the Temple flew 
open, as if by magic, and a flood of 
radiance from the illuminated aisle filled 
the whole vestibule; while, at the same 
instant, asif the light and the sounds 
were born together, a peal of rich har- 
mony came mingling with the radiance. 

It was then—by that light, which 
shone full upon the young maiden’s fea- 
tures, as, starting at the sudden blaze, 
she raised her eyes to the portal, and as 
quickly let fall their lids again—it was 
then I beheld, what even my own ar- 
dent imagination, in its most vivid 
dreams of beauty, had never pictured. 
Not Psyche herself, when pausing on 
the threshold of heaven, while its first 
glories fell on her dazzled lids, could 
have looked more purely beautiful, or 
blushed with a more innocent shame. 
Often as I had felt the power of looks, 
none had ever entered into my soul so 
deeply. It was a new feeling—a new 
sense—coming as suddenly upon me as 
that radiance into the eéatehilee and, at 
once, fillimg my whole being ;—and had 
that bright vision but lingered another 
moment before my eyes, I should in my 
transport have wholly forgotten who L 
was and where, and thrown myself, in 
prostrate adoration, at her feet. 

But scarcely had that gush of har- 
mony been heard, when the sacred bird, 
which had, till now, been standing mo- 
tionless as an image, spread wide his 
wings, and flew into the Temple; while 
his graceful young worshippers, with a 
flectness like his own, sowed aia 
she, who had left a dream in my heart 
never to be forgotten, vanished along 


en seme beaucoup dans les terres voisines du 
Caire, du edte de Voecident, c'est qnelque chose 
de charmant que lairembaumé que l'on respire 
le soir sur les terrasses, quand le vent de lonest 
vient ἃ souffler, et y apporte cette odeur adinir- 
able.”"— Muillet. 

i Isis est genius,” says Servius, ‘‘ gpyti. 
qui per sistri motum, quod gerit in dextra, Nill 
uecessus recessusgue significat.” 


710 MOORE’S 


WORKS. aes 


with the rest. As she went rapidly past 
the pillar against which I leaned, the ivy 
that encircled it* caught in her drapery, 
and disengaged some ornament, whick 
fell to the ground. It was the small 
mirrorf which 1 had seen shining on her 
bosom. Hastily and tremulously I 
picked it up, and hurried to restore it; 
but she was already lost to my eyes in 
the crowd. 

In vain did I try to follow ;—the 
aisles were already filled, and numbers 
of eager pilgrims pressed towards the 
portal. But the servants of the Temple 
denied all further entrance, and still, as 
I presented myself, their white wands 
barred the way. Perplexed and irritated 
amid that crowd of faces, regarding all 
as enemies that impeded my progress, 
I stood on tiptoe, gazing into the busy 
aisles, and with a heart beating as I 
caught, from time to time, a glimpse of 
some spangled zone, or lotus wreath, 
which led me to fancy that I had dis- 
covered the fair object of my search. 
But it was all in vain;—in every direc- 
tion files of sacred nymphs were moy- 
ing, but nowhere could I discover her 
whom alone I sought. 

Τὰ this state of breathless agitation 
dil I stand for some time—bewildered 
with tne confusion of faces and lights, 
as well as with the clouds of incense 
that roiled around me—till, fevered and 
impatient, I could endure it no longer. 
Forcing my way out of the vestibule 
into the cool air, 1 hurried back through 
the alley of sphinxes to the shore and 
flung invself into my boat. 


There lies, to the north of Memphis,t | 


a solitary lake, (which, at this season of 

* The ivy was consecrated to Osiris, Vide 
Diodor. Sic. 1. 10. 

ἢ Quelques-unes,” says Dupuis, deseribing 
the processions of Isis, ‘‘portoient des miroirs 
attaches Aleurs Gpaules, afin de multiplier et 
de porter dans tous les sens les images de Ja 
Déesse.’—Origine des Cultes, tom. vill. p. 847. 
A imnirror, it appears, was’also one of the em- 
blems in the mysteries of Bacchus. ͵ 

‘Pout prouve que la territoire de Sakkarah 
étoit la Néeropolis an sud de Memphis, et le 
faubourg opposé ἃ eceluici of sont les pyra- 
mides de Gizeh, une autre Ville des Morts, qui 
terminoit Memphis au nord.”— Denon. 

There is nothing known with certainty as to 
the site of Memphis, but it will be perceived 
that the deser!ption of its position given by the 
Epicurean corresponds, in almost every pur- 
tienlar, with that which M. Maillet (the F'reneh 
consul, for many years, at Cairo) lias, in his 


the year, mingles with the rest of the 
waters, ) upon whose shores stands the 
Necropolis, or City of the Dead—a place 
of melancholy grandeur, covered over 
with shrines and pyramids, where many 
a kingly head, proud even in death, has 
lain awaiting through long ages the res- 
urrection of its glories. Through a 
range of sepulchral grots underneath, 
the humbler denizens of the tomb are 
deposited—looking out on each succes- 
sive generation that visits them, with 
the same face and features§ they wore 
centuries ago. Every plant and tree, 
consecrated to death, from the asphodel- 
flower to the mystic plantain, lends its 
sweetness or shadow to this place of 
tombs; and the only noise that disturbs 
its eternal calm, is the low humming 
sound of the priests at prayer, when a 
new inhabitantisadded to the Silent City. 

It was towards this place of death 
that, in a mood of mind, as usual, half 
gloomy, half bright, I now, almost un- 
consciously, directed my bark. The 
form of the young Priestess was con- 
tinually before me. That one bright 
look of hers, the very remembrance of 
which was worth all the actual smiles 
of others, never for a moment left my 
mind. Absorbed in such thoughts, I 
continued to row on, scarce knowing 
whither I went, till, at length, startled 
to find myself within the shadow of the 
City of the Dead, I looked up, and be- 
held, rising in succession before me, 
pyramid beyond pyramid,|| each tower- 
ing more loftily than the other—while 
all were out-topped in grandeur by one, 
upon whose summit the bright moon 
rested as on a pedestal. 


work on Egypt, left us. It must be always 
borne in mind, too, that of the distances be- 
tween the respective places here mentioned, 
we have no longer any accurate means of 
judging. 

δ᾿ Parla non-seulement on conservoit les 
corps d'une famille entiére, mais en descen- 
dant dans ces lieux sotterrains, ott ils étoient 


| dépos€s, on pouvyoit se représenter en un in- 


stant tous ses ancétres depuis plusieurs milliers 
(années tels & peu pres qwils étoient de leur 
vivant.” —Maillet. 

Π ‘‘Multas olim pyramidas fuisse 10. ruinis 
arguitur.” Zoega—Vansleb, who visited more 
than ten of the small pyramids, is of opinion 
that there must have originally been a hun- 
dred in this place. 

See, on the subject of the lake to the north- 
ward of Memphis, Shaw's Travels, p. 302. 


ar 


| 


2) 


THE EPICUREAN. 


Drawing nearer to the shore, which 
was sufficiently elevated to raise this 
silent city of tombs above the level of 
the inundation, I rested my oar, and al- 
lowed the boat to rock idly upon the 
water; while, in the mean time, my 
thoughts, left equally without direction, 
were allowed to fluctuate as idly. How 
vague and various were the dreams that 
then floated through my mind—that 
bright vision of the temple still min- 
gling itself with all! Sometimes she 
stood before me, like an aérial spirit, as 

ure as if that element of music and 
ight, into which T had seen her vanish, 


was her only dwelling. Sometimes, an- | 


imated with passion, and kindling into 
a creature of earth, she seemed to lean 
towards me with looks of tenderness, 
which it were worth worlds, but for ene 
instant, to inspire; and again—as the 
dark fancies, that ever haunted me, 
rectured —I saw her cold, parched, and 
blackening, amid the gloom of those 
eternal sepulchres before me ! 

Turning away, with a sbudder, from 


the cemetery at this thought, I heard | 


the sound of an oar plying swiftly 
through the water, and, in a few mo- 
ments, saw, shooting past me towards 
the shore, a small boat, in which sat 
two female figures, muffled up and 
veiled. Having landed them not far 
from the spot where, under the shadow 
of a tomb on the bank, I lay concealed, 
the boat again departed, with the same 
fleetness, over the flood. 

Never had the prospect of a lively ad- 
venture come more welcome to me than 
at this moment, when my busy fancy 
was employed in weaving such chains 
for my heart, as threatened a bondage, 
of all others the most difficult to break. 
To become enamored thus of a creature 
of my own imagination, was the worst, 
because the most lasting, of follies. It 
is only reality that can afford any 
chance of dissolving such spells, and the 
idol I was now creating to myself must 
forever remain ideal. Any pursuit, 
therefore, that seemed likely to divert 
me from such thoughts—to bring back 
my imagination to earth and reality, 


from the vague region in which it had | 


been wandering, was a relief far too sea- 
sonable not to be welcomed with eager- 
ness. 


711 


I had watched the course which the 
‘two figures took, and, having hastily 
fastened my boat to the bank, stepped 
gently on shore, and, at a little distance, 
followed them. The windings through 
which they led were intricate ; but, by 
the bright light of the moon, I was en- 
abled to keep their forms in view, as, 
with rapid step, they glided among the 
monuments. At length, in the shade of 
a pines pele whose peak barely sur- 
| mounted the plane-trees that grew nigh, 
they vanished from my sight. I hastened 
to the spot, but there was not a sign of 
life around; and, had my creed extend- 
ed to another world, I might have fan- 
_cied these forms were spirits, sent down 
from thence to mock me—so instanta- 
neously had they disappeared. I 
searched through the neighboring grove, 
but all there was still as death. At 
length, in examining one of the sides of 
the pyramid, which, for a few feet from 
the ground, was furnished with steps, I 
/found midway between peak and base, 
a part of its surface, which, although 
presenting to the eye an appearance of 
smoothness, gave to the touch, 1 
thought, indications of a concealed open- 
ing. 

After a varicty of efforts and experi- 
ments, I, at last, more by accident than 
skill, pressed the spring that command- 
ed this hidden aperture. In an instant 
the portal slid aside, and disclosed a 
narrow stairway within, the two or three 
first steps of which were discernible by 
the moonlight, while the rest were all 
lost in utter darkness. Though it was 
dificult to conceive that the persons 
whom 1 had been pursuing weuld have 
ventured to pass through this gloomy 
opening, yet to account for their disap- 
pearance otherwise was still more difii- 
eult. At all events, my curiosity was 
now too eager in the chase to relinquish 
/it;—the spirit of adventure, once raised, 
could not be so easily laid. Aecord- 
ingly, having sent up a gay prayer to 
that bliss-loving Queen whose eye alone 
was upon me, I passed through the 
portal, and descended into the pyramid. 


CHAPTER VI. 


AT the end of the stairway I fouad 
myself in a low, narrow passage, through 


712° 


MOORE’S WORKS. i 


which, without stooping almost to the 
earth, it was impossible to proceed. 
Though leading through a multiplicity 
of dark windings, this way seemed but 
little to advance my progress—its course, 
I perceived, being chiefly circular, and 
gathering, at every turn, but a deeper 
intensity of darkness. 

“Can anything,” thought I, ‘‘of human 
kind sojourn here ?”—and had scarcely 
asked myself the question, when the 
path opened into a long gallery, at the 
farthest end of which a gleam of light 
was visible. This welcome glimmer ap- 
peared to issue from some Cell or alcove, 
in which the right-hand wall of the 
gallery terminated, and, breathless with 
expectation, I stole gently towards it. 

Arrived at the end of the gallery, a 
scene presented itself to my eyes, for 
which my fondest expectations of ad- 
venture could not haye prepared me. 
The place from which the light proceed- 
ed was a small chapel, of whose interior, 
from the dark recess in which I stood, L 
could take, unseen myself, a full and 
distinct view. Over the walls of this 
oratory were painted some of those va- 
rious symbols, by which the mystic wis- 
dom of the Egyptians loves to shadow 
out the History of the Soul; the winged 
globe with a serpent—the rays descend- 
ing from aboye, like a glory—and the 
Theban beetle,* as he comes forth after 
the waters haye passed away, and the 
first sunbeam falls on bis regenerated 
wings. 

In the middle of the chapel, cn a low 
altar cf granite, lay a lifeless female 
form, enshrined within a case of erystalf 

#* «On voit en Eeypte, aprés la retraite du 
Nil et la fécondation des terres, le limon cou- 
vert dune multitude de searabées. Un _pareil 
phénoméne a dti sembler aux Egyptiens le plus 
propre ἃ peindre une nouyelle existence.” — 
M. Jombard. 

Partly for the same reason, and partly for 
another, stil more fanciful, the early Chris- 
tians used to apply this emblem to Christ. 
‘** Bonus ille searabious meus,” says St. Augus- 
tine,” ‘non e& tantum de ecausé quod unigeni- 
tus, quod ipsemet sui auctor mortalium speciem 
induerit, sed quod in hae nostra freee sese yolu- 
taverit et ex hac ipsa nasci voluerit.” 

1 “Les Egyptiens ont fait aussi, pour con- 
server leurs morts, des caisses de verre.’’-—DPe 
Pauw. We mentions, also, in another place, 
a sort of transparent substance, which the 
Wthiopians used for the same purpose, and 
which was frequently mistaken by the Greeks 
for glass. 


—as it is the custom to preserve the 
dead in Ethiopia—and looking as freshly 
beautiful as if the soul had but a few 
hours departed. Among the emblems 
of death,t on the front of the altar, were 
aslender lotus branch broken in two, 
anda small bird just winging its flight 
from the spray. 

To these memorials of the dead, hoyw- 
ever, I paid but little attention; for 
there was a living object there upon 
which my eyes were-now intently fixed. 

The lamp, by which the whole of the 
chapel was illuminated, was placed at 
the head of the pale image in the 
shrine; and between its licht and me 
stood a female form, bending oyer the 
monument, as if to gaze upon the silent 
features within. ‘The position in which 
this figure was placed, intercepting a 
strong light, afforded me, at first, but 
an imperfect and shadowy view of it. 
Yet even at this mere outline I felt my 
heart beat high—and memory had no 
less share, as it proved, in this feeling 
than imagination. For, on the head 
changing its position, so as to let a gleam 
fall upon the features, I saw, with a 
transport which had almost led me to 
betray my Iurking-place, that it was she 
—the young worshipper cf Isis—the 
same, the very same, whom I had seen, 
brightening the holy place where she 
stood, and looking like an inhabitant of 
some purer world. 

The movement, by which she had 
now afforded me an opportunity of ree- 
ognising her, was made in raising from 
the shrine a small cross§$ of silver, which 
lay directly over the bosom of the life- 


; ‘Un prétre, qui brise la tige dune fleur, 
des oiseaux qui s’envolent, sont les emblemes 
de la mort et de lame qui se spare du corps.” 
—Denon. 

Theseus employs the same image in the 
Phedra :— 

Opvis yap ὡς τις εκ YEpwv adavTos εἰ, 
llyndynm’ es adov mixpov ὁρμησασα μοι. 

§ A cross was, among the Egyptians, the 
emblem of a future life. 

“Tho singular appearance of a Cross so fre- 


quently recurring among the hieroglyphics of ~ 


ideypt, had excited the curiosity of the Chris- 
tians at a very early period of ecclesiastical 
history; and as some of the Priests, who were 
acquainted with the meaning of the hiero- 
elyphies, became converted to Christianity, 
the seeret transpired. ‘The converted hea- 
thens,’ says Socrates Scholasticus, ‘explained 


less figure. Bringing it close to her 
lips, she kissed it with a religious fer- 
vor; then, turning her eyes mournfully 
bab held them fixed with a degree 
of inspired earnestness, as if, at that mo- 
ment, in direct communion with Heay- 
en, they saw neither roof, nor any other 
earthly barrier, between them and the 
skies. : 

What a power is there in innocence ! 
whose very helplessness is its safeguard 
—in whose presence even Passion him- 
self stands abashed, and turns worship- 
ed at the very altar which he came to 

espoil! She, who, but a short hour be- 
fore, had presented herself to my imag- 
ination as something I could have risked 
immortality to win—she, whom gladly, 
from the floor of her own lighted temple, 
in the very face of its proud ministers, 
1 would haye borne away in triumph, 
and dared all punishments, divine and 
human, to make her mine—that very 
creature was now before me, as if thrown 
by fate itself, into my power—standing 
there, beautiful and alone, with nothing 
but her innocence for her guard! Yet, 
no—so touching was the purity of the 
whole scene, so calm and august that 
protection which the dead extended over 
the living, that every earthly feeling was 
forgotten as I gazed, and love itself be- 
came exalted into reverence. 

But, entranced as I felt in witnessing 
such a scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth 
seemed to me a wrong, a sacrilege— 
and, rather than let her eyes encounter 
the flash of mine, or disturb, by a whis- 
per, that sacred silence, in which Youth 
and Death held communion through 
undying Love, I would have suffered 
my heart to break, without a murmur, 
where 1 stood. Gently, as if life itself 
depended on my every movement, I stole 
away from that tranquil and holy scene 
—leayving it still holy and tranquil as I 
had found it—and, gliding back through 
the symbol, and declared that it signified Life 
to Come.’ '—Clarke. 

Lipsius, therefore, is mistaken in supposing 
the Cross te have been an emblem peculiar to 
the Christians. See, onthis subject, L' Histoire 
des Juifs, liv. vi. ο. 16. 

It is singular enough that while the Cross 
was thus held sacred among the Egyptians, 
not only the custon of marking the forehead 
with the sign of tie Cross, but Baptism and 


the consecration οἱ the bread in the Eucharist, 
were imitated in tlie mysterious ceremonies of 


- THE EPICUREAN, 


| 


713 


the same passages and windings by which 
I had entered, reached again the nar- 
row stairway, and reascended into light. 

The sun had just risen, and, from the 
summit of the Arabian hills, was pour- 
ing down his beams into that vast val- 
ley of waters—as if proud of last night’s 
homage to his own divine Isis, now fad- 
ing away in the superior splendor of her 
Lord. My first impulse was to fly at 
once from this dangerous spot, and in 
new loves and pleasures seek forgetful- 
ness of the wondrous scene I had just 
witnessed. ‘* Once,” I exclaimed, “ out 
of the ccle of this enchantment, I 
know too well my own susceptibility to 
new impressions, to feel any doubt that 
I shall soon break the spell that is now 
around me.” 

But vain were all my efforts and re- 
solves. [ven while swearing to fly 
that spot, I found my steps still linger- 
ing fondly round the pyramid—my eyes 
still turned towards the portal which 
severed this enchantress from the world 
of the living. Hour after hour did 1 
wander through that City of Silence, 
till, already, it was mid-day, and, un- 
der the sun’s meridian eye, the mighty 
pyramid of pyramids stood, like a great 
spirit, shacdowless.* 

Again did those wild and passionate 
feelings, which, for the moment, her 
presence had subdued into reverence, re- 
turn to take possession of my imagina- 
tion and my senses. T[ even reproached 
myself for the awe that had held me 
spell-bound before ΠΟΥ. ‘“Wihat,?” 
thought I, ‘‘ would my companions of 
the Garden say, did they know that 
their chief—he whose path Love had 
strewed with trophies—was now pining 
for a simple Egyptian girl, in whose 
presence he had not dared to utter ἃ sin- 
gle sigh, and who had vanquished the 
victor, without even knowing her tri- 
umph !” 


Mithra.—Tertull. de Proscriptione Hereticorum. 

Zoega is of opinion that the Cross, said to 
have been for the first time found, on the de- 
struction of the temple of Serapis, by the 
Christians, could not have been the ernux ansata; 
as nothing is more common than this emblem 
on all the Egyptian monuments. 

*It was an idea entertained among the 
ancients that the Pyramids were so constructed 
(‘meeanicd constructione,” says Ammianus 
Marcellinus) as never to cast any shadow. 


714 


A blush came over my cheek at the 
humiliating thought, and I determined, 
at all risks, to await hercoming. That 
she should be an inmate of those gloomy 
caverns seemed inconceivable; nor did 
there appear to be any egress out of 
their depths but by the pyramid. Again, 
therefore, like a sentinel of the dead, did 
I pace up and down among those tombs, 
contrastng mournfully the burning 
fever in my own veins with the cold 
quiet of those who lay slumbering 
around. 

At length the intense glow of the sun 
over my head, and, still more, that ever 
restless agitation in my heart, became 
too much for even strength like mine to 
endure. Exhausted, I threw myself 
down at the base of the pyramid— 
choosing my place directly under the 
portal, where, even should slumber sur- 
prise me, my heart, if not my ear, might 
still keep watch, and her footstep, light 
as it was, could not fail to awake me. 

After many an ineffectual struggle 
against drowsiness, I at length sunk 
into sleep—but not into forgetfulness. 
The same image still haunted me, in 
every variety of shape, with which imag- 
ination, assisted by memory, could in- 
vest it. Now, like the goddess Neitha, 
upon her throne at Sais, she seemed 
to sit, with the veiljust raised from that 
brow, which till then no mortal had ever 
beheld—and now, like the beautiful en- 
chantress Rhodope, I saw her rise 
from out the pyramid in which she had 
dwelt for ages.- 

‘Fair Rhodope,* as story tells, 

The bright unearthly nymph who dwells 
‘Mid sunless gold and jewels hid, 
The Lady of the Pyramid !” 

So long had my sleep continued, that, 
when I awoke, I found the moon again 
resplendent above the horizon. Butall 
around was looking tranquil and lifeless 
as before; nordid a print on the grass be- 
tray that any foot had passed there since 
my own. Refreshed, however, by my 
long rest, and with a fancy still more 
excited by the mystic wonders of which 
I had been dreaming, I now resolved to 


* From the story of Rhodope, Zoega thinks, 
videntur Arabes ansam arripuisse ut in una 
ex pyramidibus, genii loco, habitare dicerent 
muberem nudam insignis pulehritudinis quee 
aspecto suo homines insanire faciat.”—De Usu 


εἰ 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


revisit the chapel in the pyramid, and 
put an end, if possible, to this strange 
mystery that haunted me. 

Having learned, from the experience 
of the preceding night, the inconven- 
ience of encountering those labyrinths 
without a light, I now hastened to pro- 
vide myself with a lamp from my boat. 
Tracking my way back with some diffi- 
culty to the shore, I there found not 
only my lamp, but also some dates and 
dried fruits, of which 1 was always pro- 
vided with store, for my roving life up- 
on the waters, and which, after so many 
hours of abstinence, were now a most 
welcome and necessary relief. 

Thus prepared, I again ascended the 
pyramid, and was proceeding to search 
out the secret spring, when a loud, dis- 
mal noise was heard 
to which all the melancholy echoes of 
the cemetery gave answer. The sound 
came, I knew, from the Great Temple 
on the shore of the lake, and was the 
sort of shriek which its gates—the Gates 
of Obliviont as they are called—always 
used to send forth from their hinges, 
when opening at night, to receive the 
newly-landed dead. 

Thad, more than once before, heard 
that sound, and always with sadness ; 
but, at this moment, it thrilled through 
me like a voice of ill omen, and I al- 
most doubted whether I should not 
abandon my enterprise. The hesitation, 
however, was but momentary ;—even 
while it passed through my wind I had 
touched the spring of the portal. In a 
few seconds more, I was again in the 
passage beneath the pyramid; and, 
being enabled by the light of my lamp 
to follow the windings more rapidly, 
soon found myself at the door of the 
small chapel in the gallery. 

Lentered, still awed, though there was 
now, alas, naught living within. The 
young Priestess had vanished like a 
spirit into the darkness ; and all the rest 
remained as I had left it on the preced- 
ing night. The lamp still stood burning 
upon the crystal shrine; the cress was 
lying where the hands of the young 
Obeliscorum. See also L’ ELgyple de Murtadi, 
par Vattier. 

t* Apud Memphim eeneas quasdam portas, 
quie Lethes et Coeyti (hoe est oblivionis et 
lamentationis) appellantur, aperiri, grayem 
asperumque edentes sonum.”’—Zoega. 


at a distance, 


q 
. 
δ 
: 


THE EPICUREAN. 715 


mourner had placed it, and the cold im- 
age, within the shrine, wore still the 
same tranquil look, as if resigned to the 
solitude of death—of all lone things the 
loneliest. Remembering the lips that 
I had seen kiss that cross, and kind- 
ling with the recollection, I raised it pas- 
sionately to my own;—but the dead 
eyes, I thought, met mine, and, awed 
and saddened ἴῃ the midst of my ardor, 
I replaced the cross upon the shrine. 

Τ had now lost every clue to the ob- 
ject of my pursuit, and, with all that sul- 
jen satisfaction which certainty, even 
when unwelcome, brings, was about to 
retrace my steps slowly to earth, when, 
as I held forth my lamp, on leaving the 
chapel, I perceived that the gallery, in- 
stead of terminating here, took a sudden 
and snake-like bend to the left, which 
had before eluded my observation, and 
which seemed to give promise of a path- 
way still farther into those recesses. 
Reanimated by this discovery, which 
opened a new source of hope to my 
heart, I cast, for a moment, a hesitating 
look at my lamp, as if to inquire whether 
it would be faithful through the gloom 
I was about to encounter, and then, 
without further consideration, rushed 
eagerly forward. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE path led, for a while, through 
the same sort of narrow windings as 
those which I had before encountered 
in descending the stairway; and at 
length opened, in a similar manner, into 
a straight and ee gallery, along each 
side of which stood, closely ranged and 
upright, a file of lifeless bodies,* whose 
glassy eyes appeared to glare upon me 
preternaturally as 1 passed. 

Arrived at the end of this gallery, I 
found my hopes, for the second time, 
vanish; as the path, it was manifest, 
extended no farther. The only object I 
was able to discern, by the glimmering 
of my lamp, which now burned, every 
minute, fainter and fainter, was the 
mouth of a huge well, that lay gaping 
before me—a reservoir of darkness, 
black and unfathomable. It now cross- 


*See, for the custom of burying the dead up- 
right, (“ post funus stantia busto corpora,” us 
Statius describes it,) Dr. Clarke's preface to 
the 2d section of his fifth volume. ‘hey used 


ed my memory that I had once heard οὗ 
such wells, as being used occasionally 
for passages by priests. Leaning down, 
therefore, over the edge, I examined 
anxiously all within, in order to see if it 
afforded the means of effecting a descent 
into the chasm; but the sides, I could 
perceive, were hard and smooth as 
glass, being varnished all over with that 
sort of dark pitch, which the Dead Sea 
throws out upon its slimy shore. 

After a more attentive scrutiny, how- 
ever, I observed, at the depth of a few 
feet, a sort of iron step, projecting dimly 
from the side, ‘and, below it, another, 
which, though hardly perceptible, was 
just sufficient to encourage an adventur- 
ous foot to the frial. Though all hope 
of tracing the young Priestess was now 
at an end—it being impossible that fe- 
male foot should haye ventured on this 
descent—yet, as I had engaged so far 
in the adventure, and there was, at 
least, a mystery to be unravelled, I de- 
termined, at all hazards, to explore the 
chasm. Placing my lamp, therefore, 
(which was hollowed at the bottom, so 
as to be worn like a helmet,) firmly 
upon my head, and haying thus both 
hands at liberty for exertion, I set my 
foot cautiously on the iron step, and de- 
scended into the well. 

I found the same footing, at regular 
intervals, to a considerable depth; and 
had already counted near a hundred of 
these steps, when the ladder altogether 
ceased, and I could descend no farther. 
In vain did I stretch down my foot in 
search of support—the hard slippery 
sides were all that it encountered. At 
length, stooping my head, so as to let 
the light fall below, [observed an open- 
ing or window directly above the step 
on which 1 stood; and, taking for 
granted that the way must lie in that 
direction, coutrived to clamber, with no 
small difficulty, through the aperture. 

I now found myself on a rude and 
narrow stairway, the steps of which 
were cut out of the living rock, and 
wound spirally downward in the same 
direction as the well. Almost dizzy 
with the descent, which seemed as if it 


to insert precious stones in the place of the 
eyes. ‘Les yeux ¢toient formés d’émeéraudes, 
de turquoises,”” &e.—Vide Masoudy, quoted by 
Quatremere. 


710 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


would neyer end, I, at last reached the 
bottom, where a pair of massy iron 
gates were closed directly across my 
path, as if wholly to forbid any further 
progress. Massy and gigantic, however, 
as they were, I found, to my surprise, 
that the hand of an infant might have 
opened them with ease—so readily did 
their stupendous folds give way to my 
touch. τ 

‘Light as ἃ lime-bush, that receives 

Some wandering bird among its leaves.” 
No sooner, however, had I passed 
through, than the astounding din, with 
which the gates clashed together again, * 
was such as might have awakened 
death itself. Itseemed as if every echot 
throughout that vast, subterranean 
world, from the Catacombs of Alexan- 
dria to Thebes’s Valley of Kings, had 
caught up and repeated the thundering 
sound. 

Startled as I was by the crash, not 
even this supernatural clangor could 
divert my attention from the sudden 
light that now broke around me—soft, 
warm, and welcome, as are the stars of 
his own South to the eyes of the ma- 
riner who has long been wandering 
through the cold seas of the North. 
Looking for the source of this splendor 
I saw, through an archway opposite, a 
long illuminated alley, stretching away 
as far as the eye could reach, and 
fenced, onone side, with thickets of odor- 
iferous shrubs; while along the other 
extended a line of lofty arcades, from 
which the light, that filled the whole 


area, issued. Assoon, too, as the din of | 


the deep echoes had subsided, there 
stole gradually on my ear a strain of 
choral music, which appeared to come 
mellowed and sweetened in its passage, 
through many a spacious hall within 
those shining arcades ; while among the 
voices I could distinguish some female 
tones, which, towering high and clear 

* The following verses of Claudian are sup- 
posed to have been meant asa description of 
those imitations of the noise of earthquake and 
thunder, which, by means of the Ceraunosecope, 
and other such contrivances, were practiced in 
the shows of the Mysteries: 


Jam mihi cernunter trepidis delubra moveri 
Sedibus, et claram dispergere culmina lucem, 
Adventum testata Dei. Jam magnus ab imis 
Auditur fremitus terris, templumque remugit 
Cecropium. RaptaProserp. lib. i. 


| 


above all the rest, formed the spire, as 
it were, into which the harmony tapered 
as it rose. 

So excited was my fancy by this sud- 
den enchantment, that—though never 
had I caught a sound from the fair 
Leyptian’s lips—I yet persuaded myself 
that the voice I now heard was hers, 
sounding highest and most heavenly of 
all that choir, and calling to me, like 
a distant spirit from its sphere, Ani- 
mated by this thought, I flew forward 
to the archway, but found, to my mor- 
tification, that it was guarded by a 
trellis-work, whose bars, though invis- 
ible at a distance, resisted all my efforts 
to force them. 

While occupied in these ineffectual 
struggles, I perceived, to the left of the 
archway, a dark cavernous opening, 
which seemed to lead in a direction 
parallel to the lighted arcades. Not- 
withstanding, however, my impatience, 
the aspect of this passage, as I looked 
shudderingly into it, chilled my very 
blood. It was not so much darkness, as 
a sortof livid and ghastly twilight, from 
which a damp, like that of death-vaults 
exhaled, and through which, if my eyes 
did not deceive me, pale, phantom-like 
shapest were, at that very moment, 
hovering. 

Looking anxiously round to discover 
some less formidable outlet, I saw, over 
the vast folding gates through which I 
had just passed, a blue, tremulous, 
flame, which, after playing for a few 
seconds over the dark ground of the 
pediment, settled gradually into charac- 
ters of light, and formed the following 
words :— 


You who would try 
Yon terrible track, 
To live, or to die, 
But ne'er to look baeck— 


You, who aspire 
To be purified there, 


t See, for the echoes in the pyramids, Plu- 
tarch de Placitis Philosoph. 


t ‘Ce moment heureux (de l’Autopsie) étoit 
preparé par des scenes effrayantes, par les 
alternatives de crainte et de joie, de lumiére et 
de ténébres, par la lueur des éclairs, par le 
bruit terrible de la foudre, qu’on imitoit, et 
par des apparitions de spectres, des illusions 
magiques, qui frappoient les yeux et les ore- 
illes tout ensemble,”’—Dupuis. 


* 


THE EPICUREAN. 


———_————————————— 


' By the terrors of Fire, 
Of Water, and Air— 


If danger, and pain, 
~ And death, you despise— 
On—for again 

Into light you shall rise ; 


Rise into light 

With that Secret Divine, 
Now shrouded from sight 

By the Veils of the Shrine! 


But if 
Here the letters faded away into a dead 
blank, more awfully intelligible than the 
most eloquent words. 

A new hope now flashed across me. 
The dream of the Garden, which had 
been for some time almost forgotten, 
returned freshly to my mind. ‘‘Am I, 
then,” I exclaimed, ‘“‘in the path to 
the promised mystery? and shall the 
great secret of Eternal Life decd be 
mine ?”’ 

‘« Yes!” seemed to answer out of the 
air, that spirit-voice, which still was 
heard at a distance crowning the choir 
with its single sweetness. I hailed the 
omen with transport. Love and Immor- 
tality, both beckoning me onward—who 
would give even a thought to fear, with 
two such bright hopes in prospect? 
Having invoked and blessed that un - 
known enchantress, whose steps had 
led me to this abode of mystery and 
knowledge, I instantly plunged into the 
chasm. 

Instead of that vague, spectral twi- 
light which had at first met my eye, I 
now found, as I entered, a thick dark- 
ness, which, though far less horrible, 
was, at this moment, still more discon- 
certing, as my lamp, which had been, for 
some time, almost useless, was now fast 
expiring. Resolved, however, to make 
the most of its last gleam, I hastened, 
with rapid step, through this gloomy re- 
gion, which appeared to be wider 
and more open to the air than any I 
had yet passed. Nor was it long before 
the sudden appearance of a bright blaze 
in the distance announced to me that 
my first great Trial was at hand. As I 
drew nearer, the flames before me burst 

*“Ces considérations me portent ἅ penser 
que, dans les mystéres, ces phénomeénes ¢toient 
beaucoup mieux exécutées, et sans comprrai- 
son plus terribles ἃ l'aide de quelque compo- 
sition pyrique, qui est restGée cachée, comme 
celle du feu Grégeois.”"—De Pauw. 


717 


high and wide on all sides ;—and the 
awful spectacle that then presented it- 
self was such as might have daunted 
hearts far more accustomed to dangers 
than mine. 

There lay before me, extending com- 
pletely across my path, a thicket, or 
grove, of the most combustible trees of 
Egypt—tamarind, pine, and Arabian 
balm; while around their stems and 
branches were coiled serpents of fire, * 
which, twisting themselves rapidly from 
bough to bough, spread the contagion 
of their own wild-fire as they went, and 
involved tree after tree in one general 
blaze. It was, indeed, rapid as the 
haan of those reed-beds of Ethiopia, t 
whose light is often seen brightening, at 
night, the distant cataracts of the Nile. 

Through the middle of this blazing 
grove, | could now perceive my only 
pathway lay. There was not a moment, 
therefore, to be lost—for the conflagra- 
tion gained rapidly on either side, and 
already the narrowing path between 
was strewed with vivid fire. Casting 
away my now useless lamp, and holding 
my robe as some slight protection over 
my head, I ventured, with trembling 
limbs, into the blaze. é 

Instantly, as ifmy presence had given 
new life to the flames, a fresh outbreak 
of combustion arose on all sides. The 
trees clustered into a bower of fire above 
my head, while the serpents that hung 
hissing from the red branches shot show- 
ers of sparkles downupon me as I passed. 
Never were decision and activity of 
more avail:—one minute later, and I 
must have perished. The narrow open- 
ing, of which I had so promptly availed 
myself, closed instantly behind me ; and 
as I looked back, to contemplate the or- 
deal which I had passed, I saw that the 
whole grove was already one mass of 
fire. 

Rejoiced to have escaped this first 
trial, 1 instantly plucked from one of 
the pine-trees a bough that was but just 
kindled, and, with this for my only 
guide, hastened breathlessly forward. 
I had advanced but a few paces, when 


ἘΜ ΤῚ τ Ὗ a_point d’autre moyen que de 
porter Je feu dans ces foréts de roseaux, qui 
répandent alors dans tout le pais une lumiére 
fiussi considérable que celle du jour méme.”— 
Maitllet, tom. 1. Ῥ. 63. ὶ 


118 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


the path turned suddenly off, leading 
downwards, as I could perceive by the 
ΘΙ ΠΟΤ of my brand, into a more con- 
fined region, through which a chilling 
air, as if from some neighboring waters, 
blew over my brow. Nor had I pro- 
ceeded farin this course, when the sound 
of torrents*—imixed, as I thought, from 
-time to time, with shrill wailings, re- 
sembling the cries of persons in danger 
or distress—fell morrnfully upon my 
ear. At every step the noise of the 
dashing waters increased, and I now 
perceived that I had entered animmense 
rocky cavern, through the middle of 
which, headlong as a winter-torrent, the 
dark flood, to whose roar I had been 
listening, poured its waters ; while upon 
its surface floated grim  spectre-like 
shapes, which, as they went by, sent 
forth those dismal shrieks J had heard— 
as if in fear of some awful precipice 
towards whose brink they were hurry- 
ing. 

1 saw plainly that across that torrent 
must be my course. It was, indeed, 
fearful; but in courage and perseverance 
now lay my only hope. What awaited 
me on the opposite shore, 1 knew not; 
for all there was immersed in impene- 
trable gloom, nor could the feeble light 
which I carried send its glimmer half 
sofar. Dismissing, however, allthoughts 
but that of pressing onward, I sprung 
from the rock on which I stood into the 
flood, trusting that, with my right hand, 
Τ should be able to baffet the current, 
while, with the other, as long as a gleam 
of ny brand remained, I might hold it 
aloft to guide me safely to the shore. 

Long, formidable, and almost hope- 
less was the struggle I had now to main- 
tain; and more than once, overpowered 
by the rush of the waters, I had given 
myself up,f as destined to follow those 
pale, death-like apparitions, that. still 
went past me, hurrying onward, with 
mourntul eries, to find their doom in 
some invisible gulf beyond. 

At length, just as my strength was 
nearly exhausted, and the last remains 

* The Nile, Pliny tells us, was admitted into 
the Pyramid. 

t “On exergoit,” says Dupuis, “les recipi- 
endaires, pendant plusicurs jours, ἣν traverser, 
ἃ la nage, une grands ¢tendue d’eau. On les 
y Jettoit, et ce π᾿ τοὶ αὐ νοῦ peine qwils s’en 
retiroient. On appliquoit le fer et le feu sur 


of the pine branch were dropping from 
my hand, I saw, outstretching towards. 
me into the water, a light double balus- 
trade, with a flight of steps between, as- 
cending, almost perpendicularly, from 
the wave, till they seemed lost im a 
dense mass of clouds aboye. This 
glimpse—for it was nothing more, as my 
light expired in giving it—lent new 
spring to my courage. Having now 
both hands at liberty, so desperate were 
my efforts, that, after a few minutes’ 
struggle, I felt my brow strike against 
the stairway, and, in an instant, my 
feet were on the steps. 

Rejoiced at my escape from that peril- 
ous flood, though I knew not whither 
the stairway led, I promptly ascended. 
the steps. But this feeling of confidence 
was of short duration. 1 had not 
mounted far, when, to my horror, I per- 
ceived that each successive step, as my 
foot left it, broke away from beneath 
me, leaving me in mid-air, with no other 
alternative than that of still mounting 
by the same momentary footing, and 
with the appalling doubt whether it 
would even endure my tread. 


And thus did I, for a few seconds,. 


continue to ascend, with nothing be- 
neath me but that awful river, in which 
—so tranquil had it now become—I 
could hear the plash of the falling frag- 
ments, as every step in succession gave 
way from under my feet. It was a 
most fearful moment—but even still 
worse remained. I now found the bal- 
ustrade, by which I had held during my 
ascent, and which had hitherto appeared 
to be firm, growing tremulous in my 
hand, while the step, to which I was 
about to trust myself, tottered under 
my foot. Just then, a momentary flash, 
as if of lightning, broke around me; and 
I saw, hanging out of the clouds, so as 
to be barely within my reach, a huge 
brazen ring. Instinectively I stretched 
forth my arm to seize it, and, at the same 
instant, both balustrade and steps gave 
way beneath me, and I was left swing- 
ing by my hands in the dark void. ΑΒ 


leurs membres. On les faisoit passer & travers 
les flammes.” 


The aspirants were often in considerable 


| danger, aud Pythagoras, we are told, nearly 


lost his life in the trials. Wide Recherches sur 


les Initiations, par Lobin. 


Se a ee ea 


Nt eae ei 


PLY 
7 


ἢ 


THE EPICUREAN. 719 


if, too, this massy ring, which I grasped, | mines our upper world—a sort of gulden 
was by some magic power linked with | moonlight, mingling the warm radiance 
all the winds in heaven, no sooner had of day with the calm and melancholy 
I seized it than, like the touching of a | lustre of night. 

spring, it seemed to give loose to every | Nor were there wanting inhabiiants 
variety of gusts and tempests, that ever | for this sunless Paradise. Through all 
‘strewed the sea-shore with wrecks or | the bright gaydens were seen wandering, 
dead; and, as I swung about, the sport | with the serene air and step of happy 
of this elemental strife, every new burst | spirits, groups both of young and old, 
of its fury threatened to shiver me, like | of venerable and of loyely forms, bearing, 


a storm-sail, to atoms! 

Nor was even this the worst;—for, 
still holding, I know not how, by the 
ring, I felt myself caught up, as if by a 
thousand whirlwinds, and then round 
and round, like a stone-shot in a sling, 
continued to be whirled in the midst of 
all this deafening chaos, till my brain 

rew dizzy, my recollection became con- 
used, and I almost fancied myself on 
that wheel of the infernal world, whose 
rotations Eternity alone can number! 

Human strength could no longer sus- 
tain such a trial. I was on the point, at 
last, of loosing my hold, when suddenly 
the violence of the storm moderated; 
—my whirl through the air gradually 
ceased. and [ felt the ring slowly descend 
with me, till—happy as a shipwrecked 
mariner at the first touch of land—I 
found my feet once more upon firm 
ground. 

At the same moment, a light of the 
most delicious softness filled the whole 
air. Music, such as is heard in dreams, 


came floating at a distance; and as my | 
eyes gradually recovered their powers of | 


vision, a scene of glory was revealed to 
them, almost too bright for imagination, 
and yet living and real. As far as the 
sight could reach, enchanting gardens 
were seen, opening away through long 
tracts of light and verdure, and sparkling 
everywhere with fountains, that circu- 
lated, like streams of life, among the 
flowers. Not a charm was here want- 
ing, that the fancy of poet or prophet, 
in their warmest pictures of Elysium, 
have ever yet dreamed or promised. 
Vistas, opening into scenes of indistinct 
grandeur—streams, shining out at inter- 
vals, in their shadowy course—and laby- 
rinths of flowers, leading, by mysterious 
windings, to green, spacious glades full 
of splendor and repose. Over all this, 
too, there fell a light, from some unseen 
source, resembling nothing that illu- 


most of them, the Nile’s white flowers 
‘on their heads, and branches of the 
| eternal palin in their hands; while, over 
‘the verdant turf, fair children and maid- 
ens went dancing to aérial music, whose 
source was, like that of the light, invis- 
\ible, but which filled the whole air with 
| its mystic sweetness. 

Exhausted as I was by the painful 
trials I had undergone, no sooner did I 
perceive those fair groups in the dis- 
| tance, than my weariness, both of frame 
and spirit, was forgotten. A thought 
crossed me that she, whom I sought, 
might haply be among them ; and, not- 
withstanding the feeling of awe, with 
which that unearthly scene inspired me, I 
was about to fly, on the instant, to ascer- 
tain my hope. But while in the act of 
inaking the effort, I felt my robe gently 
pulled, and turning round, beheld an 
aged man before me, whom, by the sa- 
cred hue of his garb, I knew at once to 
/be a Hierophant. Placing a branch of 
‘the consecrated palm in my hand, he 
said, in a solemn voice, “ Aspirant of 
the Mysteries, welcome !””—then, regard- 
ing me for a few seconds with grave at- 
tention, added, in a tone of courteous- 
ness and interest, ‘‘ The victory over the 
body hath been gained!—Follow me, 
young Greek, to thy resting-place.” 

I obeyed the command in silence— 
| and the Priest, turning away from this 
scene of splendor, into a secluded path- 
way, where the light gradually faded as 
we advanced, led me to a small payil- 
ion, by the side of a whispering stream, 
| where the very spirit of slumber seemed 

to preside, and, pointing silently toa bed 
of dried peppy-leaves, left me to re- 
pose. 


CHAPTER YIII. 


TnovueH the sight of that splendid 
scene, whose glories opened upon me 


720 MOORE’S WORKS. | Be Seah 


like a momentary glimpse into another | purest white, and bore each a small 
world, had, for an instant, reanimated | golden chalice in his hand.t Advancing 
my strength and spirit, yet, so com- | towards me, they stopped on opposite 
letely was my whole frame subdued by | sides of the couch, and one of them, 
atigue, that, even had the form of the | presenting to me his chalice of gold, 
young Priestess herself then stood be-/| said, in a tone between singing and 
fore me, my limbs would have sunk in | speaking,— 


Ὦ" Jacq Ὁ ς 
the effort to reach her. Ne sooner δα ἢ, πεν te 


τ fallen on my leafy couch, than sleep, The same in his halls below ; 
like a sudden death, came over ine; and And the same he gives to cool the lips 
I lay, for hours, in that deep and ino- Ofthe Dead§ whodewnward go. 
tiouless rest, which not even a shadow | « Drink of this cup—the water within 
of life disturbs. Is fresh from Lethe’s stream ; 

On awaking, saw, beside me, the ee the pastewitl all its sin, 

5 Pe And all its pain and sorrows seem 

same venerable personage, who had Like a long-forgotten dream ! 


welcomed me to this subterranean | 


world on the preceding night. At the| - The pleasure, whose charms 


Are steep'd in wo; 


foot of my couch stood a statue of Gre- The kuowledge, that harms 
cian workmanship, representing a boy, The soul to know ; 

with wings, seated gracefully on ἃ lotus- “The hope, that, bright 
flower, and having the forefinger of his} ~ As the lake of the waste, 
right hand pressed to his lips. This ac- Allures the sight, 


tion, together with the glory round his But mocks the taste; 


brows, denoted, as I already knew, the “The love, that binds 


God of Silence and Light.* cae Ἱππόθου weet = 
j fe = ay τ Pen ΤΞ Vhere the serpent winds 
Impatient to know what further trials aiayonom beneath Gad 


awaited me, I was about to speak, τ ἢ 

when the Priest exclaimed, anxiously, AM thats Of orion false 
“Tush !”’—and, pointing to the statue Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
at the foot of the couch, said,—‘‘ Let Forgot, as it never had been!’ 
the spell of that Spirit be upon thy lips, 
young stranger, till the wisdom of thy 
Instructors shall think fit to remove it. 
Not unaptly doth the same deity pre- 
side over Silence and Light; since it is 
only out of the depth of contemplative 
silence, that the great light of the soul, 
Truth, can arise "ἢ" 


Unwilling to throw a slight on this 
strange ceremony, I leaned forward, 
with all due gravity, and tasted the 
'cup; which I had no sooner done than 
the young cup-bearer, on the other 
side,|| invited my attention ; and, in his 
turn, presenting the chalice which he 

Little used to the language of dicta- | held, sung, with a voice still sweeter 
tion or instruction, I was now preparing | than that of his companion, the follow- 
to rise, when the Priest again restrained | 1g Strain : 
me; and, at the same moment, two “Drink of this eup—when sisted 
boys, beautiful as the young Genii of Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky, 
the stars, entered the pavilion. They | She mingled a draught divine, and said- 
were habited in long garments of the ‘Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die!’ 


* “Enfin Harpoecrate ¢toit assis sur le lotus, |—The Lethe of the Egyptians was called 
qui est Ja plante du Soleil.” JTist. des Juifs. | Ameles. See Dupuis, tom. viii. p. 651. 

i Por the two cups used _in the mysteries, see | || ‘‘ Enfin on disoit qu'il y avoit deux coupes, 
I’ Histoire des Jwifs, liv. ix. ον 16. / lune en haut et l'autre en bas. Celui qui 


} Osiris under the name of Serapis, was | buvoit de la coupe d’en bas, avoit toujours 
supposed to rule over the subterranean world ; | soif, ses désirs s’augementoit au lieu de s’étein- 
and performed the office of Pluto, in the my- | dre; mais eelui qui buvoit de la coupe en haut, 
thology of the Egyptians. ‘They believed,” | étoit rempli et content. Cette premiére coupe 
sdys Dr. Prichard, “that Sepis presided over | étoit la connoissance de la Nature, qui ne satis- 
the region of departed souls, during the period | fait jamais pleinement ceux qui en sondent les 
of their absence, when languishing without | mystéres; et la seconde coupe, dans laquelle on. 
bodies, and that the dead were deposited in his | devoit boire pour n'avyoir jamais soif, Ctoit la 
palace.” Analysis of the Hgayptian Mythology. | connoissance des mystéres du Ciel.” Hist. des 
§‘Frigidam illam aquam post mortem, | Juifs, liv. ix. chap. 16. : ‘ 
tanquam Hebes poculain, expetitam.” Zoega. {Lhe τῆς αθανασιας φαρμακον which, accord- 


“ Thus do Tsay and sing to thee, 
Heir of that boundless heaven on high, 
Thougi frail, and falln, and lost thou be, 
Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die!” 


Well as I had hitherto kept my phi- 
losophy on its guard against the illu- 
sions with which, I+knew, this region 
a»ounded, the young cup-bearer ‘had 


here touched a spring of imagination, | 


over which my philosophy, as has been 
seen, had but little control. No sooner 
had the words, “thou shalt never die,” 
struck on my ear, than the dream of the 
Garden came fully to my mind; ana, 
starting half-way from the couch, I 
stretched forth my hands'to the cup. 
But, recollecting myself instantly, and 
fearing that I had betrayed to others a 
weakness fit only for my own secret in- 
dulgenee, I sunk back again, with a 
smile of affected indifference on my 
couch—while the young minstrel, but 
little interrupted by my movement, still 
continued his strain, of which I heard 
hut the coneluding words :— 
““And Memory, too, with her dreams shall 
Dreams of a former, happier day, —[come, 
When Heaven was still the Spirit’s home, 
And her wings had not yet fallen away ; 


“ Glimpses of glory, ne’er forgot, 
‘That tell, like gleams on a sunset sea, 
What once hath been, what now is not, 
But, oh ! what again shall brightly be.” 


Though the assurances of immortal- 
ity contained in these verses would at 
any other moment—yain and visionary 
as [thought them—havye sent my fancy 
wandering into reveries of the future, 
the effort of self-control I had just made 
enabled me to hear them with indif- 
ference. 


Having gone through the form of 


tasting his second cup, I again looked 
anxiously to the Hierophant, to ascer- 
tain whether I might be permitted to 
rise. His assent having been given, the 
young pages brought to my couch a 
robe and tunic, which, like their own, 
were of linen of the purest white ; and 
having assisted to clothe me in this sa- 
cred garb, they then placed upon my 
head a chaplet of myrtle, in which the 
ing to Diodorus Siculus, Isis prepared for her 
son Orus.—Lib. i. 

* Hor, Apoll—The grasshopper was also 
consecrated to the sun, as being musieal,. 

t Theisle Antirrhodus, near Alexandria. 


Maillet. 
t Vide Athen. Deipnos. 


es ' THE EPICUREAN. 


symbol of Initiation, a golden grasshop- 
per,* was seen shining out from among 
_ the dark leaves. 

Though sleep had done much to re- 
‘fresh my frame, something more was 
still wanting to restore its strength, 
‘and it was not without a smile at my 
/own revyeries reflected, how much more 


| welcome than even the young page’s 
cup of immortality was the unpretend- 
ing, but real, repast now set before me 
—tresh fruits from the Isle of Gardenst 
in the Nile, the delicate flesh of the 
| desert antelope, and wine from the 
Vineyard of the Queens at Anthyila,t 
which one of the pages fanned with a 
palm-leaf, to keep it cool. 

Having done justice to these dainties, 
it was with pleasure I heard the propo- 
'sal of the Priest, that we should walk 
forth together, and meditate among the 
scenes without. I had not forgotten 
the splendid Elysium that last night 
welcomed me—those rich gardens, that 
soft unearthly music and light, and, 
|above all, those fair forms I had seen 
wandering about—as if, in the very 
midst of happiness, still seeking it. The 
hope, which had then occurred to me, 
that, among those bright groups might 
haply be found the young maiden I 
sought, now returned with increased 
strength. I had little doubt that my- 
guide was leading me to the same Hly- 
sian scene, and that the form so fit to 
inhabit it, would again appear before 
my eyes. 
| But far different, I found, was the re- 
gion to which he now conducted me ;— 
nor could the whole world haye pro- 
duced a scene more gloomy, or more 
strange. It wore the appearance of a 
small, solitary valley, enclosed, on ey- 
ery side, by rocks, which seemed to 
rise, almost perpendicularly, till they 
reached the very sky ;—for it was, in- 
deed, the blue sky that I saw shining be- 
‘tween their summits, and whose light, 
dimmed thus and nearly lost in its long 
descent, formed the melancholy daylight 
of this nether world.§ Down the side 


§ “On s'étoit méme avisé, depuis la pre- 
miére construction dé ces demeures, de pereer 
en plusieurs endroits jusqu’au haut les terres 
qui les couvroient; non pas, ἃ la yerié, pour 
| tirer an jour qui n’auroit jamais été suffisant, 
| mais pour recevoir un air salutaire,” &e. 

: Séthos 


122 * 


‘of these rocky walls descended a cata- 
ract, whose source was upon earth, and 
on whose waters, as they rolled glassily 
over the edge above, a gleam of radi- 
ance rested, showing how brilliant and 
pure was the sunshine they had left be- 
hind. From thence, gradually growing 
darker, and frequently broken by alter- 
nate chasms and projections, the stream 
fell, at last, in a pale and thin mist— 
the phantom of what it had been on 
earth—into asmall lake that lay at the 
ase of the rock to receive it. 

Nothing was ever so bleak and sad- 
ening as the appearance of this lake. 
The usual ornaments of the waters of 
Egypt were not wanting to it: the tall 
lotus here uplifted her silvery flowers, 
aud the crimson flamingo floated over 
the tide. But they looked not the same 
as in the world above ;—the flower had 
exchanged its whiteness for a livid hue, 
and the wings of the bird hung heavy 
and colorless. Every thing wore the 
same half-living aspect; and the only 
sounds that disturbed the mournful 
stillness were the wailing ery of a heron 
among the sedges, and that din of the 
falling waters, in their midway struggle, 
above. 

There was, indeed, an unearthly sad- 
ness in the whole scene, of which no 
heart, however light, could resist the 
influence. Perceiving how much I was 
affected by it, ‘‘ Such scenes,’ remarked 
the Priest, “are best suited to that 
solemn complexion of mind, which be- 
comes him who approaches the Great 
Mystery of futurity. Behold”—and, in 
saying thus he pointed to the opening 
over our heads, through which, though 
the sun had but just passed his meri- 
dian, I could perceive a star or two 
twinkling in the heavens—“‘in the same 
manner as from this gloomy depth we 
can see those fixed stars,* which are in- 
visible now to the dwellers on the bright 


* «On voyoit en plein jour par ces ouver- 
tures les étoiles, οὗ méme quelques planétes en 
leur plus grande latitude septentrionale ; et les 
prétres avoient bientot profité de ce phénom- 
éne, pour observer a diverses heures le passage 
des Gtoiles.” Séthos.—Strabo mentions certain 
caves or pits, constructed for the purpose of 
astronomical observations, which lay in the 
Heliopolitan prefecture, beyond Heliopolis. 

i Serapis, Sol Snferus.—Athenodorus, serip- 
tor votustus, apud Clementum Alexandrium in 
Protreptico, alt ‘simu lacra Serapidis con- 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


earth, even so, to the sad and self-hum- 
bled spirit, doth many a mystery o! 
heaven reveal itself, of which they, who 
walk in the light of the proud world, 
know not "ἢ 

He now led me towards a rustic seat 
or alcove, beside which stood an image 
of that dark Deity,t that God without a 
smile, who presides over the silent king- 
dom of the Dead.{ The same livid and 
lifeless hue was upon his features, that 
hung over every thing in this dim val- 
ley, and, with his right had, he pointed 
directly downwards, to denote that his 
melancholy kingdom lay there. A plan- 
tainQ—that favorite tree of the genii of 
Death—stood behind the statue, and 
spread its branches over the alcove, in 
which the Priest now seated himself, 
and made a sign that I should take my 
place by his side. 

After a long pause, as if of thought 
and preparation,—“ Nobly,” said he, 
‘young Greek, hast thou sustained the 
first trials of Initiation. What still re- 
mains, though of vital import to the soul,/ 
brings with it neither pain nor peril to 
the body. Having now proved and 
chastened thy mortal frame by the 
three ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of 
Air, the next task to which we are called 
is the purification of thy spirit—the ef 
fectual cleansing of that inward and im- 
mortal part, so as to render it fit for the 
reception of the last luminous revyeal- 
ment, when the Veils of the Sanctuary 
shall be thrown aside, and the Great 
Secret of Secrets unfolded to thy view ! 
—Towards this object, the primary and 
most important step is, instruction. 
What the three purifying elements thou 
hast passed through have done for thy 
body, instruction will effect for af 

“But that lovely maiden!” I ex- 
claimed, bursting from my silence, hay- 
ing fallen, during his speech, into a 
deep revery, in which I had forgotten 


spicua esse colore ceruleo et nigricante.’’ 
Macrobius, in verbis deseriptis, § 6, docet nos 
apud Aieyptios ‘‘simulacra solis infera fingi 
colore cxeruleo.' Jablonski. 


+ Osiris. 


§ This tree was dedicated to the Genii of the 
Shades, from its being an emblem of repose 
and cooling airs. ‘Cuiimminet musze foliam, 
quod ab Iside infera geniisque ei addictis manu 
geri solitum, umbram requiemque et auras fri- 
gidas subindigitare yidetur,” Zoega. 


THE EPICUREAN. 723 


him, myself, the Great Secret, every 
thing—but her. 

Startled by this profane interruption, 
he cast a look of alarm towards the 
statue, as if fearful lest the God should 
have heard my words. ‘Then, tuning 
to me, in a tone of mild solemnity, ‘It 
is but too plain,” said he, ‘that thoughts 
of the upper world, and of its vain, shad- 
owy delights, still engross thee far too 
much to allow the lessons of Truth to 
sink profitably into thy heart. A few 
hows of meditation amid this solemn 
scenery—of that wholesome medita- 
tion, which purifies, by saddening— 
may haply dispose thee to receive, 
with due feclings of reverence, the holy 
and imperishable knowledge we have in 
store for thee. With this hope I now 
leave thee to thy own thoughts, and to 
that God, before whose calm and mourn- 
ful eye all the vanities of the world, from 
which thou comest, wither!” 

Thus saying, he turned slowly away, 
and passing behind the statue, towards 
which he had pointed during the last 
sentence, suddenly, and as if by enchant- 
ment, disappeared from my sight. 


CHAPTER IX. 


BEING now left to my own solitary 
thoughts, I was fully at leisure to re- 
flect, with some degree of coolness, 
upon the inconveniences, if not dangers, 
of the situation into which my love of 
adventure had hurried me. However 
oa my imagination was always to 

indle, in its own ideal sphere, I have 
ever found that, when brought into con- 
tact with reality, it as suddenly cooied ; 
—like those meteors, that appear to be 
stars, while in the air, but the moment 
they touch earth, are extinguished. And 
such was the feeling of disenchantment 
that now succeeded to the wild dreams 
in which I had been indulging. As long 
as Fancy had the field of the future to 
herself, even immortality did not seem 
too distant a race for her. But when 
human instruments interposed, the il- 
lusion all vanished. From mortal lips 
the promise of immortality seemed 
a mockery, and even imagination had 
no wings that could carry beyond the 
grave. 


Nor was this disappointment the only 
feeling that pained und haunted me ; — 
the imprudence of the step, on which I 
had ventured, now appeared in its full 
extent before my eyes. I had here 
thrown myself into the power of the 
inost artful priesthood in the world, 
Without even a chance of being able to 
escape from their toils, or to resist any 
machinations with which they might 
beset me. It appeared evident, from 
the state of preparation in which I had 
found all that wonderful apparatus, by 
which the terrors and splendors of In- 
itiation are produced, that my descent 
into the pyramid was not unexpected. 
Numerous, indeed, and active as were 
the spies of the Sacred College of Mem- 
phis, it could little be doubted that all 
my movements, since my arrival, had 
been watchfully tracked ; and the many 
hours I had employed in wandering and 
exploring around the pyramid, betrayed 
a curiosity and spirit of adventure 
which might well suggest to these wily 
priests the hope of inveigling an Epicu- 
rean into their toils. 

I was well aware of their hatred to 
the sect of which I was Chief;—that 
they considered the Epicureans 88, 
next to the Christians, the most formi- 
dable enemies of their craft and power. 
“ How thoughtless, then,” I exclaimed, 
‘to have placed myself in a situation, 
where I am equally helpless against 
fraud and violence, and must either pre- 
tend to be the dupe of their impostures, 
or else submit to become the victim of 
their vengeance!” Of these alterna- 
tives, bitter as they both were, the lat- 
ter appeared by far the more welcome. 
It was with a blush that I even looked 
back upon the mockeries I had al- 
ready yielded to; and the prospect of 
being put through still further ceremo- 
nials, and of being tutored and preached 
to by hypocrites whom 1 so much de- 
spised, appeared to me, in my present 
mood of mind, a trial of patience, com- 
pared to which the flames and whirl- 
winds I had already encountered were 
pastime. 

Often and impatiently did I look up, 
between those rocky walls, to the br ght 
sky that appeared to rest upon their 
summits, as, pacing round and round, 
through every part of the valley, I en- 


724 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


deayored to find some outlet from its 
gloomy precincts, But vain were all 
ΤΥ endeayvors;—that rocky barrier, 
which seemed to end but in heaven, in- 
terposed itself everywhere. Neither did 
the image of the young maiden, though 
constantly in my mind, now bring with 
it the least consolation or hope. Of what 
avail was it that she perhaps was an 
inhabitant of this region, if I could 
neither behold her smile, nor catch the 
sound of her voice—if, while among 
preaching priests I wasted away my 
hours, her presence was, alas, diffusing 
its enchantment elsewhere. 


At length, exhausted, I lay down by | 


the brink of the lake, and gave myself 
up to all the melancholy of my fancy. 
The pale semblance of daylight, which 
had hitherto glimmered around, grew, 
every moment, more dim and dismal. 
liven the rich gleam, at the summit of 
the cascade, had faded; and the sun- 
shine, like the water, exhausted in its 
descent, had now dwindled into a ghostly 
glimmer, far worse than darkness. The 


birds upon the lake, asif about to die | 
subdued, I now listened with resigna- 


with the dying light, sunk down their 
heads; and, as I looked to the statue, 
the deepening shadows gave such an 
expression to its mournful features as 
chilled my very soul. 

The thought of death, ever ready to 


present itself to my imagination, now | 


came, with a disheartening weight, such 
as I had never before felt. 1 almost 
fancied myself already in the dark ves- 
tibule of the grave—removed, forever, 
from the world above, and with nothing 
but the blank of an.eternal sleep before 
me. It had happened, I knew, fre- 
quently, that the visitants of this mys- 
terious realm were, after their descent 
from earth, never seen or heard of ;— 
being condemned, for some failure in 
their initiatory trials, to pine away their 
lives in those dark dungeons, with 
which, as well as with altars, this region 
abounded. Such, I shuddered to think, 
might probably be my own destiny; 
and so appalling was the thought, that 

* For a full account of the doctrines which 
are here represented as haying been taught 
to the initiated in the Egyptian mysteries, the 
reader may consult Dupuis, Prichard’s Ana- 
lysis of the Egyptian Mythology, &e., &e. 
“L’on découvroit Vorigine de lame, sa chute 
sur la terre, & travers les spheres et les clémens, 


eyen the courage by which I had been 
hitherto sustained died within me, and 
I was already giving myself up to help- 
lessness and despair. 

At length, after some hours of this 
gloomy musing, I heard a rustling in 
the sacred grove behind the statue; and 
soon after, the sound of the Priest’s 
voice—more welcome than I had ever 
thought such voice could be—hrought 
the assurance that I was not yet wholly 
abandoned. Finding his way to me 
through the gloom, he now led me to 
the same spot, on which we had parted 
so many hours before; and addressing 
me in a voice that retained no trace of 
displeasure, bespoke my attention, while 
he should reyeal to me some of those 
divine truths, by whose infusion, he 
said, into the soul of man, its purifica- 
tion can alone be effected. 

The valley had now become so dark, 
that we could no longer, as we sat, 
discern each other’s faces. There was 
a melancholy in the voice of my in- 
structor that well accorded with the 
gloom around us: and, saddened and 


tion, if not with interest, to those sub- 
lime, but, alas, I thought, vain tenets, 
which, with all the warmth of a true 
believer, this Hierophant expounded to 
me. 

He spoke of the pre-existence of the 
soul*—of its abode, from all eternity, in 
a place of splendor and bliss, of which 
whatever we have most beautiful in our 
conceptions here is but a dim transcript, 
aclouded remembrance. In the blue 
depths of ether, he said, lay that 
“Country of the Soul ”’—its boundary 
alone visible in the line of milky light, 
which, as by a barrier of stars, sepa- 
rates it from the dark earth. ‘Oh, 
realm of purity! Home of the yet 
unfallen Spirit!—where, in the days 
of her first innocence, she wandered ; 
ere yet her beauty was soiled by the 
touch of earth, or her resplendent wings 
had withered away. Methinks I see,” 
he eried, “ at this moment those fields 


|et son retour au lieu de son origine.... 


ce’ €toit ici la partie la plus métaphysque, et que 
ne pourroit guére entendre le commun des 
Initiés, mais dont on lui donnoit le spectacle 
par des figures et des spectres allégoriques.” 
Dupuis. 


THE EPICUREFAN. 


of radiance*—I look back, through the 
inists of life, into that luminous world, 
where the souls that have never lost their 
high, heavenly rank, still soar without a 
stain, above the shadowless stars, and 
there dwell together in infinite perfection 
and bliss !’’ 

As he spoke these words, a burst of 
pure, brilliant light,t like a sudden 
opening of heaven, broke through the 
valley; and, as soon as my eyes were 
able to endure the splendor, such a 
vision of glory and loveliness opened 
upon them, as took even my skeptical 
spirit by surprise, and made it Sis at 
once, to the potency of the spell. 

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and 
occupying the whole of the opposite 
region of the valley, there appeared an 
immense orb of light, within which, 
through a haze of radiance, I could see 
distinctly fair groups of young female 
spirits, who, in silent, but harmonious 
movement, like that of the stars, wound 
slowly through a variety of fanciful 
evolutions ; seeming, as they linked and 
unlinked each other's arms, to form a 
living labyrinth of beauty and grace. 
Though their feet appeared to glide along 
a field of light, they had also wings, of 
the most brilliant hue, which like rain- 
bows over waterfalls, when played with 
by the breeze, reflected, every moment, 
a new variety of glory. 

As I stood, gazing with wonder, the 
orb, with all its ethereal inmates, began 

radually to recede into the dark void, 
essening, as it went, and becoming 
more bright, as it iessened ;—till, at 
length, distant, to all appearance, as a 
retiring comet, this little world of Spirits, 
in one sinall point of intense radiance, 
shone its last and vanished. ‘‘Go,” 
exclaimed the rapt Priest, “ye happy 
souls, of whose dwelling a glimpse is thus 
given to our eyes,—go, wander in your 
orb, through the boundless heaven, nor 


* See Beausobre, lib. iii. ο. 4, for the ‘terre 
bienheureuse et lumineuse,” which the Mani- 
cheans suppvaee God to inhabit. Plato, too, 
speaks (in Phd.) of a pure land lying in the 
pure sky (τὴν γὴν καθαραν ev καθάρῳ κεισθαι 
ovpavw,) the abode of divinity, of innocence, 
and of life.” 

t The power of producing a sudden and 


' dazzling effusion of light, which was one of the 


arts employed by the contrivers of the ancient 
Mysteries, 15 thus deseribed ina few words by 
Apuleius, who was himself admitted to witness 


725 


ever let a thought of this perishable 
world come to mingle its dross with 
your divine nature, or allure you down 
earthward to that mortal fall by which 
spirits, no less bright and admirable, 
have been ruined !” 

A. pause ensued, during which, still 
under the influence of wonder, I sent 
my fancy wandering after the inhabit- 
ants of that orb—alnost wishing myself 
credulous enough to believe in a heayen, 
of which creatures, so much like those I 
had worshipped on earth, were inmates. 

At length, the Priest, with a mournful 
sigh at the sad contrast he was about 
to draw between the happy spirits we 
had just seen and the fallen ones of 
earth, resumed again his melancholy 
History of the Soul. Tracing it gra- 
dually, from the first moment of earth- 
ward desireft to its final e¢lipse in the 
shadows of this world, he dwelt upon 
every stage of its darkening descent, 
with a pathos that sent sadness into the 
very depths of the heart. The first 
downward look of the spirit towards 
earth—the tremble of her wings on the 
edge of Heaven—the giddy slide, at 
length, down that fatal descent—and 
the Lethean cup, midway in the sky, of 
which when she has once tasted, Hea- 
ven is forgot—through all these grada- 
tions he traced mournfully her fall, 
to that last stage of darkness, when 
wholly immersed in this world, her ce- 
lestial nature becomes changed, she no 
longer can rise aboye earth, nor eyen re- 
member her former home, except by 
glimpses so vague, that, at length, mis- 
taking for hope what is only, alas! re- 
collection, she believes those gleams to 
be a light from the Future, not the 
Past. 

“To retrieve this ruin of the once- 
blessed Soul—to clear away from around 
her the clouds of earth, and, restoring 
her lost wings,§ facilitate their return 


the Isiac ceremonies at Corinth :—" Nocte 
media vidi solem candido coruscantem Jumine.” 
{In the original construction of this work, 


‘| there was an episode introduced here, (which 


I have since published in a more extended 
form,) illustrating the doctrine of the fall of the 
soul by the Oriental fable of the Loves of the 
Angels. 

ὁ In the language of Plato, Hierocles, &c., 
to ‘‘restore.to the soul its wings,” is the main 
object both of religion ary eee ὦ 

Damascius, in his life of Isidorus, says, ‘* Ex 


726 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


to Heaven—such,” said the reverend 
man, ‘‘is the great task of our religion, 
and such the triumph of those divine 
Mysteries, in whose inmost depths the 
life and essence of that holy religion lie 
treasured. However sunk, and changed, 
and clouded may be the Spirit, yet as 
jong as a single trace of her original 
light remains, there is still 
that Ἶ 

Here the voice of the Priest was in- 
terrupted by a strain of mournful music, 


of which the low, distant breathings had | 


been, for some minutes, audible, but 
which now gained upon the ear too 
thrillingly to let it listen to any more 
earthly sound. <A faint light, too, at 
that instant broke through the valley— 
and I could perceive, not far from the 
spot where we sat, a female figure, 
veiled, and crouching to earth, as if 
subdued by sorrow, or under the influ- 
ence of shame. 

The feeble light, by which I saw her, 
came from a pale, moonlight meteor 
which had gradually formed itself in the 
air as the music approached, and now 
shed over the rocks and the lake a glim- 
mer as cold as that by which the Dead, 
in their own kingdom, gaze upon each 
other. The music, too, which appeared 
to rise from out of the lake, full of the 
breath of its dark waters, spoke a de- 
spondency in every note which no lan- 
guage could express ;—and as I listened 
to its tones, and looked upon that fallen 
Spirit, (for such, the holy man whis- 
pered, was the form before us,) so en- 
tirely did the illusion of the scene take 
possession of me,* that, with almost 
painful anxiety, I now awaited the re- 
sult. 

Nor had I gazed long before that form 


rose slowly from its drooping position ; | 


—the air around it grew bright, and the 


antiquissimis Philosophis Pythagorum et Pla- 
tonem Jsidorus ut Deos coluit, et corwm ani- 
mas alatas esse dixit quas in locum super- 
celestem inque campum veritatis et pratum 
eleyatas, divinis putavit ideis pasei.’—Apud 
Phot. Bibliothec. 

* In tracing the early connection of spec- 
tacles with the ceremonies of religion, Voltaire 
says, “Tl ya bien plus; les véritables grandes 
tragédies, les representations imposantes et 


terribles, étoient les mystéres sacrés, qivon | 


célébroit dans Jes plus vastes temples du monde, 
en présence des seuls Jnitiés; e’étoit la que 


‘ 


hope | 


pale meteor overhead assumed a more 
cheerful and living light. The veil, 
which had before shrouded the face of 
the figure, became every minute more 
transparent, and the features, one by 
one, gradually disclosed themselves. 
Having tremblingly watched the prog- 
ress of the apparition, I now started 
from my seat, and half exclaimed, ‘‘it 
is she!” In another minute this veil 
had, like a thin mist, melted away, and 
the young priestess of the Moon stood, 
for the third time, revealed before my 
eyes! 

To rush instantly towards her was my 
first impulse—but the arm of the Priest 
held me firmly back. The fresh light, 
which had begun to flow in from all 
sides, collected itself in a flood of glory 
around the spot where she stood. In- 
stead of melancholy music, strains of 
the most exalted rapture were heard; 
and the young maiden, buoyant as the 
inhabitants of the fairy orb, amid a blaze 
of light like that which fell upon her in 
the Temple, ascended slowly into the 
air. 

“Stay, beautiful vision, stay !” I ex- 
claimed, as, breaking from the hold of 
the Priest, I flung myself prostrate on 
the ground—the only mode by which I 
could express the admiration, even to 
worship, with which I was filled. But 
the vanishing spirit heard me not :—re- 
ceding into the darkness, like that orb 
whose heavenward track she seemed to 
follow, her form lessened by degrees 
away, till she was seen no more: while, 
gazing till the last luminous speck had 
disappeared, I allowed myself uncon- 
sciously to be led away by my reverend 
guide, who, placing me once more on 
my bed of poppy-leaves, left me there 
to such repose as it was possible, after 
such a scene, to enjoy. 


les abits, les décorations, les machines étoient 
propres au sujet; et le sujet τοῖν la vie pré- 
sente et la vie future.”—Des divers Ohange- 
mens arrives wl Art tragique. 

To these scenic representations in the Egyp- 
tian mysteries, there is evidently an allusion in 
the vision of Ezekiel, where the Spirit shows 
hin the abominations which the Israelites had 
learned in Egypt ;—‘‘Then said he unto me, 
Son of man, hast thou seen what the ancients 
of the house of Israel do in the dark, every 
man in the chambers of his imagery ἢ Chap. 
viii. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE apparition with which I had been 
blessed in that Valley of Visions—for so 
the place where I had witnessed these 
wonders was called—brought back to 
my heart all the hopes and fancies in 
which, during my descent from earth, 
T had indulged. I had now seen once 
more that matchless creature, who had 
been my guiding star into this mysteri- 
ous realm; and that she was destined 
to be, in some way, connected with the 
further revelations that awaited me, I 
saw no reason to doubt. There was a | 
sublimity, too, in the doctrines of my 
reverend teacher, and even a hope in 
the promises of immortality held out by 
hin, which, in spite of reason, won in- 
sensibly both upon my fancy and my 

ride. 

The Future, however, was now but of 
secondary consideration ;—the Present, 
and that deity of the Present, woman, 
were the objects that engrossed my 
whole soul. It was, indeed, for the 
sake of such beings alone that I consid- 
ered immortality desirable, nor, without 
them, would eternal life have appeared 
to me to be worth a single prayer. To 
every further trial of my patience and 
faith, I now made up my mind to sub- 
mit without a murmur. Some kind 
chance, I fondly persuaded myself, 
might yet bring me nearer to the object 
of my adoration, and enable me to ad- 
dress, as mortal woman, one who had 
hitherto been to me but as a vision, a 
shade. 

The period of my probation, however, 
was nearly at an end. Both frame and 
spirit had now stood the trial; and as 
the crowning test of the purification of | 
the latter was that power of seeing into 
the world of spirits, with which I had 
proved myself, in the Valley of Visions, 
to be endowed, there now remained, to 
complete my Initiation, but this one 
night more, when, in the Temple of Isis, 
and in the presence of her unveiled im- 
age, the last grand revelation of the Se- 

* “ Bernard, Comte de la Marche-Trévisane, 
instruit par la lecture des livres anciens, dit, 
ane Hermes trouva sept tables dans la vallée 
d’Hébron, sur lesquelles Gtoient gravés les | 
principes des arts libéraux.” Fables Egyp- | 
tiennes. See Jablonski de stelis Herm. 

1 For an account of the animal worship of the | 
Egyptians, see De Pauw, tom ii. ! 


---------.-.-.-.Θ. 


THE EPICUREAN. 


727 


cret of Secrets was to be laid open to 
me. 

I passed the morning of this day in 
company with the same venerable per- 
sonage who had, from the first, presided 


| over the ceremonies of my instruction ; 


and who, to inspire me with due reyer- 
ence for the power and. magnificence of 


_his religion, now conducted me through 


the long range of illuminated galleries 
and shrines, that extend under the site 
upon which Mempbis and the Pyramids 
stand, and form a counterpart under 
ground to that mighty city of temples 
upon earth. 

He then descended with me, still low- 
er, into those winding crypts, where lay 
the Seven Tables of stone,* found by 
Hermes in the valey of Hebron. ‘* On 
these tables,” said be, “is written all 
the knowledge of the antediluvian race 
—the decrees of the stars from the be- 
ginning of time, the annals of a still ear- 
lier world, and all the marvellous se- 
crets, both of heaven and earth, which 
would have been, 


‘ but for this key, 
Lost in the Universal Sea.’ ᾿ 


Returning to the region from which 
we had descended, we next visited, in 
succession, a series of small shrines rep- 
resenting the various objects of adora- 
tion throughout Egypt, and thus furnish- 
ing to the Priest an occasion of explain- 
ing the mysterious nature of animal 
worship, and the refined doctrines of 
theology that lay veiled under its forms. 
livery shrine was consecrated to a par- 
ticular faith, and contained a living 1m- 
age of the deity which it adored. Be- 
side the goat of Mendes,t with his reful- 
gent star upon bis breast, I saw the 


| crocodile, as presented to the eyes of its 
| idolater ut Arsinoé, with costly gemst in 


its loathsome ears, and rich bracelets of 
gold encircling its feet. Here, floating 
through a tank in the centre of a tem- 
ple, the sacred carp of Lepidotum show- 
ed its silvery seales; while, there, the 
Isiac serpents§ trailed languidly over 

t Herodotus (2uterp.) tells us that the people 
about Thebes and Lake Meeris kept a number 
of tame crocodiles, which they worshipped, 
and dressed them out with gems and golden 
ornaments in their ears. : 

ξ On anguroit bien de serpens isiaques, 
lorsqu'ils gottoient l’offrande et se trainoient 
lentement autour de l’autel.” De Pauw. 


728 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


the altar, with that sort of movement 
which is thought most favorable to the 
aspirations of their votaries. In one of 
the small chapels we found a beautiful 
child, employed in feeding and watch- 
ing over those golden beetles, which 
are adored for their brightness, as em- 
blems of the sun; while, in another, 
stood a sacred ibis upon its pedestal, so 
like, in plumage and attitude, to the 
bird of the young Priestess, that most 
gladly would I have knelt down and 
. worshipped it for her sake. 

After visiting all these various shrines, 
and hearing the reflections which they 
suggested, | was next led by my guide 
to the Great Hall of the Zodiac, on 
whose ceiling was delineated, in bright 
and undying colors, the map of the fir- 
mament, as it, appeared at the first dawn 
of time. Here, in pointing out the 
track of the sun among the spheres, he 
spoke of the analogy that exists between 
moral and physical darkness—of the 
sympathy with which all spiritual crea- 
tures regard the sun, so as to sadden 
and decline when he sinks into his win- 
try hemisphere, and to rejoice when he 
resumes his own empire of light. 
Hence, the festivals and hymns, with 
which most of the nations of the earth 
are wont to welcome the resurrection of 
his orb in spring, as an emblem and 
pledge of the reascent of the soul to 
heaven. Hence, the songs of sorrow, 
the mournful ceremonies*— like those 
Mysteries of the Night,t upon the Lake 
of Sais—in which they brood over its 
autumnal descent into the shades, as a 
type of the Spirit’s fall into this world of 
death. 

In discourses such as these the hours 
passed away; and though there was 
nothing in the light of this sunless region 
to mark to the eye the decline of 
day, my own feelings told me that the 
night drew near;—nor, in spite of my in- 
credulity, could I refrain from a slight 
flutter of hope, as that promised mo- 
ment of revelation drew nigh, when the 
Mystery of Mysteries was to be made 
allmy own. ‘This consummation, how- 
ever, was less near than I expected. 
My patience had still further trials to 


* Yor an account of the various festivals at 
the different periods of the sun’s progress, in 


encounter. It was necessary, I now 
found, that, during the greater part of 
the night, I should keep watch in the 
Sanctuary of the Temple, alone and in 
utter darkness—thus preparing myself, 
by meditation, for the awful moment, 
when the irradiation from behind the 
sacred Veils was to burst upon me. 

At the appointed hour, we left the 
Hall of the Zodiac, and proceeded 
through a long line of marble galleries, 
where the lamps were more thinly seat- 
tered as we advanced, till, at length, we 
found ourselves in total darkness. Here 
the Priest, taking me by the hand, and 
leading me down a flight of steps, into 
a place where the same deep gloom pre- 
vailed, said, with a voice trembling, asif 
from excess of awe,—‘ Thou art now 
within the Sanctuary of our goddess, Isis, 
and the veils, that conceal her sacred 
image, are before thee "ἢ 

After exhorting me earnestly to that 
train of thought which best accorded 
with the spirit of the place where I 
stood, and, above all, to that full and 
unhesitating faith, with which alone, he 
said, the manifestation of such mysteries 
should be approached, the holy man 
took leave of me, and reascended the 
steps ;—while, so spell-bound did I feel 
by that deep darkness, that the last 
sound of his footsteps died upon my ear, 
before I ventured to stir a limb from 
the position in which he had left me. 

The prospect of the long watch I had 
now to look forward to was dreadful. 
Kven danger itself, if in an active form, 
would have been far preferable to this 
sort of safe, but dull, probation, by 
which patience was the only virtue put 
to the proof. Having ascertained how 
far the space around me was free from 
obstacles, I endeavored to beguile the 
time by pacing up and down within 
those limits, till I became tired of the 
monotonous echoes of my own tread. 
Finding my way, then, to what I felt to 
be a massive pillar, and leaning wearily 
against it, I surrendered myself to a 
train of thoughts and feelings, far differ- 
ent from those with which the good 
Hierophant had hoped to inspire me. 

“Tf these priests,” thought I, ‘“ pos- 
the spring, and in the autimn, see Dupwis and 


Prichard. 
t Vide Athenag. Leg. pro Christ., p. 138. 


THE EPICUREBAN, 


729 


sess really the secret of life, why are | 
they themselves the victims of death ἐς 
why sink into the grave with the cup of 
immortality in their hands? But no, | 
safe boasters, the eternity they so lay- 
ishly promise ‘is reserved for another, 
a future world—that ready resource of | 
all priestly promises —that depository of 
the airy pledges of all creeds. Another | 
world !—alas! where dothit lie? or, what | 
spirit hath ever come to say that Life 
is there ?” 

The conclusion at which, half sadly, 
half passionately, I arrived, was that, 
life being but a dream of the moment 
never to come again, every bliss so 
vaguely promised for hereafter ought | 
to be secured by the wise man here. 
And, as no heaven I had ever heard of | 
from these visionary priests opened halt 
such certainty of happiness as_ that 
smile which I beheld Jast night—_ 
“μοῦ me,” I exclaimed, impatiently, | 
striking the massy pillar till it rung, “let | 
me but makethat beautiful Priestess my 
own, aud I here willingly exchange for 
her every chance of immortality, that the 
combined wisdom of Egypt's Twelve | 
Temples can offer me !” | 

No sooner had I uttered these words, 
than a tremendous peal, like that of) 
thunder,* rolled over the Sanctuary, and | 
seemed to shake its very walls. On 
every side, too, asuccession of blue, vivid 
flashes pierced, like lances of light, 
through the gloom, revealing to me, at 
intervals, the mighty dome in which | 
I stood—its ceiling of azure, studded | 
with stars—its colossal cclumns, tower- 
ing aloft,—and those dark, awful veils, | 
whose massy drapery hung from the | 
roof to the floor, covering the rich | 
glories of the Shrine beneath their folds. 

50 weary had I grown of my tedious 
watch, that this stormy and fitful illu- 
mination, during which the Sanctuary 
seemed to rock to its base, was by no 
means an unwelcome interruption of the 
monotonous trial my patience had to 
suffer. After a short interval, however, 
the flashes ceased;—the sounds died 
away, like exhausted thunder, through | 
the abyss, and darkness and silence, like | 
that of the grave, succeeded. 


* See, for some curious remarks on the mode | 
of imitating thunder and lightning in the | 
ancient mysteries, De Pauw, tom. i. ps1aess- 


Resting my back once more against 
the pillar, and fixing my eyes upon that 
side of the Sanctuary from which the 


promised irradiation was to burst, I 
ΠΟῪ resolved to await the awtul mo- 


ment in patience. Resigned, and al- 
most.immoveable, I had remained thus 
for nearly another hour, when suddenly 
along the edges of the mighty Veils, I 
perceived a thin rim of light, as if from 
some brilliant object under them ;—re- 
sembling that border which encircles a 
cloud at sunset, when the rich radiance 
from behind is escaping at its edges. 

This indication of concealed glories 
grew every instant more strong; till, at 
last, vividly marked as it was upon the 
darkness, the narrow fringe of lustre al- 
most pained the eye—giving promise of 
a fulness of splendor too bright to be 
endured. My expectations were now 
wound to the highest pitch, and all the 
skepticism, into which I had been cool- 
ing down my mind, was forgotten.- The 
wonders that had been presented to me 
since my descent from earth — that 
glimpse into Elysium on the first night 
of my coming—those visitants from the 
land of Spirits in the mysterious valley 
—all led me to expect, in this last and 
brightest revelation, such visions of 
glory and knowledge as might tran- 
scend even fancy itself, nor leave a 
doubt that they belonged less to earth 
than heaven. 

While, with an imagination thus ex- 
cited, 1 stood waiting the result, an in- 
creased gush of light still more awaken- 
ed my attention; and I saw with an in- 


| tenseness of interest, which made my 


heart beat aloud, one of the corners of 
the mighty Veil raised slowly from the 
floor. I now felt that the Great Secret, 
whatever it might be, was at hand. A 
vague hope even crossed my mind—so 
wholly had imagination now resumed 
her empire—that the splendid promise 
of my dream was on the very point of 
being realized ! 

With surprise, however, and, for the 
moment, with some disappointment, I 
perceived, that the massy corner of the 
Veil was but lifted sufficiently from the 
ground to allow a female figure to 


The machine with which these effects were 
produced on the stage was called a Cerauno- 


scope. 


700 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


emerge from under it—and then fell 
over its mystic splendors as utterly dark 
as before. By the strong light, too, 
that issued when the drapery was raised, 
and illuminated the profile of the emerg- 
ing figure, I either saw, or fancied that 
I saw, the same bright features that had 
already so often mocked me with their 
momentary charm, and seemed destin- 
ed, indeed, to haunt my fancy as un- 
availingly as even the fond, vain dream 
of Immortality itself. 

Dazzled as I had been by that short 
gush of splendor, and distrusting even 
my senses, when under the influence οἵ 
so much excitement, I had but just be- 
gun to question myself as to the reality 
of my impression, when I heard the 
sounds of hght footsteps approaching 
me through the gloom. In a second or 
two more, the figure stopped before me, 
and, placing the end of a riband gently 
in my hand, said, ina tremulous whis- 
per, ‘‘ Follow, and be silent.” 

So sudden and strange was the ad- 
venture, that, for a moment, I hesitated 
—tfearing that my eyes might possibly 
have been deceived as to the object 
they had seen. Casting a look towards 
the Veil, which seemed bursting with 
its luminous secret, I was almost doubt- 
ing to which of the two chances I should 
commit myself, when I felt the riband 
in my hand pulled softly at the other 
extremity. This movement, like a 
touch of magic, at once decided me. 
Without any further deliberation, I 
yielded to the silent summons, and fol- 
lowing my guide, who was already at 
some distance before me, found myself 
led up the same flight of marble steps, by 
which the Priest had conducted me into 


*In addition to the accounts which the 
ancients have left us of the prodigious excava- 
tions in all parts of Egypt—the fifteen hundred 
ehambers under the Labyrinth—the subterra- 
nean stables of the ‘Thebaid, containing a 
thousand horses—the erypts of Upper Egypt 
passing under the bed of the Nile, &c. &e.— 
the stories and traditions current among the 
Arabs still preserve the memory of those 
wonderful substructions. ‘Un Arabe,” says 
Paul Lucas, ‘qui étoit avee nous, m’assura 
qu’ctant entre autrefois dans le Labyrinthe, il 
avoit marché dans les chambres souterraines 
jasqwen un leu ot il y avoit une grand place 
cnvironnée de plusieurs niches qui ressembloit 
a de petites boutiques, d’oti Von entroit dans 
(autres allées et dans chambres, sans pouvoir 
en trouver la fin.’ In speaking, too, of the 
arcades along the Nile, near Cossier, ‘‘Ils me 


the Sanctuary. Arrived at their sum- 
mit, I felt the pace of my conductress 
quicken, and giving one more look to 
the Veiled Shrine, whose glories we left 
burning uselessly behind us, hastened 
onward into the gloom, full of confi- 
dence in the belief, that she, who now 
held the other end of that clue, was one 
whom I was ready to follow devotedly 
through the world. 


CHAPTER XI. 


WitH such rapidity was I huwried 
along by my unseen guide, full of won- 
der at the speed with which she yen- 
tured through these labyrinths, that Ἐ 
had but little time left for reflection 
upon the strangeness of the adventure 
to which I had committed myself. My 
knowledge of the character of the Mem- 
phian priests, as well as some fearful 
rumors that had reached me, concerning 
the fate that often attended unbelievers 
in their hands, awakened a momentary 
suspicion of treachery inmy mind. But, 
when I recalled the face of my guide, 
as I had seen it in the small chapel, 
with that divine look, the very memory 
of which brought purity into the heart, 
I found my suspicions all vanish, and 
felt shame at having harbored them but 
an instant. 

In the mean while, our rapid course 
continued without any interruption, 
through windings even more capriciously 
intricate* than any I had yet passed, 
and whose thick gloom seemed never to 
have been broken by a single glimmer 
of light. My wnseen conductress was 
still at some distance before me, and the 
slight clue, to which I clung as if it 


dirent méme que ces souterraines ¢toient si 
profondes qu'il y en avoient qui alloient a trois 
journces de 1a, et quils conduisoient dans un 
pays οὐ Von yoyoit de beaux jardins, qu’on y 
trouyoit de belles maisons,” ἕο. &e. 

See also in M. Quatremére’s Memoires sur 
UV Egypte, tom. i. p. 142, an aecount of a subter- 
ranean reservoir, said to have been discovered 
at Kais, and of the expedition undertaken by a. 
party of persons, in a long narrow boat, for the 
purpose of exploring it. ‘* Leur voyage ayoit 
(τώ de six jours, dont les quatre prem furent. 
employ¢s a pénétrer les bords; les deux autres 
ἃ τον Ομ au lieu d’ot ils Gtoient partis. Pen- 
dant tout eet intervalle ils ne purent atteindre 
Vextrémité du bassin. L’émir Ala-eddin-Tam- 
boga, gouverneur de Belinesa, Gerivit ees details 
au sultan, qui en fut extrémement surpris.” 


THE EPICUREAN. 


731 


were Destiny’s own thread, was still | 
kept, by the speed of her course, at full | 
stretch between us. At length, sud- 

denly stopping, she said, in a breathless 

whisper, ‘‘Seat thyself here ;” and, αὖ. 
the same moment, led me by the hand. 
to a sort of low car, in which, obeying 
her brief command, I lost not a moment 
in placing myself, while the maiden, no 
less promptly, took her seat by my side. | 

A sudden click, like the touching of a | 
spring, was then heard, and the car— 
which, as I had felt in entering it, 
leaned half-way over a steep Jescent-- 
on being let loose frem. ius statiou, she+ 
down, almost perpendicularly, into the 
darkness, with a rapidity, which, at, 
first, nearly deprived me of breath. The 
wheels slid smoothly and_ noisclessly 
in grooyes, and the impetus, which the 
car acquired in descending, was sufl- 
cient, I perceived, to carry it up an em- 
inence that succeeded—from the sum- 
mit of which it again ‘rushed down 
another declivity, even still more long | 
and precipitous than the former. In 
this manner we proceeded, by alternate 
fails and rises, till, at length, from the 
Jast and steepest elevation, the car de- 
scended upon a level of deep sand, 
where, after running for a few yards, it 
by degrees lost its motion, and stopped. 

Here the maiden, alighting again, | 
placed the riband in my hands—and 
again I followed her, though with more 
slowness and difliculty than before, as 
our way now led up a flight of damp 
and time-wom steps, whose ascent 
seemed to the wearied and insecure 
foot interminable. Perceiving with 
what languor my guide advanced, I was 
on the point of making an offer to as- 
sist her progress, when the creak of an 
ne door above, and a faint gleam 
of light which, at the same moment, 
shone upon her figure, apprized me that 
we were at last arrived within reach of 
sunsliine. 

Joyfully I followed through this open- 
ing, and, by the dim light, could dis- 
cern, that we were now in the sanctu- 
ary of a vast, ruined temple—having tn- 
tered by a secret passage under the 

* The position here given to Lake Morris, in 
making it the immediate boundary of the city of 
Memphis to the south, corresponds exactly 
With the site assigned to it} by Maillet:— 
“Memphis ayoit eneore ἃ son midi un yaste 


pedestal, upon which an image of the 
idol of the place once stood. The first 
moyement ofthe young maiden, after clos- 
ing again the portal under the pedestal, 
was, Without even a single look towards 
me, to cast herself down upon her knees, 
with her hands clasped and uplifted, ay 
if in thanksgiving or prayer. But she 
was unable, evidently, to sustain her- 
self in this position ;—her strength coula 
hold out no longer. Overcome by agi- 
tation and fatigue, she sunk senseless 
upon the pavement. 

Bewildered as I was myself, by the 
strange events of the night, I stood for 


‘some pvnutes looking upon her in a 


state of helplessness and alarm. But, 


‘reminded, by my own feverish sensa- 


tions, of the reviving effects of the air, 
I raised her gently in my arms, and 
crossing the corridor that surrounded 
the sanctuary, found my way to the 
outer vestibule of the Temple. Here, 
shading her eyes from the sun, I placed 
her, reclining upon the steps, where the 
cool north-wind, then blowing freshly 
between the pillars, might play, with 
free draught, over her brow. 

It was, indeed—as I now saw, with 


| certainty—the same beautiful and mys- 


terious girl, who had been the cause of 
my descent into that subterrancan 
world, and who now, under such strange 
and unaccountable circumstances, was 
my guide back again to the realms of 
day. I looked around to discover where 
we were, and beheld such a scene of 
grandeur, as, could my eyes have been 
then attracted to any object but the pale 
form reclining at my side, might well 
have induced them to dwell onits splen- 
did beauties. 

Iwas now standing, I found, on the 
small island in the centre of Lake 
Moris ;* and that sanctuary, where we 
had just emerged from darkness, formed 
part of the ruins of an ancient temple, 
which was, (as I have since learned,) 
in the grander days of Memphis, a place 
of pilgrimage for worshippers froin all 
parts of Egypt. The fair Lake, itself, 
out of whose waters once rose pavilions, 
palaces, and even lofty pyramids, was 
reservoir, par oi tout ce qui peut servir ἃ la 
commodite et ἃ l'agrément de la vie lui étoit 
voituré abondamment de toutes les parties de 
lEgypte. Ce lace qui la terminoit de ce οὐϊό- 
la,” &e. &e.—Tom. ii. p. 7. 


732 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


still, though divested of many of these 
wonders, a scene of interest and splen- 
dor such as the whole world could not 
equal. While the shores still sparkled 
with mansions and temples, that bore 
testimony to the luxury of a living 
race, —the voice of the Past, speaking out 
of unnumbered ruins, whose summits, 


here and there, rose blackly above the | 


wave,* told of times long fled, and gen- 
erations long swept away, before whose 
giant remains all the glory of the pres- 
ent stood humbled. Over the southern 
bank of the Lake hung the dark relics 
of the Labyrinth;—its twelve Royal 
Palaces, representing the mansions of 
the Zodiac—its thundering portalst and 
constellated halls, having left nothing 
now behind but a few frowning ruins, 
which, contrasted with the soft groves 


of acacia and olive around them, seemed | 


to rebuke the luxuriant smiles of na- 
ture, and threw a melancholy grandeur 
over the whole scene. 

The effects of the air, m reanimating 
the young Priestess, were less speedy 
than I had expected ;—her eyes were 
still closed, and she remained pale and 
insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her 
head (which had been, for some tine, 
supported by my arm) against the base 
of one of the columns, with my cloak 
for its pillow, while I hastened to pro 
cure some water from the Lake. The 
temple stood high, and the descent to 
the shore was precipitous. But, my 
Hpicurean habits having but httle im- 


aired my activity, I soon descended, 
ὃ J? 


with the lightness of a desert deer, to 
the bottom. Here, plucking from a lofty 
bean tree, whose flowers stood, shining 
like gold, above the water, one of those 
large hollowed leaves that serve as 
cupst for the Hebes of the Nile, I filled 
if from the Lake, and hurried back with 


the cool draught towards the Temple. | 


It was not, however, without some diffi- 
culty that I at last sueceeded in bear- 
ing my rustic chalice steadily up the 
steep; more than once did an unlucky 


***On voit sur la rive orientale des antiqui- 
tés qui sont presque enti¢rement sous les eaux.” 
—DBelzoni. 

ΓΟ Quornndam autem domorum (in Laby- 
rintho) talis est situs, nt adaperientibus fores 
tonitruum intus terribile existat.”"— Pliny. 

} Strabo. Aceording to the Freneh trans- 


| consciousness ; 


slip waste allits contents, and as often - 
did I return impatiently to refill it. 
During this time, the young maiden 
was fast recovering her animation and 
and, at the moment 
when I appeared above the edge of the 
steep, was just rising from the steps, 
with her hand pressed to her forehead, 
as if confusedly recalling the recollec- 
tion of what had occurred. No sooner 


did she observe me, than a short ery of 


i 


| 


‘alarm broke from her lips. 


Looking 
anxiously round, as though she sought 
for protection, and half-audibly uttering 
the words, ‘‘Where is he?” she made 
an effort, as I approached, to retreat 
into the Temple. 

Already, however, I was by her side, 
and taking her hand, as she turned 
away from me, gently in mine, asked, 
“Whom dost thou seek, fair Priestess ?” 
—thus, for the first time, breaking the 
silence she had enjoined, and in a tone 
that might have reassured the most 
timid spirit. But my words had no 
effect in calming her apprehension. 
Trembling, and with her eyes still avert- 
ed towards the Temple, she continued 
in a voice of suppressed alarm,—‘* Where 
can he be?—that venerable Athenian, 
that philosopher, who——” 

‘‘Here, here,” I exclaimed, anxiously, 
interrupting her—‘‘ behold him still by 
thy side—the same, the very same, who 
saw thee steal from under the Veils of 
the Sanctuary, whom thou hast guided 
by a clue through those labyrinths below, 
and who now enly waits his command 
from those lips, to devote himself 
through life and death to thy service.” 
As Ispoke these words, she turned slow- 


ly round, and looking timidly in my 


face, while her own burned with blush- 
es, said, in a tone of doubt and wonder, 
“Thou!” and then hid her eyes in her 
hands. 

I knew not how to interpret a recep- 
tion so unexpected. That some mistake 
or disappointment had occurred was 
evident ; but so inexplicable did the 


lator of Strabo, it was the fruit of the faba 
Hyyptiaca, not the leaf, that was used for 
this purpose. ‘ Le κιβωριον,᾽ he says, ‘devoit 
s’entendre de la capsule ou fruit de cette plante, 
dont les Egyptiens se servoient comme d'un 
vase, imaginant que l'eau du Nol y devenoit 
dclicieuse.” 


: , THE EPICUREAN,. 


whole adventure appear to me, that it 
was in vain to think of unravelling any 
part of it. Weak and agitated, she now 
toitered to the steps of the Temple, and 
there seating herself, with her forehead 
against the cold marble, seemed for 
some moments absorbed in the most 
anxious thought; while silent and 
watchful I awaited her decision, though, 
at the same time, with a feeling which 
the result proyed to be prophetic—that 
my destiny was, from thenceforth, linked 
inseparably with hers. 

The inward struggle by which she 
Was agitated, though violent, was notof 
long continuance. Starting suddenly 
from her seat, with a lock of terror to- 
wards the Temple, as if the fear of 
immediate purswt had alone decided 
her, she pointed eagerly towards the 
Rast, and exclaimed, ‘To the Nile, 
without delay !’—clasping her hands, 
after she had thus spoken, with the 
most suppliant fervor, as if to soften the 
abruptness of the mandate she had 
given, and appealing to me at the same 
time, with a look that would have 
taught Stoics themselves tenderness. 

I lost not a moment in obeying the 
welcome command. With a thousand 
wild hopes naturally crowding upon my 
fancy, at the thoughts of a voyage, 
under such auspices, I descended rap- 
idly to the shore, and hailing one of 
those boats that ply upon the Lake for 
hire, arranged speedily for a passage 
down the canal to the Nile. Having 
learned too, from the boatmen, a more 
easy path up the rock, I hastened back 
to the Temple for my fair charge ; and, 
without a word or look, that could 
alarm, even by its kindness, or disturb 
the innocent confidence which she now 
evidently reposed in me, led her down 
by the winding path to the boat. 


Every thing around looked sunny and 
Dp A | 


smiling as we embarked. The morning 
was in its first freshness, and the path 
of the breeze might clearly be traced 
over the Lake, as it went wakening up 
the waters from their sleep of the night. 
The gay, golden-winged birds — that 
haunt these shores, were, in every direc- 
tion, skimming along the Lake; while, 

* Alian, lib. vi. 32. 

f Called Thalameges, from the pavilion on 
the deck.—Vide Strabo. 


733 


| with a graver consciousness of beauty, 

the swan and the pelican were seen 
| dressing their white plumage in the 
mirror of its wave. ‘To add to the live- 
_liness of the scene, there came, at inter- 
vals, on the breeze, a sweet tinkling of 
musical instruments from boats at a 
distance, employed thus early in pur- 
|suing the fish of these waters,* that 
allow themselves to be decoyed into the 
nets by music. 

The vessel I had selected for our 
voyage was one of those small pleasure- 
boats or yachtst—so much in use among 
the luxurious navigators of the Nile— 
“ἢ the centre of which rises a pavilion 
of cedar or cypress wood, adorned 
| richly on the outside, with religious em- 
blems, and gayly fitted up, within, for 
feasting and repose. ‘To the door of 
this pavilion I now led my companion, 
and, after a few words of kindness— 
tempered cautiously with as much 
reserve as the deep tenderness of my 
feeling towards her would admit—left 
her to court that restoring rest, which 
the agitation of her spirits so much re- 
quired. , 

For myself, though repose was hardly 
less necessary to me, the state of fer- 
ment in which I had been so long kept, 
appeared to render it hopeless. Having 
thrown myself on the deck of the vessel, 
under an awning which the sailors had 
raised for me, 1 continued, for some 
hours, in a sort of vague day-dream 
—sometimes passing in review the 
scenes of that subterranean drama, and 
sometimes, with my eyes fixed in 
drowsy vacancy, receiving passively the 
impressions of the bright scenery 
through which we passed. 

The banks of the canal were then 
luxuriantly wooded. Under the tufts of 
| the light and towering palm were seen 
the orange and the citron, interlacing 
their boughs; while, here and there, 
buge tamarisks thickened the shade, 
and, at the very edge of the bank, the 
willow of Babylon stood bending its 
graceful branches into the water. Oc- 
vasionally, out of the depth of these 
| groves, there shone a small temple or 
pleasure-house ; while, now and then, 
an opening in their line of foliage al- 
lowed the eye to wander over extensive 
fields, all covered with beds of those 


734 


pale, sweet roses,* for which this dis- 
trict of Egypt is so celebrated. 

The activity of the morning hour was 
visible in every direction. 
doves and lapwings were fluttering 
among the leaves; and the white heron, 
which had been roosting all night in 
some date-tree, now stvod sunning its 
wings upon the green bank, or floated, 
like living silver, over the flood. The 
flowers, too, both of land and water, 
looked all just freshly awakened ;—and, 
most of all, the superb lotus, which, 
having arisen along with the sun from 
the wave, was now holding up her 
chalice for a full draught of his light. 

Such were the scenes that now suc- 
cessively presented themselves, and 
mingled with the vague reveries that 
floated through my mind, as our boat, 
with its high, capacious sail, swept 
along the flood. Though the occur- 
rences of the last few days could not but 
appear to me one continued series of 
wonders, yet by far the greatest marvel 
of all was that she, whose first look had 
sent wildfire into my heart—whom I 
had thought of ever since with a restless- 
ness of passion, that would have dared 
all danger and wrong to obtain its 
object—she was now at this moment 
resting sacredly within that pavilion, 
while guarding her, even from myself, 
I lay motionless at its threshold. 

Meanwhile, the sun had reached his 
meridian height. The busy hum of the 
morning had died gradually away, and 
all around was sleeping in the hot still- 
ness of noon. The Nile-goose, having 
folded up her splendid wings, was lying 
motionless on the shadow of the syca- 
mores in the water. Even the nimble 
lizards upon the bankt appeared to 
move less nimbly, as the light fell on 
their gold and azure hues. Overcome 
as I was with watching, and weary with 
thought, it was not long before I yielded 
to the becalming influence of the hour. 
Looking fixedly at the pavilion—as if 
once more to assure myself that 1 was 
in no dream or trance, but that the 
young Egyptian was really there—I felt 


* As April is the season for gathering these 
roses (see Malte-Brun’s Leonomical Calendar, ) 
the Epicurean could not, of course, mean to say 
that he saw them actually in flower. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Flights of 


my eyes close as I gazed, and in a few 
minutes sunk into a profound sleep. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Ir was by the canal through which 
we now sailed,} that, in the more pros- 
| perous days of Memphis, the commerce 
of Upper Egypt and Nubia was trans- 
ported to her magnificent Lake, and 
from thence, having paid tribute to the 
queen of cities, was poured forth again, 
through the Nile, into the ocean. ‘he 
course of this canal to the river was not 
direct, but ascending in a southeasterly 
direction towards the Said; and in 
calms, or with adverse winds, the 
| passage was tedious. Butas the breeze 
was now blowing freshly from the north, 
there was every prospect of our reaching 
| the river before nightfall. Rapidly, too, 
as our galley swept along the flood, its 
motion was so smooth as to be hardly 
| felt; and the quiet gurele of the waters, 
and the drowsy song of the boatman at 
the prow, were the only sounds that 
disturbed the deep silence which pre- 
vailed. 

The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk be- 
hind the Libyan hills, before the sleep, 
into which these sounds had contributed 
to lull me, was broken; and the first 
object on which my eyes rested, in wak- 
/ing, was that fair young Priestess— 
| seated within a porch which shaded the 
door of the pavilion, and bending in- 
tently over a small volume that lay un- 
rolled on her lap. 

Her face was but half-turned towards 
me; and as she, once or twice, raised 
her eyes to the warm sky, whose light 
fell, softened through the trellis, over 
her cheek, I found all those feelings of 
reverence, which she had inspired me 
with in the chapel, return. There was 
/even a purer and holier charm around 
her countenance, thus seen by the nat- 
ural light of day, than in those dim and 
unhallowed regions below. She was 
now looking, too, direct to the glorious 
sky, and her pure eyes and that heaven, 
so worthy of each other, met. 


1 “Tor et lazur brillent en bandes longi- 
tudinales sur leur corps entier, et leur queue 
est du plus beau bleu celeste.” Sonnini 

{Un eanal.” says Maillet, ‘‘trés-profond et 
| tres-lurge y voituroit les eaux du Nii.” 


. 


THE EPICUREAN. 


After contemplating her for a few 
moments, with little less than adoration, 
TL rose gently from my resting-place, and 
approached the pavilion. But the mere 
movement had startled her from her 
devotion, and, blushing and confused, 
she covered the volume with the folds 
of her robe. 

In the art of winning upon female 
confidence, I had long, of course, been 
schooled; and, now that to the lessons 
of gallantry the inspiration of love was 
added, my ambition to pe and to in- 
terest could hardly fail, it may be sup- 
posed, of success. I soon found, how- 
cyer, how much less fluent is the heart 
than the faney, and how very different 
may be the operations of making love 
and feeling it. 
greeting now exchanged between us, it 
was evident that the gay, the enterpris- 
ing Epicurean was little Jess embar- 
rassed than the secluded Priestess ;— 
and, after one two ineffectual efforts to 
converse, the eyes of both turned hash- 


fully away, and we relapsed into si- | 


dence. 
, From this situation—the result of ti- 
midity on one side, and of a feeling al- 
together new on the other—we were, at 
length, relieved, after an interval of es- 
trangement, by the boatmen announcing 
that the Nile was in sight. ‘The coun- 
tenanee of the young Lgyptian bright- 
ened at this intelligence ; and the smile 
with which I congratulated ber upon 
the speed of our yoyage was responded 
to hy another from her, so full of grati- 
tude, that already an instinctive sympa- 
thy seemed established between us. 
Ye were now on the point of enter- 
ing that sacred river, of whose sweet 
waters the exile drinks in his dreams— 
for a draught of whose flood the royal 
daughters of the Ptolemics,* when far 
away, on foreign thrones, have been 
known to sigh in the midst of their 
splendor. As our boat, with slackened 
sail, was gliding into the current, an in- 
gary from the boatmen, whether they 
should anchor for the night in the Nile, 

* Anciennement on portoit les eaux du Nil 
jusqn’’d des coutrcees fort éloignées, et surtout 
chez les princesses du sang des Ptolomées, 
marices dans des familles ¢trangéres.""—De 
Paw. 

The water thus conveyed to other lands was, 
as we may collect from Juvenal, chiefly in- 


In the few words of | 


735 


| first reminded me of the ignorance in 


which I still remained, with respect to 
the motive or destination of our voyage- 
Embarrassed by their question, I di- 
rected my eyes towards the Priestess,. 
whom I sav waiting for my answer with 
a look of anxiety, which this silent ref- 
erence to her wishes at once dispelled. 
Unfolding eagerly the volume with 
which I had seen her so much occupied, 
she took from between its folds a small 
leaf of papyrus, on which there appeared 
to be some faint lines of drawing, and 
after looking upon it thoughtfully for a 
few moments, placed it, with an agi- 
tated hand, in mine. 

In the mean time, the boatmen had 
taken in their sail, and the yacht. drove 
slowly down the river with the current ; 
while, by a light which had been kindled 
at sunset on the deck, [stood examining 
the leaf that the Priestess had given me 
—her dark eyes fixed anxiously on my 
countenance all the while. The lines 
traced upon the papyrus were so faint as 
to be almost invisible, and I was for 
some time wholly unable to form a con- 
jecture as to their import. At. length, 
however, I succeeded in making out. 
that they were a sort of map, or out- 
lines—traced slightly and unsteadily 
with a Memphian reed—of a part of 
‘that mountainous ridge by which Upper 
| Egypt is bounded to the east, together 
“with the names, or rather emblems, of 
the chief towns in its immediate neigh- 
borhood. 

It was thither, I now saw clearly, 

‘that the young Priestess wished to pur- 
sue her course. Without further delay, 
therefore, I ordered the boatmen to set. 
/our yacht before the wind, and ascend 
the current. My command was promptly 
obeyed: the white sail rose again mto 
the region of the breeze, and the satic- 
faction that beamed in every feature of 
the fair Egyptian showed that the 
quickness with which I had attended to. 
her wishes was not unfelt by her. The 
moon had now risen; and though the 
current was against us, the Etesiamr 
tended for the use of the ‘Temples of Isis, es- 
tablished in those countries. 


Si candida jusserit Io, 
Ibit ad Agypti finem, calidaque petitas 
A Meroé portabit aquas, ut spargat in mde 
Isidis, antiquo que proxima surgit ovili. 
Sat. vi. 


736 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


wind of the season blew strongly up the 
river, and we were soon floating before 
it, through the rich plains and groves of 
the Said. 

The love with which this simple girl 
had inspired me, was partly, perhaps, 
from the mystic scenes and situations in 
which I had seen her, not wnmingled 
with a tinge of superstitious awe, under 
the influence of which I felt the natural 
buoyaney of my spirit repressed. The 
few words that had passed between us 
on the subject of our route had some- 
“What loosened this spell; and what I 
wanted of vivacity and confidence was 
more than compensated by the tone of 
deep sensibility which love had awak- 
ened in their place. 

We had not proceeded far, before the 
glittering of lights at a distance, and the 
shooting up of fireworks, at intervals, 
into the air, apprized us that we were 
then approaching one of those night- 
fairs, or marts, which it is the custom, 
at this season, to hold upon the Nile. 
To me the scene was ‘familiar; but tomy 
young companion it was evidently a 
new world; and the mixture of alarm 
and delight with which she gazed, from 
under her veil, upon the busy scene into 


which we now sailed, gave an air of | 


innocence to her beauty, which still 
more heightened its every charm. 

It was one of the widest parts of the 
river; and the whole surface, from one 
‘bank to the other, was covered with 
boats. Along the banks of a green 
island, in the middle of the stream, lay 
anchored the galleys’ of the principal 
traders—large floating bazaars, bearing 
each the name of its owner, * emblazoned 
in letters of flame, upon .the stern. 
Over their decks were spread out, in 
gay confusion, the products of the loom 


veils, for which the female embroiderers 
of the Nile are so celebrated, and to 
which the name of Cleopatra lends a 
traditional charm. In each of the other 
galleys was exhibited some branch of 
Egyptian workmanship—vases of the 
fragrant porcelain of On—cups of that 
frail crystal,t whose hues change like 


those of the pigeon’s plumage—enam- 
elled amulets graven with the head of 


Anubis, and necklaces and bracelets of 


the black beans of Abyssinia.t 


While Commerce was thus displaying 


her various luxuries in one quarter, 
‘In every other, the spirit of Pleasure, 


| over 


| 


| air. 


in all its countless shapes, swarmed 
the waters. Nor was the 
festivity confined to the river alone; 
as along the banks of the island, 
and on the shores, illuminated mansions 
were seen glittering through the trees, 


| from whence sounds of music and mer- 


riment came. In some of the boats 
were bands of minstrels, who, from 
time to time, answered each other, like 
echoes, across the wave ; and the notes 
of the lyre, the flageolet, and the sweet 
lotus-wood fiute,§ were heard, in the 
pauses of revelry, dying along the 
waters. 

Meanwhile, from other boats stationed 
in the least lighted places, the workers 
of fire sent forth their wonders into the 
Bursting out suddenly from time 
to time, as if in the very exuberance of 


joy, these sallies of flame appeared to 


reach the sky, and there, breaking into 
a shower of sparkles, shed sucha splen- 


dor around, as brightened even the 
white Arabian hills—making them shine 


and needle of Egypt—rich carpets of | 


Memphis, and likewise those variegated 


* “Le nom du maitre y ¢toit écrit, pendant 
la nuit, en lettres de feu.”—Maillet. 

+Called Alassontes. For their brittleness 
Martial is an authority :— 


Tolle, puer, calices, tepidique toreumatta Nili, | 


Et mihi seeuraé pocula trade manu. 

“Sans parler ici des coupes d’un verre porté 
jusqua la pureté du erystal, ni de celles qu’on 
appeloit Alassontes, et qu’on suppose avoir 
représenté des figures dont les couleurs change- 
oient suivant laspect sous lequel on les re- 
gardoit, & peu pres comme ce qu’on nomme 
yulgairement gorye-de-pigeon,” &e.—De Pauw. 


as doth the brow of Mount Atlas at 
night,|| when the fire from his own bo- 
som is playing around its snows. 

The opportunity this mart afforded 
us, of providing ourselyes with some less 


jremarkable habiliments than those in 


τ The bean of the Glycine, which is so beau- 
tiful as to be strung into necklaces and bruee- 
lets, is generally known by the name of the 
black bean of A byssinia.”—Niebuhr. 

§ See M. Villoteaw on the musical instru- 


ments of the Hgyptians. 

| Solinus speaks of the snowy summit of 
Mount Atlas glittering with flames at night. 
In the account of the Periplus ot Elanno, as 
well as in that of Hudoxus, we read, that as 
those navigators were coasting this part of 
Africa, torrents of light were seen to fall on 
the sea. 


THE EPICUREAN, 


737 


which we had escaped from that nether 
world, was too seasonable not to be 
gladly taken advantage of by both. For 
myself, the strange mystic garb which 
I wore was sufficiently concealed by my 
Grecian mantle, which I had fortunate- 
ly thrown around me on the night ofmy 
watch. But the thin veil of my com- 
panion was a far less efficient disguise. 
She had, indeed, flung away the golden 
beetles from her hair; but the sacred 
robe of her order was still too visible, 
and the stars of the bandalet shone 
brightly through her veil. 

Most gladly, therefore, did she avail 
herself of this opportunity of a change; 
and, as she took from out a casket— 
which, with the volume I had seen her 
reading, appeared to be her only treas- 
ure—a small jewel, to give in exchange 
for the simple garments she had chosen, 
there fell out, at the same time, the 
very cross of silver which 1 had seen her 
kiss, as may be remembered, in the 
monumental chapel, and which was _ af- 
terwards pressed to my own lips. This 
link between us, (for such 1t now ap- 
peared to my imagination,) called up 
again in my heart all the burning fee 
ings of that moment ;—and, had I not ab- 
ruptly turned away, my agitation would 
have but too plainly betrayed itself. 

The object, for which we had delayed 
in this gay scene, having been accom- 
plished, the sail was again spread, and 
we proceeded on owr course up the river. 
The sounds and the lights we had left 
behind died gradually away, and we 
now floated along in moonlight and 
silence once more. Sweet dews, wor- 
thy of being cailed “ the tears of Isis,”* 


' fell refreshingly through the air, and 


every plant and flower sent its fragrance 
to meet them. The wind, just strong 
enough to bear us smoothly against the 
current, scarce stirred the shadow of the 
tamarisks on the water. As the inhab- 
itants from all quarters were collected 
at the night-fair, the Nile was more than 
usually still and solitary. Such a si- 
lence, indeed, prevailed, that, as we 

_* “Per lacrymas, vero, Isidis intelligo efflu- 
via quiedam Lune, quibus tantam vim yiden- 
tur tribuisse Agypti.’ Jablonski.—He is of 
opinion that the superstition of the Nucta, or 
miraculous drop, is a relic of the yeneration 
paid to the dews, as the tears of Isis. 

| Travels of Captain Mangles. 


glided near the shore, we could hear the 
rustling of the acacias,t as the chame- 
leons ran up their stems. It was, alto- 
gether, sucha night as only the climate 
of Egypt can boast, when the whole 
scene around lies Julled in that sort of 
bright tranquillity, which may be imag- 
ined to light the slumbers of those hap- 
py spirits, who are said to rest in the 
Valley of the Moon,{ on their way to 
heaven. 

By such a light, and at such an hour, 
seated, side by side, on the deck of that 
bark, did we pursue our course up the 
lonely Nile—each a mystery to the 
other—our thoughts, our objects, our 
very names a secret ;—separated, too, 
till now, by destinies so different; the 
one, a gay voluptuary of the Garden of 
Athens; the other, a secluded Priestess 
of the Temple of Memphis ;—and the 
only relation yet established between us 
being that dangérous one of love, pas- 
sionate love, on one side, and the most 
feminine and confiding dependence on 
the other. : 

The passing adventure of the night- 
fair had not only dispelled a little of our 
mutual reserve, but had luckily fur- 
nished us with a subject on which we 
could converse without embarrassment, 
From this topic I took care to lead her, 
without any interruption, to others— 
being fearful lest our former silence 
should return, and the music of her 
voice again be lost to me. It was only, 
indeed, by thus indirectly unburdening 
my heart that Iwas enabled to avoid 
the disclosure of all I thought and felt ; 
and the restless rapidity with which I 
flew from subject to subject was but an 
effort to escape from the only one in 
which my heart was really interested. 

“How bright and happy,” said I— 
pointing up to Sothis, the fair Star ofthe 
Waters,§ which was just then shining 
brilliantly over our heads—‘“‘How bright 
and happy this world ought to be, if, as 
your Egyptian sages assert, yon pure 
and beautiful luminary was Its birth- 
star !”’|| Then, still leaning back, and 


t Plutarch. Dupuis, tom. x. The Mani- 
cheans held the same belief.—See Beausobre, p. 
565. 

§ Ὑδραγωγον is the epnnal applied to this 
star by Plutarch. de Tsid. 

"Ἢ Σωθεως ανατολὴ γενέσεως καταρχουσα 
τὴς εἰς τοι Kogpov.— Porphyr. de Antro Nymph. 


738 


letting my eyes wander over the firma- 
ment, as if seeking to disengagethem from 
the fascination which they dreaded— 
“To the study,” I exclaimed, ‘for 
ages, of skies like this, may the pensive 
and mystic character of your nation be 
traced. That mixture of pride and 
melancholy which naturally arises at 
the sight of those eternal lights shming 
out of darkness ;—that sublime, but sad- 
dened, anticipation of a Future, which 
steals sometimes over the soul in the 
silence of such an hour, when, though 
Death appears to reign in the deep stili- 
ness of earth, there are yet those bea- 
cons of Immortality burnimg in the 
sky.” 

Pausing, as Luttered the word ‘im- 
mortality,” with a sigh to thmk how 
little my heart echoed to my lips, I 
looked in the face of my companion, 
and saw that it had hehted up, as I 
spoke, into a glow of holy animation, 
such as Faith alone gives;—such as 
Hope herself wears, when she is dream- 
ing of heaven. Touched by the con- 
trast, and gazing upon her with mourn- 


ful tenderness, | found my arms half 


opened, to clasp her to my heart, while 
the words died away inandibly upon my 
lips,—‘‘ Thou, too, beautiful maiden! 
must thou, too, die forever?” 

My self-command, I felt, had nearly 
deserted me. Rising abruptly from my 
seat, I walked to the middle of the deck, 
and stood, for some moments, uncon- 
sciously gazing upon one of those fires, 
which—according to the custom of all 
who travel by night on the Nile—our 
boatmen had kindled, to scare away the 
crocodiles from the vessel. But it was 
in vain that I endeavored to compose 
my spirit. Every effort I made but 
more deeply convinced me, that, till 
the mystery which hung round that 
maiden should be solved —till the secret. 
with which my own bosom labored, 
should be disclosed—it was fruitless to 
attempt even a semblance of tranquillity. 

My resolution was therefore taken ;— 
to lay open, at once, the feelings of my 
own heart, as far as such revealment 
might be hazarded, without startling the 
timid innocence of my companion. Thus 
resolved, I resumed my seat, with more 
composure, by her side; and taking 
from my bosom the small mirror w hich 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


she had dropped m the Temple, and 
which I had ever smce worn suspended. 
round my neck, presented it with a trem- 
bhug hand to ‘her view. The boatmen 
had Sust kindled one of their mght-fires 
near us, and its light, as she leaned for- 
ward to look at the mirror, fell upon her 
face. 

The quick blush of surprise with which 
she recognised it to be hers, and her look 
of bashful yet eager mquiry, in raising 
her eyes to mine, were appeals to which 
Iwas not, of course, tardy in answer- 
ing. Beginning with the first moment 
when I saw her in the Temple, and pass- 
ing hastily, but with words that burned 
as they went, over the impression which 
she had then left upon my heart and 
fancy, I proceeded to describe the par- 
ticulars of my descent into the pyra- 
mid—my surprise and adoration at the 
door of the chapel—my encounter with 
the Trials cf Initiation, so mysteriously 
prepared for me, and all the various vis- 
ionary wonders I had witnessed in that 
region, till the moment when I had seen 
her stealing from under the Veils to ap- 
proach me. 

Though, in detailing these events, I 
had said but little of the feelings they 
had awakened m me—though my lips 
had sent back many a sentence, unut- 
tered, there was still enough that could 
neither be subdued nor disguised, and 
which, like that hght from under the 
veils of her own Isis, glowed through 
every word that I spoke. When I told 
of the scene in the chapel—of the silent 
interview which I had witnessed be- 
tween the dead and the  living—the 
maiden leaned down her head and wept, 
as froma heart full of tears. It seemed 
a pleasure to her, however, to listen; 
and, when she looked at me again, 
there was an earnest and affectionate 
cordiality m her eyes, as if the knowl- 
edge of my having been present at that 
mournful scene had opened anew source 
of sympathy and intelligence between 
us. So neighboring are the fountains of 
Love and Sorrow, and so imperceptibly 
do they often mingle their streams. 

Little, indeed, as I was guided by art 
or design, in my manner and conduct 
towards this innocent girl, not all the 
most experienced gallantry of the Gar- 
den could have dictated a policy half so 


THE EPICUREAN. 


seductive as that which my new master, 
Love, now taught me. The same ar- | 
dor, which, if shown at once, and with | 
out reserve, might probably have 
startled a heart so little prepared for it, | 
being now checked and softened by the | 
timidity of real love, won its way with- | 
out alarm, and, when most diffident of | 
success, was then most surely on its 
way to triumph. Like one whose slum- 
bers are gradually broken by sweet | 
music, the maiden’s heart was awakened | 
without being disturbed. She followed | 
the course of the charm, unconscious | 
whither it led, nor was even aware of | 
the flame she had lighted in another’s 
bosom, till startled by the reflection of 
its glimmering in her own. 

Impatient as I was toappeal to her 
generosity and sympathy, for a similar 

roof of confidence to that which { had 
just given, the night was now too far 
advanced for me to impose upon her 
such a task. After exchanging a few 
words, in which, though little met the 
ear, there Was, on both sides, a tone and 
manner that spoke far more than lan- 
guage, we took a lingering leave of each 
other for the night, with every prospect, 
I fondly hoped, of being still together in 
our dreams. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Ir was so near the dawn of day when 
we parted that we found the sun sink- 
ing westward when we rejoined each 
other. The smile, so frankly cordial, 
with which she met me, might have 
been taken for the greeting of a long- 
mellowed friendship, did not the blush 
and the cast-down eyelid that followed 
betray symptoms ofa feeling newer and 
less calm. For myself, lightened as I 
Was, in some degree, by the avowal 
which I had made, Iwas yet too con- 
scious of the new aspect thus given to 
our intercourse, not to feel some little 
alarm at the prospect of returning to 
the theme. We were both, therefore, 
alike willing to allow our attention to be 
diverted, by the variety of strange ob- 
jects that presented themselves on the 


*Vide Wilford on Egypt and the Nile, Asi- 
atic Researches. 
t “A lépoque de la crue le Nil Vert charrie 


739 


way, from a subject that evidently both 
were alike unwilling to approach. 

The river was now all stirring with 
commerce and life. Every instant we 
met with boats descending the current, 
so wholly independent of aid from sail 
or oar, that the mariners sat idly on the 
deck as they shot along, either singing 
or playing upon their double-reeded 
pipes. The greater number of these boats 
came laden with those large emeralds, 
from the mine in the desert, whose 
colors, it is said, are brightest at the full 
of the moon; while some brought ear- 
goes of frankincense from the acacia 


| groves near the Red Sea. On the decks of 


others, that had been, as we learned, to 
the Golden Mountains* beyond Syene, 
were heaped blocks and fragments of 
that sweet-smelling wood,t which is 
yearly washed down, by the Green Nile 
of Nubia, at the season of the floods. 

Our companions up the stream were 
far less numerous. Occasionally a boat, 
returning lightened from the fair of last 
night, shot rapidly past us, with those 
high sails that catch every breeze from 
over the hills ;—while, now and then, we 
overtook one of those barges full of 
bees,t that are sent at this season to 
colonize the gardens of the south, and 
take advantage of the first flowers after 
the inundation has passed away. 

For a short time, this constant varie- 
ty of objects enabled us to divert so far 
our conversation as to keep it from 
lighting upon the one, sole subject, 
round which it constantly hovered. But 
the effort, as might be expected, was 
not long successful. As evening ad- 
vanced, the whole scene became more 
solitary. We less frequently ventured 
to look upon each other, and our inter- 
vals of silence grew more long. 

It was near sunset, when, in passing 
a small temple on the shore, whose 
porticoes were now full of the evening 
light, we saw issuing from a thicket of 
acanthus near it, a train of young maid- 
ens gracefully linked together in the 
dance by stems of the lotus held at 
arms’ length between them. Their tresses 


/were also wreathed with this gay em- 


blem of the season, and in such profu- 


les planches d’un bois qui a une odeur sem- 
blable ἃ celle de lencens.”’ Quatremére. 
+ Maillet. 


740 MOORE’S 


sion were its white flowers twisted 
around their waists and arms, ἢ that they 
might have been taken, as they lightly 
bounded along the bank, for Nymphs of 
the Nile, then freshly risen from their 
bright gardens under the wave. 

After looking for a few minutes at this 
sacred dance, the maiden turned away 
her eyes, with a look of pain, as if the 
remembrances it recalled were of no 
welcome nature. This momentary re- 
trospect, this glimpse into the past, ap- 
peared to offer a sort of clue to the 
secret for which I panted ;—and accord- 
ingly I proceeded, as gradually and deli- 
eately as my impatience would allow, 
to avail myself of the opening. Her 
own frankness, however, relieved me 
from the embarrassment of much ques- 
tioning. She appeared even to feel that | 
the confidence I sought was due to me; 
and beyond the natural hesitation of 
maidenly modesty, not a shade of re- 
serve or evasion appeared. 

To attempt to repeat, in her own 
touching words, the simple story which 
she now related to me, would be like 
endeavoring to note down some un- 
premeditated strain of music, with 
all those fugitive graces, those fe- 
licities of the moment, which no art 
can restore, as they first met the ear. 
From a feeling, too, of humility, she had | 
omitted in her short narrative, several 
particulars relating to herself, which I 
afterwards learned ;—while others, not 
less important, she but slightly passed 
over, from a fear of offending the preju- 
dices of her heathen hearer. 

I shall, therefore, give her story, not 
as she, herself, sketched it, but as it 
was afterwards filled up by a pious and 
venerable hand—far, far more worthy 
than mine of being associated with the 
memory of such purity. 


STORY OF ALETHE. 


“’T HE mother of this maiden was the 
beautiful Theora of Alexandria, who, 
though a native of that city, was de- 
scended from Grecian parents. When 
very young, Theora was one of the 


* «On les voit comme jadis ecneillir dans les 
champs des tiges du lotus, signes du déborde- 
ment et présages de l’'abondance; ils s’envelop- 


pent les bras et le corps avee les longues tiges 


WORKS. 


seven maidens selected to note down 
the discourses of the eloquent Origen, 
who, at that period, presided over the 
School of Alexandria, and was in all the 
fulness of his fame both among Pagans 
and Christians. Endowed richly with 
the learning of both creeds, he brought. 
the natural light of philosophy to illus- 
trate the mysteries of faith, and was 
then only proud of his knowledge of the 
wisdom of this world, when he found it. 
minister usefully to the triumph of di- 
vine truth. 

“* Although he had courted in vain the 
crown of martyrdom, it was _ held, 
through his whole life, suspended over 
his head ; and, in more than one perse- 
cution, he bad shown himself cheerfully 
ready to die for that holy faith which he 
lived but to testify and uphold. On one 
of these occasions, his tormentors, hay- 
having habited him like an Hgyptian 
priest, placed him upon the steps of the 
Temple of Serapis, and commanded 
that he should, in the manner of the Pa- 
gan ministers, present palm-branches to 
the multitude who went up into the 
shrine. But the courageous Christian 
disappointed their views. Holding 


forth the branches with an unshrinking 


hand, he cried aloud, ‘Come hither, 
and take the branch,—not of an Idol 
Temple, but of Christ.’ 

‘‘So indefatigable was this learned 
Father in his studies, that, while com- 
posing his Commentary on the Serip- 
tures, t he was attended by seven scribes 
or notaries, who relieved each other in 
recording the dictates of his eloquent 
tongue; while the same number of 
young females, selected for the beauty 


| of their penmanship, were employed in 


arranging and transcribing the precious 
leaves. 

“ς Among the scribes so selected, was 
the fair young Theora, whose parents, 
though attached to the pagan worship, 
were not unwilling to profit by the ac- 
complishments of their daughter, thus 
oceupied ina task, which they looked 
on as purely mechanical. To the maid 
herself, however, her employment 


fleuries, et parcourent les rues,”’ &c,— Deserip: 
tion des Tombeaua des Rois, par M. Costaz. 

+ It was during the composition of his great 
eritieal work, the Hexapla, that Origen em- 
ployed these female scribes. 


ieee Ee ϑῳἀνων, 


> 


et oe a 


THE EPICURBAN. 741 


brought far other feelings and conse- 
quences. She read anxiously as she 
wrote, and the divine truths, so elo- 
ΠΩΣ illustrated, found their way, by 
egrees, from the page to her heart. 
Deeply, too, as the written words affect- 
ed her, the discourses from the lips of 
the great teacher himself, which she had 
frequent opportunities of hearing, sunk 
still more deeply into hermind. There 
was, at once, a sublimity and gentleness 
in his views of religion, which, to the 
tender hearts and lively imaginations 
of women, never failed to appeal with 
conyincing power. Accordingly, the 
list of his Rindde pupils was numerous ; 
and the names of Barbara, Juliana, 
Herais, and others, bear honorable tes- 
timony to his influence over that sex. 

“To Theora the feeling, with which 
his discourses inspired her, was like a 
new soul—a consciousness of spiritual 
existence, never before felt. By the 
eloquence of the comment she was 
awakened into admiration of the text; 
and when, by the kindness of a Catechu- 
men of the school, who had been struck 
by her innocent zeal, she, for the first 
time, became possessor of a copy of the 
Seriptures, she could not sleep for think- 
ing of her sacred treasure. With a mix- 
ture of pleasure and fear she hid it from 
all eyes, and was like one who had re- 
ceived a divine guest under her roof, and 
felt fearful of betraying its divinity to 
the world. 

“Α heart so awake would have been 
with ease secured to the faith, had her 
opportunities of hearing the sacred word 
continued. But circumstances arose to 
deprive her of this advantage. The 
mild Origen, long harassed and thwart- 
ed in his labors by the tyranny of 
Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria, was 
obliged to relinquish his school and fly 
from Egypt. The occupation of the fair 
scribe was, therefore, at an end: her in- 
tercourse with the followers of the new 
faith ceased ; and the growing enthusi- 
asm of her heart gave way to more 
worldly impressions. 

‘Among other earthly feelings, love 
conduced not a httle to wean her 
thoughts from the true religion, While 
* Non ego preetulerim Babylonica picta superbe 


Texta, Semiramia qu variantur acu. 
‘ Martial. 


still very young, she became the wife of 
a Greek adventurer, who had come to 
Egypt as a purchaser of that nch tapes- 
try,* in which the needles of Persia are 
rivalled by the looms of the Nile. Hay- 
ing taken his young bride to Memphis, 
which was still the great mart of this 
merchandise, he there, in the midst of 
his speculations, died—leaving his wid- 
ow on the pomt of beeoming a mother, 
while, as yet, but m her nineteenth 
year. 

‘« Por single and unprotected females, 
it has been, at all times, a favorite re- 
source, to seek for employment m the 
service of some of those great temples 
by which so large a portion of the 
wealth and power of Egypt 1s absorbed. 
In most of these imstitutions there 
exists an order of Priestesses, which, 
though not hereditary, like that of the 
Priests, 1s provided for by ample endow- 
ments, and confers that dignity and sta- 
tion, with which, in a government so 
theocratic, Religion 1s sure to invest 
even her humblest handmaids. From 
the general pohey of the Sacred College 
of Memphis, we may take for granted, 
that an accomplished female, like 
Theora, found but little difficulty in 
being elected one of the Priestesses of 
Isis ; and it was in the service of the 
subterranean shrines that her ministry 
chiefly lay. 

“ Here, a month or two after her ad- 
mission, she gave birth to Alethe, who 
first opened her eyes among the unholy 
pomps and specious miracles of this 
mysterious region. Though Theora, as 
we have seen, had been diverted by 
other feelings from her first enthusiasm 
for the Christian faith, she had never 
wholly forgot the impression then made 
upon her. The sacred volume, which 
the pious Catechumen had given her, 
was still treasured with care; and, 
though she seldom opened its pages, 
there was always an idea of sanctity 
associated with it in her memory, and 
often would she sit to look upon it with 
reverential pleasure, recalling the hap- 
piness she had felt when it was first 
made her own. 

‘« The leisure of her new retreat, and 
the lone melancholy of widowhood, 
led her still more frequently to indulge 
in such thoughts, and to recur to those 


742 


consoling truths which she had heard in 
the school of Alexandria. She now 
began to peruse eagerly the sacred vol- 
ume, drinking deep of the fountam of 
which she before but tasted, and feeling 
—what thousands of mourners, since 
her, have felt—that Christianity is the 
true and only religion of the sorrowful. 

“his study of her secret hours be- 
came still more dear to her, as well from 
the peril with which, at that period, 
it was attended, as from the necessity 
she felt herself under of concealing 
from those around her the precious light 
that had been thus kindled m her own 
heart. Too timid to encounter the 
fierce persecution which awaited all 
who were suspected of a leaning towards 
Christianity, she continued to officiate 
in the pomps and ceremonies of the 
Temple ;—though, often, with such 
remorse of soul, that she would pause, 
in the midst of the rites, and pray in- 
wardly to God, that he would forgive 
this profanation of his Spirit. 

*«In the mean time her daughter, the 
young Alethe, grew up still lovelier 
than herself, and added, every hour, 
both to her happiness and her fears. 
When arrived at a sufficient age, she 
was taught, like the other children of 
the Priestesses, to take a share in the 
service and ceremonies of the shrines. 
The duty of some of these young servyi- 
tors* was to ivok after the flowers for the 
altar ;—of others, to take care that the 
sacred vases were filled every day with 
fresh water from the Nile. The task of 
some was to preserve, in perfect polish, 
those silver images of the Moon which 
the priests carried in processions ; while 
others were, as we have secn, employed 
im feeding the consecrated animals, and 
mm keeping their plumes and scales 
bright for the admiring eyes of their 
worshippers. 

“The office allotted to Alethe—the 
most honorable of these minor minis- 
tries—was to wait upon the sacred birds 
of the Moon, to feed them daily with 
those eggs from the Nile which they 
loved, and proyide for their use that 


* De Pauw, who differs in opinion from those 
who suppose women to be eligible to the higher 
sacerdotal offices in Egypt, thus enumerates 
ihe tasks to which their superintendence was, 
he thinks, confined:—‘‘ Les femmes n'ont pu 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


purest water, which alone these delicate 
birds will touch. This ennployment was 
the dehght of her childish homrs; and 
that ibis, which Alciphron (the Mpicur- 
ean) saw her dance round m the Temple, 
was, of all the sacred flock, her especial 
favorite, and had been daily fondled and 
fed by ber from infaney. 

‘*Music, as being one of the chief 
spells of this enchanted region, was an 
accomplishent required of all its min- 
istrants: and the harp, the lyre, and the 
sacred flute, sounded nowhere so sweetly 
as through these subterranean gardens. ἡ 
The chief object, indeed, in the educa- . 
tion of the youth of the Temple, was to 
fit them, by every grace of art and 
nature, to give effect to the illusion of 
those shows and phantasms, in which 
the entire charm and secret of Initiation 
lay. 

‘Among the means employed to 
support the old system of superstition, 
against the infidelity and, still more, 
the new Faith that menaced it, was an 
increased display of splendor and mar- 
vels in those mysteries for which Egypt 
has so long been celebrated. Of these 
ceremonies so many imitations had, 
under various names, multiplied 
throughout Europe, that at length the 
parent superstition ran a risk of being 
eclipsed by its progeny; and, in order 
still to rank as the first Priesthood in the 
world, it became necessary for those of 
Egypt to remain still the best im- 
postors. 

“ Accordingly, every contrivance that 
art could devise, or labor execute— 
every resource that the wonderful know]- 
edge of the Priests, in pyrotechny, me- 
chanics, and dioptrics, could command 
—was brought into action to heighten 
the effect of their My >ries, and give 
an air of enchantment to everything 
connected with them. 

“The final scene of beatification—the 
Elysium, into which the Initiate was 
received—formed, of course, the leading 
attraction of these ceremonies ; and to 
render it captivating alike to the senses 
of the man of pleasure, and the imagin- 


tout au plus dans l’ordre secondaire s'acquitter 
que de quelques emplois sans conséquence, 
comme de nourrir des searabées, des mnusaraig- 
nes et (autres petits animaux sacrés.’"—Tom. 
1. 880. 2. 


ors 4 »ν 


THE EPICUREAN. 


ation of the spiritualist, was the great 
object to which the attention of the 
Sacred College was devoted. By the 
influence of the Priests of Memphis over 
those of the other Temples they had 
succeeded in extending their subterra- 
nean frontier, both to the north and 
south, so as to include, within their 
ever-lighted Paradise, some of the gar- 
dens excavated for the use of the other 
Twelve Shrines. 

“The beauty of the young Alethe, 
the touching sweetness of her voice, 
and the sensibility that breathed 
throughout her every look and move- 


ment, rendered her a powerful auxiliary | 


/ 743 


“The unity and perfect goodness of 
the Creator; the fall of the human soul 
into corruption, its struggles with the 
darkness of this world, and its final re- 
demption and reascent to the source of 
all spirit ;—these natural solutions of 
the problem of our existence, these ele- 
mentary grounds of all religion and yvir- 
tue, which Theora had heard illustrated 
by her Christian teacher, lay also, she 
knew, veiled under the theology of 
Egypt; and to impress thein, in their 
abstract purity, upon the mind of her 


| susceptible pupil, was, in default of 


if such appeals to the imagination. | 
| devoting their mornings to the service 


She had been, accordingly, in her very 
childhood, selected from among her fair 
companions, as the most worthy repre- 
sentative of spiritual loveliness, in those 


pictures of Hlysium—those scenes of 


another world—by which not only the 
fancy, but the reason, of the excited 
Aspirants was dazzled. 

“To the innocent child herself these 
shows were pastime. But to Theora, 
who knew too well the imposition to 
which they were subservient, this pro- 
fanation of all that she loved was a per- 
petual source of horror and remorse. 
Often would she—when Alethe stood 
smiling before her, arrayed, perhaps, as 
a spirit of the Elysian world—turn 
away, with a shudder, from the happy 
child, almost fancying she saw already 
the shadows of sin descending over that 
innocent brow, as she gazed upon it. 

* As the intellect of the young maid 
became more active and inquiring, the 
apprehensions and difficulties of the 
mother increased. Afraid to communi- 
cate her own precious secret, lest she 
should involve her child in the dangers 
that encompassed it, she yet felt it to be 
no less a cruelty than a crime to leave 


her wholly immersed in the darkness of | 


Paganism. In this dilemma, the only 
resource that remained to her was to 
select, and disengage from the dross 
that surrounded them, those pure parti 


eles of truth which lie at the bottom of 


all religions ;—those feelings, rather than 
doctrines, of which God has never left 
his creatures destitute, and which, in all 
ages, have furnished, to those who 
sought after it, some clue to his glory. 


of the Temple, to 


more heavenly lights, her sole ambition 
and care. 
“Tt was generally their habit, after 


ass their evenings 


/and nights in one of those small man- 


sions above ground, allotted, within the 
precincts of the Sacred College, to some 
of the most favored Priestesses. Here, 


out of the reach of those gross supersti- 


tions, which pursued them, at every 


| step, below, she endeavored to infotm, 


as far as she could venture, the mind 
of her beloved girl; and found it lean 
as naturally and instinctively to truth, 
as plants long shut up m darkness will, 
when light is let in upon them, incline 
themselves to its rays. 

“Frequently, as they sat together on 
the terrace at night, admiring that glo- 
rious assembly of stars, whose beauty 
first misled mankind into idolatry, she 
would explain to the young listener by 
what gradations of error it was that the 
worship, thus transferred from the-Crea- 
tor to the creature, sunk still lower and 
lower in the scale of being, till man, 
at length, presumed to deify man, and 
by the most monstrous of inversions, 
heaven was made the mere mirror of 
earth, reflecting back all its most earthly 
features. 

ΚΕ Bver in the Temple itself, the anx- 


‘ious mother would endeavor to interpose 


her purer lessons among the idolatrous 
ceremonies in which they were engaged. 
When the favorite ibis of Alethe took its 
station upon the shrine, and the young 
maiden was seen approaching, with all 
the gravity of worship, the very bird 
which she had played with but an hour 
before—when the acacia-bough, which 
she herself bad piucked, seemed to ac-° 


7A4 MOORE’S 


WORKS. 


x 


quire a sudden sacredness in her eyes, 
as soon as the priest had breathed upon 
it—on all such occasions Theora, though 
with fear and trembling, would ven- 
ture to suggest to the youthful wor- 
shipper the distinction that should be 
drawn between the sensible object of 
adoration, and that spiritual, unseen 
Deity, of which it was but the remem- 
brancer or type. 

“Ὁ With sorrow, however, she soon 
discovered that, in thus but partially 
letting in light upon a mind far too ar- | 
dent to rest satisfied with such glim- 
merings, she but bewildered the heart 
which she meant to guide, and cut 
down the feeble hope around which its | 
faith twined, without substituting any 
other support in its place. As the | 
beauty, too, of Alethe began to attract 
all eyes, new fears crowded upon the 
mother’s heart ;—fears, in which she 
was but too much justified by the char- 
acters of some of those around her. 

“Tn this sacred abode, as may easily 
be conceived, morality did not always 
go hand in hand with religion. The hy- 
pocritical and ambitious Oreus, who 
was, at this period, High Priest of Mem- 
phis, was a man, in every respect, qual- 
ified to preside over a system of such 
splendid fraud. He had reached that 
effective time of life, when enough of 
the warmth and vigor of youth remains 
to give animation to the counsels of 
age. But, in his instance, youth had 
left only the baser passions behind, 
while age but brought with it a more 
refined maturity of mischief. The ad- 
vantages of a faith appealing almost 
wholly to the senses, were well under- 
stood by him; nor had he failed either 
to discover that, in order to render re- 
ligion subservient to his own interests, 
he must shape it adroitly to the inter- 
ests and passions of others. 

“The state of anxiety and remorse in 
which the mind of the hapless Theora 
was kept by the scenes, however artfully 
veiled, which she daily witnessed around 
her, became at length intolerable. No 
perils that the cause of truth could bring 
with it would be half so dreadful as this 
endurance of sinfulness and deceit. Her 
child was, as yet, pure and innocent ; 
but, without that sentinel of the soul, 
Religion, how long might she continue so? 


«This thought at once decided her: 
all other fears vanished before it. She 
resolved instantly to lay open to Alethe 
the whole secret of her soul; to make 
this child, who was her only hope on 
earth, the sharer of all her hopes in 
heaven, and then fly with her, as soon 
as possible, from this unhallowed spot, 
to the far desert—to the mountains—to 
any place, however desolate, where God 
and the consciousness of innocence 
might be with them. 

“The promptitude with which her 
young pupil caught from her the divine 
truths was even beyond what she ex- 
pected. It was like the lighting of one 
torch at another, so prepared wag 
Alethe’s mind forthe illumination. Am- 
ply, indeed, was the anxious mother 
now repaid for all her misery, by this 
perfect communion of love and faith, 
and by the delight with which she saw 
her beloved child—like the young ante- 
lope, when first led by her dam to the 
well—drink thirstily by her side, at the 
source ofall life and truth. 

“«But such happiness was not long t> 
last. The anxieties that Theora had 
suffered began to prey upon her health. 
She felt her strength daily decline; and 
the thoughts of leaving, alone and un- 
guarded in the world, that treasure 
which she had just devoted to Heayen, 
gave her a feeling of despair which but 
hastened the ebb of life. Had she put 
in practice her resolution of flying from 
this place, her child might have been 
now beyond the reach of all she dreaded, 
and, in the solitude of the desert, would 
have found at least safety from wrong. 
But the very happiness she had felt in 
her new task diverted her from this pro- 


ject ;—and it was now too late, for she 


was already dying. 

‘She still continued, however, to 
conceal the state of her health from the 
tender and sanguine girl, who, though 
observing the traces of disease on her 
mother’s cheek, little knew that they 
were the hastening footsteps of death, 
nor even thought of the possibility of 
ever losing what was so dear to her. 
Too soon, however, the moment of sep- 
aration arrived; and while the anguish 
and dismay of Alethe were in proportion 
to the security in which she had in- 
dulged, Theora, too, felt, with bitter re- 


THE EPICUREAN. 


gret, that she had sacrificed to her fond 
consideration much precious time, and 
that there now remained but a few brief 
and painful moments, for the communi- 
cation of all those wishes and instruc- 
tions on which the future destiny of the 
young orphan depended. 

“She had, indeed, time for little 


more than to place the sacred yolume 


solemnly in her hands; to implore that 
she would, at all risks, fly from this un- 
holy place ; and, pointing in the direc- 
tion of the mountains of the Said, to 
name, with her last breath, the vener- 
able man, to whom, under Heaven, she 
looked for the protection and salvation 
of her child. 

‘<The first violence of feeling to which 
Alethe gave way was succeeded by a 
fixed and tearless grief, which rendered 
her insensible, for some time, to the 
dangers of her situation. Her sole com- 
fort consisted in visiting that monu- 
mental chapel where the beautiful re- 
mains of Theora lay. There, night 
after night, in contemplation of those 
placid features, and in prayers for the 

eace of the departed spirit, did she pass 

er lonely and—however sad they were 
—happiest hours. Though the mystic 
emblems that decorated that chapel 
were but ill-suited to the slumber of a 
Christian, there was one among them, 
the Cross, which, by a remarkable coin- 
cidence, is an emblem alike common to 
the Gentile and the Christian—being, to 
the former, a shadowy type of that im- 
mortality, of which, to the latter, it is a 
substantial and assuring pledge. 

“Nightly, upon this cross, which she 
had often seen her lost mother kiss, did 
she breathe forth a solemn and heart- 
felt yow, never to abandon the faith 
which that departed spirit had be- 
queathed to her. ΤῸ such enthusiasm, 
indeed, did her heart at such moments 
rise, that, but for the last injunctions 
from those pallid lips, she would, at 
once, haye avowed her perilous secret, 
and boldly pronounced the words, ‘I 
am a Christian,’ among those benighted 
shrines ! 

“But the will of her, to whom she 
owed more than life, was to be obeyed. 
To escape from this haunt of supersti- 


745 


effecting it, her mind, day and night, 
was employed. It was with a loathin 
not to be concealed, that she now foun 
herself compelled to resume her idola- 
trous services at the’ shrine. To some 
of the offices of Theora she succeeded, 
as is the custom, by inheritance; and 
in the performance of these tasks—sanc- 
tified as they were in her eyes by the 
pure spirit she had seen engaged in 
them—there was a sort of melancholy 
yleasure in which her sorrow found re- 
lief But the part she was again forced 
to take, in the scenic shows of the Mys: 
teries, brought with it a sense of degra- 
dation and wrong which she could no 
longer endure. 

“ Already had she formed, in her own 
mind, a plan of escape, in which her ac- 
quaintance with all the windings of this 
mystic realm gave her confidence, when 
the solemn reception of Alciphron, as 
an Initiate, took place. 

“From the first moment of the land- 
ing of that philosopher at Alexandria, 
he had become an object of suspicion 
and watchfulness to the inquisitorial 
Orcus, whom philosophy, in any shape, 
naturally alarmed, but to whom the 
sect over which the young Athenian 
presided was particularly obnoxious. 
The accomplishments of Alcipbron, his 
popularity wherever he went, and the 
bold freedom with which he indulged 
his wit at the expense of religion, were 
all faithfully reported to the High Priest 
by his spies, and awakened in his mind 
no kindly feelings towards the stranger. 
In dealing with an infidel, such a per- 
sonage as Orcus could know no other 
alternative but that of either convert- 
ing or destroying him; and though his 
spite, as a man, would have been more 
gratified by the latter proceeding, his 
pride, as a priest, led him to prefer the 
triumph of the former. 

‘The first descent of the Epicurean 
into the pyramid became speedily 
known, ἜΑ alarm was immediately 
given to the priests below. As soon as 
they had discovered that the young 
philosopher of Athens was the intruder, 
and that he not only still continued to 
linger round the pyramid, but was ob- 
served to look often and wistfully to- 


tion must now, she felt, be her first | wards the portal, it was concluded that 
object; and, in planning the means of! his curiosity would impel him to try ἃ 


746 


\ 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


second descent; and Orcus, blessing 
the good chance which had thus brought 
the wild bird into his net, resolved not 
to suffer an opportunity so precious to 
be wasted. 

ἐς Instantly the whole of that wonder- 
ful machinery, by which the phantasms 
and illusions of Initiation are produced, 
were put in active preparation through- 
out that subterranean realm; and the 
increased stir and vigilance awakened 
among its inmates, by this more than 
ordinary display of the resources of 
priesteraft, rendered the accomplish- 
ment of Alethe’s purpose, at such a 
moment, peculiarly difficult. Wholly 
ignorant of the important share which 
it had been her own fortune to take in 
attracting the young philosopher down 
to this region, she but heard of him 
vaguely, as the Chief of a great Grecian 
sect, who had been led, by either curi- 
osity or accident, to expose himself to 
the first trials of Initiation ; and whom 
the priests, she could see, were endeav- 
oring to ensnare in their toils, by every 
art and lure with which their dark sci- 
ence had gifted them. 

‘To her mind, the image of a philoso- 
pher, such as Alciphron had been repre- 
sented to her, came associated with ideas 
of age and reverence; and, more than 
once, the possibility of his being made 
instrumental to her deliverance flashed a 
hope across her heart in which she could 
not refrain from indulging. Often had 
she been told by Theora of the many 
Gentile sages, who had laid their wisdom 
down humbly at the foot of the Cross; 
and though this Initiate, she feared, 
could hardly be among the number, yet 
the rumors which she had gathered from 
the servants of the Temple, of his un- 
disguised contempt for the errors of 
Heathenism, led her to hope she would 
find tolerance, if not sympathy, in her 
appeal to him. 

ἐς Nor was it solely with a view to her 
own chance of deliverance that she 
thus connected him in her thoughts with 
the plan which she meditated. The 


look of proud and self-gratulating mal- | 2 
| readiness. 


ice, with which the High Priest had 
mentioned this ‘Infidel,’ as he styled 
him, when giving her instructions in 
the scene she was to act before the phi- 
losopher in the valley, too plainly in- 


formed her of the dark destiny that 
hung over him. She knew how many 
were the hapless candidates for Initia- 
ticn who had been doomed to a durance 
worse than that of the grave, for but a 
word, a whisper breathed against the 
sacred absurdities that they witnessed ; 
and it was evident to her that the yen- 
erable Greek (for such her fancy repre- 
sented Alciphron) was no less interested 
in escaping from the snares and perils 
of this region than herself. 

“Her own resolution was, at all 
events, fixed. That visionary scene, in 


| which she had appeared before Alci- 


phron—little knowing how ardent were 
the heart and imagination over which 
her beauty, at that moment, exercised 
its influence—was, she solemnly re- 
solved, the very last unholy service, 
that superstition or imposture should 
ever command of her. 

‘On the following night the Aspirant 
was to watch in the Great Temple of Isis. 
Such an opportunity of approaching and 
addressing him might never come again. 
Should he, from compassion for her 
situation, or a sense of the danger of his 
own, consent to lend his aid to her 
flight, most gladly would she accept it— 
well assured that no danger or treachery 
she might risk could be half so odious 
and fearful as those which she left be- 
hind. Should he, on the contrary, re- 
ject the proposal, her determination was 
equally fixed—to trust to that God 
whose eye watches over the innocent, 
and go forth alone. 

“To reach the island in Lake Meeris 
was her first great object ; and there oc- 
curred fortunately, at this time, a mode 
of effecting her purpose, by which both 
the difficulty and dangers of the attempt © 
would be much diminished. The day of 
the annual visitation of the High Priest 
to the Place of Weeping*—as that island 
in the centre of the Lake is called—was 
now fast approaching; and Alethe knew 
that the self-moving car, by which the 
High Priest and one of the Hierophants 
are conveyed down to the chambers 
under the Lake, stood then waiting in 
By availing herself of this 
expedient, she would gain the double 


|adyantage both of facilitating her own 


* Vide Wilford, Asiatic Researches, vol. 111. 
p. 310. 


THE EPICUREAN. 


747 


flight, and retarding the speed of her 
pursuers. 

“ Having paid a last visit to the tomb 
of her beloved mother, and weak there, 
long and passionately, till her heart al- 
most failed in the struggle—having 
paused, too, to give a kiss to her favor- 
ite ibis, which, although too much 
a Christian to worship, she was still 
child enough to love—she went early, 
with a trembling step, to the Sanc- 
tuary, and there hid herself in one of 
the recesses of the Shrine. Her in- 
tention was to steal out from thence to 
Aleiphron, while it was yet dark, and 
before the illumination of the great 
Statue behind the Veils had begun. But 
her fears delayed her till it was almost 
too late ;—already was the image light- 
ed up, and still she remained trembling 
in her hiding-place. 

“Tn a few minutes more the mighty 
Veils would have been withdrawn, and 
the glories of that scene of enchantment 
laid open—when, at length, summoning 
all her courage, and taking advantage 
of a momentary absence of those em- 
ployed in preparing this splendid mock- 
ery, she stele from under the Veil, and 
found her way, through the gloom, to 
the Epicurean. There was then no time 
for explanation; —she had but to trust 
to the simple words, ‘Follow, and be 
silent ;’ and the impheit readiness with 
which she found them obeyed filled her 
with no less surprise than the philoso- 
pher himself had felt in hearing them. 

“Tn a second or two they were on 
their way through the subterranean 
windings, leaving the ministers of Isis to 
waste their splendors on vacancy, 
through a long series of miracles and 
visions which they now exhibited—un- 
conscious that he, whom they were tak- 
ing such pains to dazzle, was already, 
under the guidance of the young Chris- 
tian, far removed beyond the reach of 
their deceiving spells.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Sucu was the singular story, of which 
this innocent girl now gave me, in her 
own touching language, the outline. 

The sun was just rising as she finished 
her narrative. Fearful of encountering 
the expression of those feelings with 


which, she could not but observe, I was 
affected by her recital, scarcely had she 
concluded the last sentence, when, rising 
abruptly from her seat, she hurried into 
the pavilion, leaving me with the words 
fast crowding for utterance to my lips. 

Oppressed by the various emotions 
thus sent back upon my heart, I lay 
down on the deck ina state of agitation, 
that defied even the most distant ap- 
proaches of sleep. While every word 
she had uttered, every feeling she ex- 
pressed, but ministered new fuel to that 
flame which consumed me, and to de- 
scribe which, passion is far too weak a 
word, there was also much of her recital 
that disheartened and alarmed ime. To 
find a Christian thus under the garb of 
a Memphian Priestess, was a discovery 
that, had my heart been less deeply in- 
terested, would but have more power- 
fully stimulated my imagination and 
pride. But, when I recollected the aus- 
terity of the faith she had embraced— 
the tender and sacred tie associated 
with it in her memory, and the devotion 
of woman’s heart to objects thus conse- 
crated—her very perfections but widen- 
ed the distance between us, and all 
that most kindled my passion at the 
same time chilled my hopes. 

Were we to be left to each other, 
as on this silent river, in such undis- 
turbed communion of thoughts and 
feelings, I knew too well, I thought, 
both her sex’s nature and my own, to 
feel a doubt that love would ultimately 
triumph. But the severity of the guar- 
dianship to which I must resign her— 
that of some monk of the desert, some 
stern Solitary—the influence such a 
monitor would gain over her mind—and 
the horror with which, ere long, he 
might teach her to regard the reprobate 
infidel upon whom she now smiled—in 
all this prospect I saw nothing but de- 
spair. After a few short hours, my 
dream of happiness would be at an end, 
and such a dark chasm must then open 
between our fates, as would disseyver 
them, wide as earth from heayen, asun- 
der. 

It was true, she was now wholly in 
my power. I feared no witnesses but 
_those of earth, and the solitude of the 
desert was at hand. But though I ae- 
' knowledged not a heaven, I worshipped 


748 


her who was, to me, its type and substi- 
tute. 
thought of wrong or deceit, towards one 
so sacred arose in my mind, one look 
from her innocent eyes averted the sac- 
rilege. Even passion itself felt a holier 
fear in her presence—like the flame 
trembling in the breeze of the sanctuary 
—and Love, pure Loye, stood in place 
of Religion. 

As long as I knew not her story, I 
could indulge, at least, in dreams of the 
future. But, now—what expectation, 
what prospect remained? My single 
chance of happiness lay in the hope, 
however delusive, of being able to di- 
vert her thoughts from the fatal project 
she meditated ; of weaning her, by per- 
suasion and argument, from that austere 
faith, which I had before hated and now 


feared; and of attaching her, perhaps, | 


alone and unlinked as she was in the 
world, to my own fortunes forever ! 

In the agitation of these thoughts, I 
had started from my resting-place, and 
continued to pace up and down, under 
a burning sun, till, exhausted both by 
thought and feeling, I sunk down, amid 
that blaze of light, into a sleep, which 
to my fevered brainseemed a sleep of fire. 

On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe 
laid carefuily over my brow ; while she, 
herself, sat near me, under the shadow 
of the sail, looking anxiously upon that 
leaf, which her mother had given her, 
and employed apparently in comparing 
its outlines with the course of the river, 
as well as with the forms of the rocky 
hills by which we were passing. She 
looked pale and troubled, and rose ea- 
gerly to meet me, as if she had long and 
impatiently waited for my waking. 


Her heart, it was plain, had been dis- | 


turbed from its security, and was begin- 
ning to take alarm at its own feelings. 
But, though vaguely conscious of the 


peril to which she was exposed, her re- | 
liance, as is usual in such cases, in- 
creased with her danger, and upon me, | 


far more than on herself, did she seem 
to depend for saving her. ΤῸ reach, as 
soon as possible, her asylum in the des- 
ert, was now the urgent object of her 
entreaties and wishes; and the self-re- 
‘proach which she expressed at having, 
for a single moment, suffered her 
thoughts to be diverted from this sacred 


If, at any moment, a single 


\ 


MOORWS WORKS. 
SSS ee Re Beer Oe φαϊ ΠῚ τ ΄ Ὁ 


purpose, not only revealed the truth, 
that she had forgotten it, but betrayed 
even a glimmering consciousness of the 
cause. 

Her sleep, she said, had been broken 
by ill-omened dreams. . Every moment 
_the shade of her mother had stood before 
her, rebuking, with mournful looks, her 
delay, and pointing, as she had done in 
death, to the eastern hills. Bursting 
into tears at this accusing recollection, 
‘she hastily placed the leaf, which she 

had been examining, in my hands, and 

‘implored that I would ascertain, with- 
out a moment’s delay, what portion of 
| our voyage was still unperformed, and 
in what space of time we might hope to 
accomplish it. 

I had, still less than herself, taken 
note of either place or distance; and 
could we have been left to glide on in 
this dream of happiness, should never 
have thought of pausing to ask where it 
would end. But such confidence was 
far too sacred to be deceived; and, re- 
_luctantly as I naturally felt, to enter on 
| an inquiry which might soon dissipate 
even my last hope, her wish was sufli- 
‘cient to supersede even the selfishness 
| of love, and on the instant I proceeded 
| to obey her will. 
| There stands on the eastern bank of 
| 


the Nile, to the north of Antinoé, a high 
and steep rock, impending over the 
| flood, which has borne, for ages, from 
ἃ prodigy connected with it, the name 
of the Mountain of the Birds. Yearly, 
it is said, at a certain season and hour, 
large flocks of birds assemble in the ra- 
| vine, of which this rocky mountain forms 
| one of the sides, and are there observed 
to go through the mysterious ceremony 
of inserting each its beak into a particu- 
lar cleft of the rock, till the cleft closes 
upon one of their number, when all the 
‘rest of the birds take wing, and leaye 
the selected victim to die. 

Through the ravine, rendered famous 
| by this charm—for such the multitude 
consider it—there ran, in ancient times, 
acanal from the Nile, to some great 
and forgotten city, now buried in the 
desert. To a short distance from the 
river this canal still exists, but, after 
haying passed through the defile, its 
scanty waters disappear, and are wholly 
lost under the sands. 


‘THE EPICUREAN. 


749 


It was in the neighborhood of this 
lace, as I could collect from the de- 
ineations on the leaf—where a flight of 

birds represented the name of the 
mountain—that the abode of the Soli- 
tary, to whom <Alethe was about to 
consign herself, was situated. Little as 
I knew of the geography of Egypt, it at 
once struck me, that we had long since 
left this mountain behind ;* and, on in- 
quiring of our boatmen, I found my 
conjecture confirmed. We had, indeed, 
passed it on the preceding night; and, 
as the wind had been, ever since, blow- 
ing strongly from the north, and the 
sun was already sinking towards the 
horizon, we must be now, at least, a 
day’s sail to the southward of the spot. 

This discovery, I confess, filled my 

heart with a feeling of joy which I found 
it difficult to conceal. It seemed as if 
fortune was conspiring with love in my 
behalf, and, by thus delaying the mo- 
ment of our separation, afforded me a 
chance at least of happiness. Her look 


and manner, too, when informed of our | 


mistake, rather encouraged than chilled 
this secret hope. In the first moment 
of astonishment, ber eyes opened upon 
me with a suddenness of splendor, under 
which I felt my own wink as though 
lightning had crossed them. But she 
again, as suddenly, let their lids fall, 


and, after a quiver of her lip, which | 


showed the conflict of feeling then go- 
ing on within, crossed her arms upon 
her bosom, and looked down silently 
upon the deck; her whole countenance 
sinking into an expression, sad, but re- 
signed, as if she now felt that fate was 
on the side of wrong, and saw Love al- 
ready stealing between her soul and 
heayen. 

Τ was not slow, of course, in availing 
myself of what I fancied to be the ir- 
resolution of her mind. But, still, fear- 
ful of exciting alarm by any appeal to 
feelings of regard or tenderness, I but 
addressed myself to her imagination, 


* The voyages on the’ Nile are, under fiuvor- 
able circumstances, performed with consider- 
able rapidity. ‘‘En cing ou six jours,”’ says 


Maillet, ‘on pourroit ais¢ément remonter de | 
VYembouchure du Nil ἃ ses cataractes, ou de- | 


scendre des cataractes, jusqu’’A la mer.” The 
reat uncertainty of the navigation is proved 
y what Belzoni tells us:—‘* Nous ne mimes 
eette fois que deux jours et demi pour faire 


and to that love of novelty and won- 
ders, which is ever ready to be awaken- 
ed within the youthful breast. We were 
now approaching that region of mira- 
cles, Thebes. ‘In a day or two,” said 
I, ‘‘we shall see, towering above the 
waters, the colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, 
and the bright Obelisks of the Sun. We 
shall visit the plain of Memnon, and be- 
‘hold those mighty statues that fling 
| their shadowst at sunrise over the Lib- 
yan hills. We shall hear the image of 
the Son of the Morning responding to 
_ the first touch of light. From thence, 
ἴῃ afew hours, a breeze like this will 
transport us to those sunny islands near 
the cataracts; there, to wander, among. 
the sacred palm-groves of Phile, or sit, 
at noontide hour, in those cool alcoves, 
which the waterfall of Syene shadows 
under 105 arch. Oh, who is there that, 
with scenes of such loveliness within 
reach, would tum coldly away to the 
bleak desert, and leave this fair world, 
with all its enchantments, shining un- 
seen and unenjoyed? At least”—I 
|added, taking tenderly her hand in 
mine—‘‘let a few more days be stolen 
from the dreary fate to which thou hast 
deyoted thyself, and then 4 

| She had heard but the last few words 
—the rest had been Jost upon her. 
| Startled by the tone of tenderness into 
which, despite of all my resolves, I had 
suffered my voice to soften, she looked 
‘for an instant with passionate earnest- 
ness into my face ;—then, dropping up 
on her knees with her clasped hands 
upraised, exclaimed,—‘t Tempt me not, 
‘in the name of God I implore thee, 
tempt me not to swerve from my sacred 
duty. Oh! take me instantly to that 
| desert mountain, and I will bless thee 
forever.” 

_ This appeal, I felt, could not be re- 
sisted—eyen though my heart were to 
break for it. Having silently intimated 
‘my assent to her prayer, by a slight 
pressure of her hand as I raised her 
| 


| 

le trajet du Caire ἃ Melawi, auquel, dans ~ 
notre second voyage, nous avions employé dix- 
huit jours.” 

+‘* Elles ont prés de vingt métres (61 pied) 

d’élévation; et au lever du soleil, leurs ombres 
immenses s'étendent au loin sur la echaine 
| Libyenne.” Description générale de Thebes, 
| par MM. Jollois et Desvilliers. 
' + Paul Lucas. 


750 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


----------- ------- ----ττ’----΄ ----ς-ς-ς ὅ΄ ΓΠ 


from the deck, I proceeded immediately, 
as we were still in full career’ for the 
south, to give orders that our sail should 
be instantly lowered, and not a moment 
lost in retracing our course. 

In giving these directions, however, 
it, for the first time, occurred to me, 
that, as I had hired this yacht in the 
neighborhood of Memphis, where it was 
probable the flight of the young Priestess 
would be most vigilantly tracked, we 
should run the risk of betraying to the 
boatmen the place of her retreat ;—and 
there was now a most favorable oppor- 
tunity for taking precautions, against 
this danger. Desiring, therefore, that 
we should be landed at a small village 
on the shore, under pretence of paying 
a visit to some shrine in the neighbor- 
hood, I there dismissed our barge, and 
was relieved from fear of further obser- 
vation, by seeing it again set sail, and 
resume its course fleetly up the current. 

From the boats of all descriptions 

that lay idle beside the bank, I now se- 

lected one, in every respect, suited to 
my purpose—being, in shape and ac- 
commodations, a miniature of our for- 
mer vessel, but, at the same time, so 
light and small as to be managed by 
myself alone, and requiring, with the 
advantage of the current, little more 
than a hand to steer it. This boat, I 
succeeded, without much difficulty in 
purchasing, and, after a short delay, we 
were again afloat down the current ;— 
the sun just then sinking, in conscious 
glory, over his own golden shrines in 
the Libyan waste. 

That evening was calmer and more 
lovely than any that had yet smiled 
upon our voyage ; and, as we left the 
shore, a strain of sweet melody came 
soothingly over our ears. It was the 
voice of a young Nubian girl, whom we 
saw kneeling before an acacia, upon the 
bank, and singing, while her compan- 
ions stood around, the wild song of in- 
vocation, which, in her country, they 
address to that enchanted tree :— 


“Oh! Abyssinian tree, 
We pray, we pray to thee ; 
By the glow of thy golden fruit, 
And the violet hue of thy flower, 
And the greeting mute 


* See an account of this sensitive tree, which 
bends down its branches to those who approach 


Of thy bough’s salute 
To the stranger who seeks thy bower.* 


““Oh! Abyssinian tree, 
How the traveller blesses thee, 
When the night no moon allows, 
And the sunset hour is near, 
And thou bendest thy boughs 
To kiss his brows, 
Saying, ‘ Come, rest thee here.’ 
Oh! Abyssinian tree, 
Thus bow thy head to me!” 


In the burden of this song the compan- 
ions of the young Nubian joined; and 
we heard the words, ‘Oh! Abyssinian 
tree,” dying away on the breeze, long 
after the whole group had been lost to 
our eyes. 

Whether, in the new arrangement 
which I had made for our yoyage, any 
motive, besides those which I professed, 
had a share, I can scarcely, even my- 
self—so bewildered were then my feel- 
ings—determine. But no sooner had 
the current borne us away from all hu- 


‘man dwellings, and we were alone on 


the waters, with not a soul near, than 
I felt how closely such solitude draws 
hearts together, and how much more we 
seemed to belong to each other, than 
when there were eyes around us. 

The same feeling, but without the 
same sense of its danger, was manifest 
in every look and word of Alethe. The 
consciousness of the one great effort 
which she had made appeared to have 
satisfied her heart on the score of duty 
—while the devotedness with which she 
saw I attended to her every wish, was 
felt with all that trusting gratitude 
which, in woman, is the day-spring of 
love. She was, therefore, happy, inno- 
cently happy ; and the confiding, and 
even affectionate, unreserve of her 
manner, while it rendered my trust 
more sacred, made it also far more dif- 
ficult. 

It was only, however, upon subjects 
unconnected with our situation or fate, 
that she yielded to such interchange of 
thought, or that her voice ventured to 
answer mine. The moment I alluded 
to the destiny that awaited us, all her 
cheerfulness fled, and she became sad- 
dened andsilent. When I described to 
her the beauty of my own native land— 
it, in M. Jomard’s Description of Syene and 
the Cataracts. 


THE EPICUREAN. 


701 


its founts of inspiration and fields of 
glory—her eyes sparkled with sym- 


athy, and sometimes even softened | 


into fondness. But when I ventured to 
whisper, that, in that glorious country, 
alife full of love and liberty awaited 
her; when I proceeded to contrast the 
adoration and bliss she might command, 
with the gloomy austerities of the life to 
which she was hastening—it was like 
the coming of a sudden cloud over a 
summer sky. Her head sunk, as she 
listened ;—I waited in vain for an an- 
swer; and when, half playfully re- 
proaching her for this silence, I stooped 
to take her band, I could feel the warm 
tears fast falling over it. 

But even this—feeble as was the hope 
it held out—was still a glimpse of hap- 
piness. Though it foreboded that I 
should lose her, it also whispered that 
I was loved. Like that lake, in the land 
of Roses,* whose waters are half sweet, 
half bitter,t I felt my fate to be a com- 
pound of bliss and pain—but its very 
pain well worth all ordinary bliss. 

And thus did the hours of that night 
pass along, while eyery moment short- 
ened our happy dream, and the current 
seemed to flow with aswifter pace than 


any that ever yet hwried to the 
sea. Nota feature of the whole scene 


but lives, at this moment, freshly in my 
memory ;—the broken starlight on the 
water ;—the rippling sound of the boat, 
as, without oar or sail, it went, like a 
thing of enchantment, down {πὸ 
stream ;—the scented fire, burning be- 
side us upon the deck, and then that 
face, on which its light fell, revealing, 
at every moment, some new charm— 
some blush or look, more beautiful than 
the last! 

Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of 


all else, in this world, our boat, left | 


wholly to itself, would drive from its 
course, and bearing us away to the 
bank, get entangled in 
flowers, or be caught in some eddy, ere 
I perceived where we were. Once, too, 
when the rustling of my oar among the 
flowers had startled away from the 
bank some wild antelopes, that had 
stolen, at that still hour, to drink of the 
Nile, what an emblem did 1 think 


* The province of Arsingé, now Fioum. 
ἡ Paul Lueas. 


the water | 


it of the young heart then beside me— 
tasting, for the first time, of hope and 
love, and so soon, alas, to be scared from 
their sweetness forever. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE night was now far advanced— 
| the bend of our course towards the left, 
/and the closing in of the eastern hills 
/upon the river, gave warning of our 
approach to the hermit’s dwelling. 
| Every minute now appeared like the 
last of existence; and I felt a sinking 
Οὐ despair at my heart, which would 
have been intolerable, had not a reso- 
lution that suddenly, and as if by in- 
spiration, occurred to me, presented a 
glimpse of hope, which, in some degree, 
calmed my feelings. 

Much as I had, all my life, despised 
hypocrisy—the very sect I had em- 
braced being chiefly recommended to 
me by the war they continued to wage 
upon the cant of all others—it was, 
nevertheless, in hypocrisy that I now 
scrupled not to take refuge from that 
calamity which to me was far worse 
than either shame or death, my sepa- 
ration from <Alethe. In my despair I 
adopted the humiliating plan—deeply ~ 
humiliating as I felt it to be, even amid 
the joy with which I welcomed it—of 
offering myself to this hermit as a con- 
vert to his faith, and thus becoming the 
fellow-disciple of Alethe under his care ! 

From the moment I resolved upon 
this plan my spirit felt lightened. 
Though having fully before my eyes the 
mean labyrinth of imposture into which 
it would lead me, I thought of nothing 
but the chance of our continuing still 
together. In this hope, all pride, all 
philosophy, was forgotten, and every 
thing seemed tolerable, but the prospect 
| of losing her. 

Thus resolved, it was with somewhat 
less reluctant feelings that I now under- 
| took, at the anxious desire of my com- 
panion, to ascertain the site of that 
well-known mountain in the neighbor- 
hood of which the anehoret’s dwelling 
lay. We had already passed one or two 
|stupendous rocks, which stood, de- 
tached, like fortresses, over the river's 
| brink, and which in some degree corres- 


752 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


onded with the description on the 
eaf. So little was there of life now 
stirring along the shores, that I had 
begun almost to despair of any assist- 
ance from inquiry, when, on looking to 
the western bank, I saw a boatman 
among the sedges, towing his small 
boat, with some difficulty, up the cur- 
rent. Hailing him as we passed, I 
asked,—‘‘ Where stands the Mountain 
of the Birds?’*—and he had hardly 
time, 88 he pointed above us, to answer 
“There, ’? when we perceived that we 
were just (1en <ntering into the shadow, 
which this mighty rock flings across the 
whole of the flood 

Tn a few moments we had reached the 
mouth of ὁ 6 ravine, of which the 
Mountain of the Birds forms one of the 
sides, and through which the scanty 
canal from the Nile flows. At the sight 
of this awful chasm, within some of 
whose dreary recesses (if we had rightly 
interpreted the leaf) the dwelling of the 
Solitary was to be found, our voices 
sunk at once into = low whisper, while 
Alethe turncd round to me with © look 
of awe and eagerness, as if doubtful 
whether I had not already disappear_d 
from her s.de. A quick movement, how- 
eyer, of h<r hand towards the ravine, 
told too j.ainly that her purpose was 
still unchanged. Immediately check 
ing, therefore, with my oars, the career 
of our boat. I succeeded, after no small 
exertion, in turning it out of the eur- 
rent of the river, and steering into this 
bleak and stagnant canal. 

Our transition “rom life and bloom to 
the very depth of desolation was imme- 
diate. While the water on one side of 
the ravine lay buried in shadow, the 
white skeleton-like crags of the other 
stood aloft in the pale glare of moon- 
light. The sluggish stream through 
which we moved yielded sullenly to the 
oar, and the shriek of a few water-birds, 
which we had roused from their fast- 
nesses, was succeeded by a silence, so 
dead and awful, that our lips seemed 
afraid to disturb it by a breath; and 
half-whispered exclamations, ‘‘ How 
dreary !’—‘*‘ How dismal !’—were al- 
most the only words exchanged between 
us. 


* There has been much controversy among 
the Arabian writers, with respect to the site of 


We had proceeded for some time’ 
through this gloomy defile, when, at a. 
short distance before us, among the 
rocks upon which the moonlight fell, 
we could perceive, on a ledge elevated 
but a little above the canal, a small 
hut or cave, which, from a tree or two 
planted around it, had some appear- 
ance of being the abode of a human 
being. ‘This, then,” thought I, ‘‘is 
the home to which she is destined !”—A 
chill of despair came again over my 
heart, and the oars, as I sat gazing, lay 
motionless in my hands. 

I found Alethe, too, whose eyes had 
caught the same object, drawing closer 
to my side than she had yet ventured. 
Laying her hand agitatedly upon mine, 
““We must here,” she said, ‘‘ part for- 
ever.” I turned to her as she spoke; 
there was a tenderness, a despondency 
in her countenance, that at once sad- 
dened and inflamed my soul. ‘ Part !” 
I exclaimed passionately—‘‘ No !—the 
same God shall receive us both. Thy 
faith, Alethe, shall, from this hour, be 
mine; and J will live and die in this 
desert with thee "ἢ 

Her surprise, her delight, at these 
words was like a momentary delirium. 
"πὸ wild, anxious smile, with which she 
.ooked into my face, as if to ascertain 
whether she had indeed heard my words 
aright, bespoke a happiness too much 
for reason to bear. At length, the ful- 
ness of her heart found relief in tears ; 
and, murmuring forth an incoherent 
blessing on my name, she let her head 
fall languidly and powerlessly on my 
arm. The light from our boat fire shone 
upon her face. I saw her eyes, which 
she had closed for a moment, again 
opening upon me with the same tender- 
ness, and—-merciful Providence, how I 
remember that moment!—was on the 
point of bending down my lips towards 
hers, when, suddenly, in the air above 
us, as if coming direct from heaven, 
there burst forth a strain of choral mu- 
sic, that with its solemn sweetness filled 
the whole valley. 

Breaking away from my caress at 
these supernatural sounds, the maiden 
threw herself trembling upon her knees, 
and, not daring to look up, exclaimed 


this mountain, for which see Quatremeére, tom. 
i.art. Amoun, 


THE EPICUREAN. 


755. 


wildly, ‘‘ My mother, oh, my mother !” 
~ It was the Christian’s morning hymn 
that we heard ;—the same, as I learned 
afterwards, that, on their high terrace 
at Memphis, she had been taught by 
her mother to sing to the rising sun. 

Searcely less startled than my com- 
panion, I looked up, and saw, at the 
very summit of the rock above us, a 
light, appearing to come from a small 
opening or window, through which those 
sounds likewise, that had appeared to 
ine so supernatural, issued. There could 
be no doubt that we had now found—if 
not the dwelling of the anchoret—at 
least, the haunt of some of the Christian 
brotherhood of these rocks, by whose 
assistance we could not fail to find the 
place of his retreat. 

The agitation, into which Alethe had 
been thrown by the first burst of that 
psalmody, soon yielded to the suftening 
recollections which it brought back, an 
a calm came over her brow, such as it 
had never before worn, since we met. 
She seemed to feel as if she had now 
reached her destined haven, and hailed, 
as the voice of heaven itself, those sol- 
ein sounds by which she was welcomed 
to it. 

In her tranquillity, however, I was 
very far from yet sympathizing. Full of 
impatience to learn all that awaited her 
as well as myself, I pushed our boat 
close to the base of the rock, so as to 
bring it directly under that lighted win- 
dow onthe summit, to explore my way 
up to which was now my intmediate 
object. Having hastily received my in- 
structions from Alethe, and made her 
repeat again the name of the Christian 
whom we sought, I sprang upon the 
bank, and was not long in discovering 
a sort of path, or stairway, eut rudely 

out of the rock, and leading, as I found, 
by easy windings, up the steep. 

After ascending for some time, I ar- 
rived at a level space or ledge, which 
the hand of labor had succeeded in con- 
verting into a garden,* and which was 
planted, here and there, with fig-trees 
and palms. Around it, too, I could per- 
ceive, through the glimmering light, a 
number of small caves or grottoes, into 


*The monks of Mount Sinai (Shaw says) | 


have covered over near four acres of the naked 
rocks with fruitful gardeus and orchards. 


some of which, human beings might find 
an entrance; while others appeared of 
no larger dimensions than those tombs 
of the Sacred Birds which are seen 
ranged around Lake Meeris. 

I was still, I found, but half-way up 
the ascent, nor was there visible any 
further means of continuing my course, 
as the mountain from hence rose, almost 

erpendicularly, like a wall. Atlength, 

ee on exploring more closely, 1 
discovered behind the shade ¢: a fig- 
treea large ladder of wood, resting firmly 
against the rock, and affording an easy 
and safe ascent up the steep. 

Having ascertained thus far, I again 
descended to the boat for Alethe, whom 
I found trembling already at her short 
solitude; and, having led her up the 
stairway to this quiet garden, left her 
lodged there securely, amid its holy 
silence, while I pursued my way up- 
ward to the light upon the rock. 

At the top of the long ladder I found 
myself on another ledge or platform, 
somewhat smaller than the first, but 
planted in the same manner, with trees, 
and, as I could perceive by the mingled 
light of morning and the moon, embel- 
lished with flowers. I was now near 
the summit ;—there remained but an- 
other short ascent, and, as a ladder 
against the rock supplied, as before, the 
means of scaling it, I was in a few 
minutes at the opening from which the 
light issued. 

I had ascended gently, as well from a 
feeling of awe at the whole scene, as 
from an unwillingness to disturb rudely 
the rites on which I intruded. My ap- 
proach, therefore, being unheard, an op- 
portunity was, for some moments, 
afforded me of observing the group 
within, before my appearance at. the 
window was discovered. 

In the middle of the apartment, which 
seemed to have been once a Pagan ora- 
tory, there was collected an assembly of 
about seven or eight persons, some male, 
‘some female, kneeling in silence round 
a small altar ;—while, among them, as if 
| presiding Over their solemn ceremony, 
stood an aged man, who, at the moment 
of my arrival, was presenting to one of 
the female worshippers an alabaster cup, 
which she applied, with profound rever- 
lence, toherlips. The venerable counte- 


704 


MOORH’S WORKS. 


nance of the minister, as he pronounced 
a short prayer over her head, wore an 
expression of profound feeling that 
showed how wholly he was absorbed in 
that rite ; and when she had drunk of 
the cup—whici I saw had engraven on 
its side the image of a head,* with a 
glory round it—the holy man bent down 
and kissed her forehead. ἢ 

After this parting salutation, the 
whole group rose silently from their 
knees; and it was then, for the first 
time, that, by a ery of terror from one of 
the women, the appearance of a stran- 
ger at the window was discovered. The 
whole assembly seemed startled and 
alarmed, except him, that superior per- 
son, who, advancing from the altar, 
with an unmoved look, raised the latch 
of the door adjoining’ to the window, 
and admitted me. 

There was, in this old man’s features, 
a mixture of elevation and sweetness, 
of simplicity and energy, which com- 
manded at once attachment and hom- | 
age ; and half hoping, half fearing, to 
find in him the destined guardian of 
Alethe, I looked anxiously in his face, 
as I entered, and pronounced the name 
““ Melanius !”—‘‘ Melanius is my name, 
young stranger,” he answered; ‘‘ and 
whether in friendship or in enmity thou 
comest, Melanius blesses thee.” Thus | 
saying, he made a sign with his right. 
hand above my head, while, with inyol- | 
untary respect, I bowed beneath the 
benediction. 

“Let this volume,” I replied, “ an- 
swer for the peacefulness of my mission’ 
—at the same time, placing in his hands 
the copy of the Scriptures which had 
been his own gift tothe mother of Alethe, | 
and which her child now brought as the 
credential of her claims on his protec- 
tion. At the sight of this sacred pledge, 
which he instantly recognised, the so- 
lemnity that had at first marked his re- 
ception of me softened into tenderness. 
Thoughts of other times appeared to 
pass through his mind; and as, with a 


* There was usually, Tertullian tells us, the | 


image of Christ on the communion-cups. 

t ‘* We are rather disposed to infer, says the 
late Bishop of Lincoln, in his very sensible 
work on Tertullian, “that, at the conclusion of | 
all their neetings for the purpose of devotion, | 
the early Christians were accustomed to give | 


sigh of recollection, he took the book 
from my hands, some words on the 
outer leaf caught his eye. They were 
few—but contained, most probably, the 
last wishes of the dying Theora; for, as 
he read them over eagerly, I saw tears 
in hisaged eyes. ‘‘The trust,” he said, 
with a faltering voice, ‘‘is precious and 
sacred, and God willenable, I hope, his 
servant to guard it faithfully.” 

During this short dialogue, the other 
persons of the assembly had departed 
—hbeing, as I afterwards learned, breth- 
ren from the neighboring bank of the 
Nile, who came “thus secretly before 
daybreak,t to join in worshipping their 
God. Fearful lest their descent down 
the rock might alarm <Alethe, I hurried 
briefly over the few words of explana- 
tion that remained, and leaving the ven- 
erable Christian to follow at. his leisure, 
hastened anxiously down to rejoin the 
young maiden. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MELANIUS was one the first of those 
zealous Christians of Egypt, who, fol- 
lowing the recent example of the hermit, 
Paul, bade farewell to all the comforts 
of social existence, and betook them- 
selves to a life of contemplation in the 
desert. Less selfish, however, in his 
piety, than most of these ascetics, Me- 
lanius forgot not the world in leaving 
it. He knew that man was not born to 
live wholly for himself; that his rela- 


| tion to human kind was that of the link 


to the chain, and that even his solitude 
should be turned to the advantage of 
others. In flying, therefore, from the 
din and disturbance of life, he sought 
not to place himself beyond the reach 
of its sympathies, but selected a retreat 
where he could combine all the adyvan- 
tages of solitude with those opportuni- 
ties of being useful to his fellow-men, 
which a neighborhood to their populous 
haunts would afford. 


the kiss of peace, in token of the brotherly love 
subsisting between them.” 

1 was among the accusations of Celsus 
against the Christians, that they held their 
assemblies privately, and contrary to law ; and 
one of the speakers, in the curious work of 
Minucius Felix, calls the Cee “Jatebrosa 
et lucifugax natio.”’ 


THE EPICUREAN. 


That taste for the gloom of subterra- 
nean recesses, which the race of Misraim 
inherit from their Ethiopian ancestors, 
had, by hollowing out all Egypt into 
caverns and crypts, supplied these Chris- 
tian anchorets with an ample choice of 
retreats. Accordingly, some found a 
shelter in the grottoes of Elethya ;— 
others, among the royal tombs of the 
Thebaid. In the middle of the Seven 
Valleys,* where the sun rarely shines, 
a few have fixed their dim and melan- 
choly retreat; while others have sought 
the neighborhood of the red Lakes of 
Nitria,t and there, like those Pagan sol- 


itaries of old, who fixed their dwelling | 
among the palm-trees near the Dead | 


Sea, pass their whole lives in musing 
andst the sterility of nature, and seem 
to find, in her desolation, peace. 

It was on one of the mountains of the 
Said, to the east of the river, that Me- 


lanius, as we have seen, chose his place | 


of seclusion—having all the life and fer- 
tility of the Nile’on one side, and the 


lone, dismal barrenness of the desert on | 


the other. Half way down this moun- 
tain, where it impends over the ravine, 


he found a series of caves or grottoes | 
dug out of the rock, which had, in other | 


times, ministered to some purpose of 
mystery, but whose use had long been 
forgotten, and their recesses abandoned. 

To this place, after the banishment 
of his great master, Origen, Melanius, 
with a few faithful followers, retired, 
and there, by the example of his inno- 
cent life, as well as by his fervid elo- 


quence, succeeded in winning crowds of | 


converts tohisfaith. Placed, as he was, 
in the neighborhood of the rich city, An- 
tinoé,f though he mingled not with its 


multitude, his name and his fame were. 


ever among them, and, to all who sought 
after instruction or consolation, the cell 
of the hermit was always open. 
Notwithstanding the rigid abstinence 
of his own habits, he was yet careful to 
provide for the comforts of others. Con- 
tent with a rude pallet of straw, himself, 


*See Macrizy’s account of these valleys, 
given by Quatremére, tom. i. p. 450. 

1 For a striking description of this region, see 
“ Rameses,” a work which, though in general 
too technical and elaborate, shows, in many 
passages, to what picturesque effects the 
_ scenery and mythology of Egypt may be made 
subservient 


755 


‘he had always for the stranger a less 
homely resting-place. From his grotto, 
the wayfanng and the indigent never 
went unrefreshed ; and, with the aid of 
some of his brethren, be had formed gar- 
dens along the ledges of the mountain, 
which gave an air of life and cheerful- 
ness to his rocky dwelling, and supplied 
him with the chief necessaries of such a 
climate—fruit and shade. 

Though the acquaintance he had 
formed with the mother of Alethe, du- 
ring the short period of her attendance 
at the school of Origen, was soon inter- 

, rupted, and never afterwards renewed, 

the interest which he had then taken in 

her fate was far too lively to be forgot- 
ten. He had seen the zeal with which 
her yeung heart welcomed instruction ; 
and the thought that so promising a can- 
didate for heaven should have relapsed 

‘into idolatry, came often, with disquiet- 

ing apprehension, over his mind. 

| It was, therefore, with true pleasure, 

that, but a year or two before Theora’s 

death, he had learned by a private com- 

/munication from her, transmitted 

through a Christian embalmer of Mem- 

phis, that ‘‘ not only had her own heart 
taken root in the faith, but that a new 
bud had flowered with the same divine 
hope; and that, ere long, he might see 
them both transplanted to the desert.” 
The coming, therefore, of Alethe was 
far less a surprise to him, than her 

coming thus alone was a shock and a 

|sorrow; and the silence of their first 
meeting showed how painfully both re- 
membered that the tie which had brought 

them together was no longer of this 
world—that the hand, which should 

‘have been then joined with theirs, was 

mouldering in the tomb. I now saw, 

that even religion like his was not proof 
against the sadness of mortality. For, 
as the old man put aside the ringlets 
from her forehead, and contemplated in 
that clear countenance the reflection of 
what her mother had been, there min- 
gled a mournfulness with his piety, as 


t From the position assigned to Antinoé in 
this work, we should eonelude that it extended 
much farther to the north, than the few rnins 
of it that remain would seem to indieate, and 

| that the distance between the city and the 

| Mountain of the Birds was considerably less 

‘than whatit appears to be at present. 


756 


MOORD’S WORKS. 


he said, ‘‘ Heaven rest her soul !” which 
showed how little even the certainty of 
a heaven for those we love can reconcile 
us to the pain of having lost thein on 
earth. 

The full light of day had now risen 
upon the desert, and our host, reminded, 
by the faint looks of Alethe, of the 
many anxious hours we had passed 
without sleep, proposed that we should 
seek, in the chambers of the rock, such 
rest as a-hermit’s dwelling could offer. 


aged persons, who appeared to be the 
father and mother of the girl — were rep- 
resented in all the details of their daily 
life. The looks and attitudes of the 
young people denoted that they were 
lovers; and, sometimes, they Were seen 
sitting under a canopy of flowers, with 
their eyes fixed on each other’s faces, as 
though they could never look away ; 
sometimes, they appeared walking along 


| the banks of the Nile,— 


on one οἵ those sweet nights 
When Isis, the pure star of lovers, * lights 


Pointing to one of the largest of these 
openings, as he addressed me—‘‘ Thou 
wilt find,” he said, ‘in that grotto a 


Her bridal erescent o'er the holy stream— 
When wandering youths and maidens wateh 
her beam, 


bed of fresh doum leaves, and may the 
consciousness of having protected the 
orphan sweeten thy sleep !” 

I felt how dearly this prize had been 
earned, and already almost repented of 
having deserved it. There was a sad- 
ness in the countenance of Alethe, as I 
took leave of her, to which the forebod- 
ings of my own heart but too faithfully 
responded ; nor could I help fearing, as 
her hand parted lingeringly from mine, 
that I had, by this sacrifice, placed her 
beyond my reach forever. 

Having lighted for me a lamp, which, 
in these recesses, even at noon, 15 neces- 
sary, the holy man led me to the en- 
trance of the grotto. Andhere, I blush 
to say, my career of hypocrisy began. 
With the sole view of obtaining another 
glance at Alethe, I tuned humbly to 
solicit the benediction of the Christian, 
and, having conveyed to her, while 
bending reverently down, as much of 


the deep feeling of my soul as looks | 


could express, I then, with a despond- 
ing spirit, hurried into the cavern. 

A short passage led me to the cham 
ber within—the walls of which I found 


covered, like those of the grottoes of | 
/ unrolled, while a beautiful antelope was 


Lycopolis, with paintings, which, though 
executed long ages ago, looked as fresh 
as if their colors were but laid on yester- 
day. They were, all of them, represen- 
tations of rural and domestic scenes; 
and, in the greater number, the melan- 
choly imagination of the artist had called 
in, as usual, the presence of Death, to 
throw his shadow over the picture. 

My attention was particularly drawn 
to one series of subjects, throughout the 
whole of which the same group—con- 
sisting of a youth, a maiden, and two 


And number o’er the nights she hath to run, 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun. 
Through all these scenes of endear- 
ment the two elder persons stood by ;— 
their calm countenances touched with 
a share of that bliss, in whose perfect 
light the young lovers were basking. 
Thus far, all was happiness ;—but the 
sad lesson of mortality was yet to come. 


| In the last picture of the series, one of 
| the figures was missing. 


It was that of 
the young maiden, who had disappeared 
from among them. On the brink of a 
dark lake stood the three who remained , 
while a boat, just departing for the City 
of the Dead, told too plainly the end of 


| their dream of happiness. 


This memorial of a sorrow of other 


| times—of a sorrow, ancient as death it- 


self—was not wanting to deepen the 
melancholy of my mind, or to add to 


‘the weight of the many bodings that 


pressed upon it. 

After a night, as it seemed, of anxious 
and unsleeping thought, I rose from my 
bed and returned to the garden. I 
found the Christian alone—seated, un- 


/der the shade of one of his trees, at a 


small table, on which there lay a volume 


sleeping at his feet. Struck by the eon- 
trast which he presented to those 
haughty priests, whom I had seen sur- 
rounded by the pomp and gorgeousness 
of temples, ‘‘Is this, then,” thought 1, 
“the faith before which the world now 
trembles—its temple the desert, its 
treasury a book, and its High Priest the 
solitary dweller of the rock ?” 


* Vide Plutarch. de Isid. : 
t ‘*Conjunctio solis eum Juna, quod est veluti 
utriusque connubium.” Jablonski. 


. 
. 
; 


THE EPICUREAN. 


He had prepared for me a simple, but 


hospitable repast, of which fruits from | 


his own garden, the white bread of 
Olyra, and the juice of the honey-cane, 
formed the most costly luxuries. His 
manner to me was even more cordial 
and fatherly than before ; but the ab- 
sence of Alethe, and, still more, the 
ominous reserve, with which he not 
only, himself, refrained from all men- 
tion of her name, but eluded the few in- 
quiries, by which I sought to lead to it, 
seemed to confirm all the apprehensions 
I had felt in parting from her. 

She had acquainted him, it was evi- 
dent, with the whole history of our 
flight. My reputation as a philosopher 
—my desire to become a Christian—all 
was already known to the zealous an- 
choret, and the subject of my conver- 
sion was the very first on which he en- 
tered. Oh, pride of philosophy, how 
wert thou then humbled, and with what 
shame did I stand in the presence of 
that venerable man, not daring to let 
my eyes encounter his, while, with un- 


hesitating trust in the sincerity of my | 


intention, he welcomed me to a partici- 
pation of his holy hope, and imprinted 
the Kiss of Charity on my infidel brow! 
Embarrassed as I could not but feel 
by the humiliating consciousness of hy- 
ἘΟΘΠΕΥ͂, I was even still more perplexed 
y my almost total ignorance of the real 
tenets of the faith to which I professed 
myself a convert. Abashed and con- 
fused, and with a heart sick at its own 
deceit, I listened to the animated and 
eloquent gratulations of the Christian, 
as though they were words in a dream, 
without any link or meaning ; nor could 
disguise but by the mockery of a rever- 
ent bow, at every pause, the total want 
of self-possession, and even of speech, 
under which I labored. 
A few minutes more of such trial, and 
I must have avowed my imposture. 
But the holy man perceived my embar- 
rassment ;—and, whether mistaking it 
for awe, or knowing it to be ignorance, 
relieved me from my perplexity by, at 
once, changing the theme. Haying 
gently awakened his antelope from its 
sleep, ‘You have doubtless,” he said, 
“heard of my brother-anchoret, Paul, 
wl o, from his cave in the marble moun- 
tains, near the Red Sea, sends hourly 


ΤΟΊ 


ἢ the other. 


the blessed ‘ sacrifice of thanksgiving’ to 
heaven. Of his walks, they tell me, a 
lion is the companion ,* but, for me,” he 
added with a playful and significant 
smile, ‘‘who try my powers of taming 
but on the gentler animals, this feeble 
child of the desert is a far fitter play- 
mate.” Then, taking his staff, and put- 
ting the time-worn yolume which he 
had been perusing into a large goat-skin 
pouch, that hung by his side, ‘‘I will 
now,” said he, ‘conduct thee over my 
rocky kingdom, that thou mayest see in 
what drear and barren places that 
‘sweet fruit of the spirit,’ Peace, may 
be gathered.” 

To speak of peace to a heart throb- 
bing, as mine did at that moment, was 
like talking of some distant harbor to 
the mariner sinking at sea. In vain did 
[ look around for some sign of Alethe ;— 
in vain make an effort even to utter her 
name. Consciousness of my own de- 
ceit, as well as a fear of awakening in 
the mind of Melanius any suspicion that 
might tend to frustrate my only hope, 
threw a fetter over my spint, and 
checked my tongue. In humble silence, 
therefore, I followed ; while the cheer- 
ful old man, with slow, but firm step, as- 
cended the rock by the same ladders 
which I had mounted on the preceding 
night. 

During the time when the Decian 
Persecution was raging, many Christians, 
as he told me, of the neighborhood had 


'taken refuge under his protection, in 
| these grottoes; and the small chapel 


upon the summit, where [ had found 


| his flock at prayer, was, in those awful 


times of suffering, their usual place of 
retreat, where, by drawing up these lad- 
ders, they were enabled to secure them- 
selves from pursuit. 

The view, from the top of the rock, ex- 
tending on either side, embraced the 
two extremes of fertility and desolation; 
nor could the Epicurean and the An- 
choret, who now stood gazing from that 
height, be at any loss to indulge their 
respective tastes, between the living 
luxuriance of the world on one side, and 
the dead, pulseless repose of the desert 
When we turned to the 
river, what a picture of animation pre- 

*M. Chdteaubriand has introduced Paul 
am his lion into the Martyrs, liv. xi. 


758 
sented itself! Near us to the south, 
were the graceful colonnades of Antinoé, 
its proud, populous streets, and tri- 
umphal monuments. On the opposite 
shore, rich plains, all teeming with cul- 
tivation to the water’s edge, seemed to 
offer up, as from verdant altars, their 
fruits to the sun; while, beneath us, 
the Nile, 

——— the glorious stream, 
That late between its banks was seen to glide— 
With shrines and marble cities, on each side, 
Glittering, like jewels strung along a chain— 
Had now sent forth its waters, and o’er plain 
And yalley, like a giant from his bed 
Using with outstretch’d limbs superbly spread. 
From this scene, on one side of the 
mountain, we had but to turn round 
our eyes to the other, and it was as 
if Nature herself had become suddenly 
extinct ;—a wide waste of sands, bleak 
and interminable, wearying out the sun 
with its sameness of desolation ;—black, 
burnt-up rocks, that stood as barriers, 
at which life stopped ;—while the only 
signs of animation, past or present, 
were the footprints, here and there, of 
an antelope or ostrich, or the bones of 
dead camels, as they lay whitening at a 
distance, marking out the track of the 
caravans over the waste. 

After listening, while he contrasted, 
in a few eloquent words, the two regions 
of life and death on whose confines we 
stood, I again descended with my guide 
to the garden that we had left. From 
thence, turning into a path along the 
mountain-side, he led me to another 
row of grottoes, facing the desert, which 
had been onee, he said, the abode of 
those brethren in Christ, who had fled 
with him to this solitude from the 
crowded world—but which death had, 
within a few short months, rendered 
tenantless. A cross of red stone, and a 
few faded trees, were the only traces 
these solitaries had left behind. 

A silence of some minutes succeeded, 
while we descended to the edge of the 
canal; and I saw opposite, among the 
rocks, that solitary cave. which had so 
chilled me with its aspect on the preced- 
ing night. Beside the bank we found 
one of those rustic boats, which the 
Ngyptians construct of planks of wild 
thorn, bound rudely together with bands 
of papyrus. Placing ourselves in this 
boat, and rather impelling than rowing 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


it across, we made our way through the 
foul and shallow flood, and landed 
directly under the site of the cave. 

This dwelling was situated, as I have 
already mentioned, on a ledge of the 
rock; and, being provided with a sort of 
window or aperture to admit the light 
of heaven, was accounted, I found, far 
more cheerful than the grottoes on the 
other side of the ravine. But there was 
a dreariness in the whole region around, 
to which light only lent additional hor- 
ror. The dead whiteness of the rocks, 
as they stood, like ghosts, in the sun- 
shine ;—that melancholy pool, half lost 
in the sands ;—all gave to my mind the 
idea of a wasting world. To dwell in a 
place so desolate seemed to me a living 
death ; and when the Christian, as we 
entered the caye, said, ‘‘Here is to be 
thy home,” prepared as I had been for 
the worst, all my resolution gave way ; 
—every feeling of disappointed passion 
and humbled pride, which had been 
gathering round my heart for the last 
few hours, found a vent at once, and 1 
burst into tears. 

Accustomed to human weakness, and 
perhaps guessing at some of the sources 
of mine, the good Hermit, without ap- 
pearing to take any notice of this emo- 
tion, proceeded to expatiate, with a 
cheerful air, on, what he called, the com- 
forts of my dwelling. Sheltered from 
the dry, burning wind of the south, my 
porch would inhale, he said, the fresh 
breeze of the Dog-star. Fruits from his 
own mountain-garden should furnish 
my repast. The well of the neighbor- 
ing rock would supply my beverage; 
and, ‘‘here,” he continued—lowering 
his voice into a more solemn tone, as 
he placed upon the table the volume 
which he had brought—‘‘ here, my son, 
is that ‘ well of living waters,’ in which 
alone thou wilt find lasting refreshment 
or peace!” Thus saying, he descended 
the rock to his boat; and, after a few 
plashes of his oar had died upon my ear, 
the solitude and silence that reigned 
around me was complete. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Wuart a fate was mine !—but a few 
weeks since, presiding over that gay 
Festival of the Garden, with all the Inx- 


; THE EPICURNAN. 


759 


ἣ aes : , teal ss : - 
uries of existence tributary in my train; | give way, and even love itself yielded to 


and now—self-humbled into a solitary 


_outecast—the hypocritical pupil of ἃ 
rock, and covering my eyes with my 
/ hands, I made an effort to shut out the 


Christian anchoret—without even the 
excuse of religious fanaticism, or any 
other madness, but that of love, wild 
love, to extenuate my fall ! Were there 
-ahope that, by this humiliating waste 
of existence, I might purchase now and 
then a momentary glimpse of Alethe, 
even the depths of the desert, with such 
achance, would be welcome. But to 
live—and live thus—without her, was 
a misery which I neither foresaw nor 
could endure. 

Hating even to look upon the den to 
which I was doomed, I hurried out 
into the air and found my way, along 
the rocks, to the desert. The sun was 
going down, with that blood-red hue, 
which he so often wears, in this climate, 
at his setting. Isaw the sands, stretch- 
ing out, like asea, to the horizon, as if 
their waste extended to the very verge 
of the world—and, in the bitterness of 
my feelings, rejoiced to see so large a 
portion of creation rescued, even by this 
barren liberty, from the encroaching 
grasp of man. The thought seemed to 
relieve my wounded pride, and, as I 
wandered over the dim and boundless 
solitude, to be thus free, even amidst 
blight and desolation, appeared to me 
a blessing. 

The only living thing I saw was a rest- 
less swallow, whose wings were of the 
same hue with the gray sands over 
which he fluttered.* ‘ Why (thought 
I) may not the mind, like this bird, par- 
take of the color of the desert, and sym- 


pathize in its austerity, its freedom, | 


and its calm ?’—thus vainly endeavor- 
ing, between despondence and defiance, 
to encounter with some degree of forti- 
tude what yet my heart sickened to con- 
template. But the effort was unavail- 
ing. Overcome by that vast solitude, 
whose repose was not the slumber of 
of peace, but rather the sullen and 
burning silence of hate, I felt my spirit 


* «Jo vis dans le désert des hirondelles d'un 

is clair comme le sable sur lequel elles yo- 
ent.”"— Denon. 

i In alluding to Whiston's idea of a comet 
having causéd the deluge, M. Girard, having 
remarked that the word: Typhon means a 
deluge, adds, ‘‘On ne peut entendre par le 


|ing promise, though 
through hypocrisy alone I could fulfil 


despair. 
Taking my seat ona fragment of a 


overwhelming prospect. But all in 


/vain—it was still before me, with every 


additional horror that fancy could sug- 
gest; and when, again looking forth, I 
beheld the last red ray of the sun, 
shooting across the melancholy and life- 
less waste, itappeared to me like the 
light of that comet which once desolat- 
ed this world,t and thus luridly shone 
out over the ruin that it had made! 

Appalled by my own gloomy imagin- 
ations, I turned towards the ravine; 
and, notwithstanding the disgust with 
I had fled from my dwelling, was not 
ill pleased to find my way, over the 
rocks, to it again. On approaching the 
cave, to my astonishment, I saw a 
light within. At such a moment, any 
vestige of life was welcome, and I 
hailed the unexpected appearance with 
pleasure. On entering, however, I 
found the chamber all as lonely as I 
had leftit. The light I had seen came 
from a lamp that burned brightly on 
the table; beside it was unfolded the 
volume which Melanius had brought, 
and upon the open leayes—oh, joy and 
surprise—lay the well-known cross of 
Alethe ! 

What hand, but her own, could have 
prepared this reception for me ?—The 
very thought sent a hope into my heart, 
before which all despondency fled. 


Even the gloom of the desert was for- 
gotten, and my rude cave at once 


brightened into a bower. She had here 
reminded me, by this sacred memorial, 
of the vow which I had pledged to her 
under the Hermit’s rock; and I now 
scrupled not to reiterate the same dar- 
conscious that 


it. 
Eager to prepare myself for my task 


| of imposture, I sat down to the volume, 


| lequel le déluge inonda la terre, tems pendant 


lequel on dit observer la ecométe qui l’oeca- 


| sionna, et dont l’apparition fut, non seulement 


pour les peuples de | Egypte, et de I’ thiopie, 
mais encoro pour tous peuples le présage fu- 


| neste de lear destruction presque totale.”— 
reins du régne de Typhon gui celui pendant ! 


Description dela Vallée de URgarement. 


760 MOORWS 


WORKS. 


which I now found to be the Hebrew | 
Scriptures; and the first sentence, on | 
which my eyes fell, was—“The Lord | 
hath commanded the blessing, even. 
Life for evermore!” Startled by these 
words, in which it appeared to me as if 
the Spirit of my dream had again pro- 
nounced his assuring prediction,* I 
raised my eyes from the page, and re- | 
peated the sentence over and over, as if | 
to try whether in these sounds there lay 
any charm or spell, to reawaken that 
faded illusion in my soul. But, no— 
the rank frauds of the Memphian priest- 
hood had dispelled all my trust in the 
promises of religion. My heart had 
again relapsed into its gloom of skepti- | 
cism, and, to the word of ‘ Life,” the 
only answer it sent back was, ‘‘ Death!” 

Being impatient, however, to possess | 
myself of the elements of a faith, upon 
which—whatever it might promise for 
hereafter—I felt that all my happiness 
here depended, I turned over the pages 
with an earnestness and avidity, such 
as never even the most favorite of my 
studies had awakened inme. Though, 
like all who seek but the surface of 
learning, I flew desultorily over the 
leaves, lighting only on the more prom- 
inent and shining points, I yet found 
myself, even in this undisciplined career, 
arrested, at every page, by the awful, 
the supernatural sublimity, the alter- 
nate melancholy and grandeur of the 
images that crowded upon me. 

I had, till now, known the Hebrew 
theology but through the platonizing re- 
finement of Philo ;—as, in like manner, 
for my knowledge of the Christian doc- 
trine I was indebted to my brother Epi 
cureans, Lucian and Celsus. Little, 
therefore, was my mind prepared for | 
the simple majesty, the high tone of in- 
spiration—the poetry, in short, of heay- 
en that breathed throughout these ora- 
cles. Could admiration have kindled 
faith, I should, that night, have been a | 
believer; so elevated, so awed, was my 
imagination by that wonderful book— 
its warnings of wo, its announcements 
of glory, and its unrivalled strains of 
adoration aud sorrow. 

“Many people,” said Origen, ‘‘ have been 
brought over to Christianity by the Spirit ot 
God giving a sudden turn to their minds, and 
offering visions to them either by day or night.” 
On this Jortin remarks :—‘ Why should it be 


| Hermit, on his way, across the canal, to 


Hour after hour, with the same eager 
and desultory curiosity, did I turn over 
the leaves ;—and when, at length, I lay - 
down to rest, my fancy was still haunt- 
ed by the impressions it had received. 
I went again through the various scenes, 
of which I had read; again called up, in 
sleep, the bright images that had passed 


| before me; and when awakened at 


early dawn by the solemn Hymn from 
the chapel, imagined that I was still 
listening to the sound of the winds, 
sighing mournfully through the harps of 
Israel on the willows. 

Starting from my bed, I hurried out 
upon the rock, with a hope that, among 
the tones of that morning choir, I might 
be able to distinguish the sweet voice of 
Alethe. But the strain had ceased ; 
—I caught only the last notes of the 
Hymn, as, echoing up that lonely val- 
ley, they died away into the silence of 
the desert. 

With the first glimpse of light I was 
again eagerly at my study, and, not- 
withstanding the frequent distraction 
both of my thoughts and looks towards 
the distant, half-seen grottoes of the 
Anchoret, continued my task with un- 
abating perseverance throughout the 
day. Still alive, however, only to the 
eloquence, the poetry of what I studied, 
of its claims to authority, as a history, I 
never once paused to consider. My 
fancy alone being interested by it, to 
fancy alone I referred all that it con- 


| tained; and, passing rapidly from an- 


nals to prophecy, from narration to 
song, regarded the whole but as a tissue 
of oriental allegories, in which the deep 
melancholy of Hgyptian associations 
was interwoven with the rich and sen- 
sual imagery of the Hast. 

Towards sunset I saw the venerable 


my cave. Though he was accompanied 
only by his graceful antelope, which 
came snuffing thé wild air of the desert, 
as if scenting its home, I felt his visit, 
even thus, to be a most welcome relief. 
It was the hour, he said, of his evening 
ramble up the mountain—of his accus- 
tomed visit to those cisterns of the rock, 


thought improbable that Pagans of good dis- 
positions, but not free from prejudices, should 
have been called by divine admonitions, by 
dreams or visions, which might be a support te 
Christianity in those days of distress 7?” 


. 


ad 


, precious beverage. 
observed in his hand one of those earth- 


THE EPICURBAN. 


from which he drew nightly his most 
While he spoke, I 


en cups,* in which it is the custom of 
the inhabitants of the wilderness to col- 
lect the’ fresh dew among the rocks. 
Having proposed that I should accom- 
any him in his walk, he proceeded to 
ead me, in the direction of the desert, 
up the side of the mountain that rose 
above my dwelling, and which formed 
the southern wall or screen of the defile. 

Near the summit we found a seat, 
where the old man paused to rest. It 
commanded a full view over the desert, 
and was by the side of one of those hol- 
lows in the rock, those natural reser- 
voirs, in which are treasured the dews of 
night for the refreshment of the dwell- 
ers in the wilderness. Having learned 
from me how far 1 had advanced in my 
study—‘‘In yonder light,” said he, 
pointing to a small cloud in the east, 
which had been formed on the horizon 
hy the haze of the desert, and was now 
faintly reflecting the splendors of the 
sanset—‘‘in the midst of that light 
stands Mount Sinai, of whose glory thou 
hast read ; upon whose sunmit was the 
scene of one of those awful revelations, 
in which the Almighty has renewed 
from time to time his communication 
with Man, and kept alive the remem- 
brance of his own Providence in this 
world.” 

After a pause, as if absorbed in the 
immensity of the subject, the holy man 
continued his sublime theme. Look- 
ing back to the earliest annals of time, 
he showed how constantly every relapse 
of the human race into idolatry has been 
followed by some manifestation of Di- 


vine a chastening the strong and 
proud by punishment, and winning 


back the humble by love. It was to 
preserve, he said, unextinguished upon 
earth, that great and vital truth—the 
Creation of the world by one Supreme 


Being --that God chose, from among | 


the nations, an humble and enslaved 


* Palladius, who lived some time in Egypt, 
describes the monk Ptolemzeus, who inhabited 
the desert of Scete, as collecting in earthen 
eups the abundant dew from the rocks.’’— 
Bibliothec. Pat. tom. xiii. 

| The brief sketch here given of the Jewish 
dispensation agrees very much with the view 


| 


761 


race—that he brought them out of their 
captivity ‘‘on eagles’ wings,” and, still 
surrounding every step of their course 
with miracles, has placed them before 
the eyes of all succeeding generations, 
as the depositaries of his will and the 
ever-during memorials of his power.t 
Passing, then, in review the long train 
of inspired interpreters, whose pens 
and whose tongues were made the 
echoes of the Divine voice,f{ he traced 
throughout the events of successive ages, 
the gradual unfolding of the dark 
scheme of Providence—darkness with- 
out, but alllight and glory within. The 
glimpses of a coming redemption, visi- 
ble even through the wrath of Hea- 
ven ;—the long series of prophecy 
through which this hope runs, burning 
and alive, like a spark along a chain ;— 
the slow and merciful preparation of 
the hearts of mankind for the great trial 
of their faith and obedience that was at 
hand, not only by miracles that appealed 
to the living, but by prophecies 
launched into the future to carry con- 
viction to the yet unborn ;—‘‘ through 


all these glorious and beneticent grada- 
| tions we may 


track,” -said he, ‘ the 
manifest footsteps of a Creator, adyanc- 
ing to his grand, ultimate end, the sal- 
vation of his creatures.” 

After some hours devoted to these holy 
instructions, we returned to the ravine, 
and Melanius left me at my cave ; pray- 
ing, as he parted from me—with a be- 
nevolence which I but ill, alas! de- 
served—that my soul might, under 
these Jessons, be ‘‘as a watered gar- 
den,” and, ere long, ‘ bear fruits unto 
life eternal.” 

Next morning, I was again at my 
study, and even more eager in the 
awakening task than before. With the 
commentary of the Hermit freshly in 
my memory, I again read through, with 
attention, the Book of the Law. But 
in vain did I seek the promise of immor- 
tality in its pages.§ ‘It tells me,” 
said I, “οἵ a God coming down to 


of his eloquent work, the ‘“ Records of. the 
Creation.” 

t In the original, the discourses of the Her. 
mit are given much more at length. 

§ “It is impossible to deny,” says Dr. Sum- 
ner, “that the sanctions of the Mosaic Law 
are altogether temporal. ... It is, indeed, 


- taken of it by Dr. Sumner, in the first chapters ! one of the facts that can only be explained by 


762 


earth, but of the ascent of Man to hea- 
ven it speaks not. The rewards, the 
punishments if announces, lie all on this 
side of the grave; nor did even the 
Omnipotent offer to his own chosen ser- 
vants a hope beyond the impassable 
limits of this world. Where, then, is 
the salvation of which the Christian 
spoke ? or, if Death beat the root of the 
faith, can Life spring out of it ?” 

Again, in the bitterness of disappoint- 
ment, did I mock at my own willing 
self-delusion—again rail at the arts of 
that traitress, Fancy, ever ready, like 
the Delilah of this wondrous book, to 
steal upon the slumbers of Reason, and 
deliver him up, shorn and powerless, to 
his foes. If deception, thought I, be 
necessary, at least let me not practise 
it on myself ;—in the desperate alterna- 
tive before me, let me rather be even 
hypocrite than dupe. 

These self-accusing reflections, cheer- 
less as they rendered my task, did not 
abate, for a single moment, my indus- 
try in pursuing it. I read on and on, 
with a sort of sullen apathy, neither 
charmed by style, nor transported by 
imagery—the fatal blight in my heart 
haying communieated itself to my im- 
agination and taste. The curses and the 
blessings, the glory and the ruin, which 
the historian recorded and the prophet 
had predicted, seemed all of this world 
—all temporal and earthly. That mor- 
tality, of which the fountain-head had 
tasted, tinged the whole stream ; and 
when [read the words, ‘‘all are of the 
dust, and all turn to dust again,”* a 
feeling, like the wind of the desert, 
came witheringly over me. Love, 
Beauty, Glory, every thing most bright 
and worshipped upon earth, appeared 
to be sinking before my eyes, under 
this dreadful doom, into one general 
mass of corruption and silence. 

Possessed by the image of desolation 
1 had thus called up, I laid my head 
acknowledging that he really acts under a 
Divine commission, promulgating a temporary 
law for a peculiar purpose,’—a much more 
eandid and sensible way of treating this very 
diflicult point, than by either endeavoring, like 
Warburton; to escape from it into a paradox, 
or, still worse, contriving, like Dr. Graves, to 
increase its difficulty by explanation.—Vide 
“ Onthe Pentateuch.’ See also Horne’s Intro- 
duction, &¢@., Vol. i. p. 226. 

* While Voltaire, Volney, &c., refer to the 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


upon the book, in a paroxysm of de- 

spair. Death in all his most ghastly vari- 
eties, passed before me; and I had con- 
tinued thus for some time, as under the 
influence of a fearful vision, when the 
touch of ahand upon my shoulder roused 
me. Looking up, I saw the Anchoret 

standing by my side ;—his countenance 

beaming with tbat sublime tranquillity, 

which a hope, beyond this earth, alone 

can bestow. How I did envy him! 

We again took our way to the seat 


upon the mountain—the gloom within . 


my own mind making everything 
around me more gloomy. Forgetting 
my hypocrisy—my feelings, I proceeded 
at once to make an avowal to him of all 
the doubts and fears which my study of 
the morning had awakened. 

“Thou art yet, my son,” he answered, 
“but on the threshold of our faith. 
Thou hast seen but the first rmdiments 
of the Divine plan ;—its full and consum- 
mate perfection hath not yet opened 
upon thy mind. However glorious that 
manifestation of Divinity on Mount 
Sinai, it was but the forerunner of an- 
other, still more glorious, which, in the 
fulness of time, was to burst upon the 
world; when all, that Lefore had seem- 
ed dim and incomplete, was to be per- 
fected, and the promises, shadowed ont 
by the ‘spirit of prophecy,’ realized ;— 
when the seal of silence, under which 
the Future had so long lain, was to be 
broken, and the glad tidings of life and 
immortality proclaimed to the world!” 

Observing my features brighten at 
these words, the pious man continued. 
Anticipating some of the holy know- 
ledge that wasin store for me, he traced, 
through all its wonders and mercies, 
the great work of Redemption, dwelling 
in detail upon every miraculous cireum- 
stance connected with it—the exalted 
nature of the Being, by whose ministry 
it was accomplished, the noblest and 
first created of the Sons of God,f inferior 
Ecclesiastes, as abounding with tenets of ma- 
terialism and Epicurism, M. Des Voeux and 
others find in it strong proofs of belief in a 
future state. The chief difficulty lies in the 
chapter from which this text is quoted; and 


the mode of construction by which some writers 
attempt to get rid of it—namely, by putting 


these texts into the mouth of a foolish reasoner ἡ 


—appears forced and gratuitous.—Vide Dr. 
Hale's Analysis. 
+ This opinion of the Hermit may he sup- 


Ὶ 


THE EPICUREAN, 


only, to the one, self-existent Father ;— 
the mysterious incarnation of this heay- 
enly messenger ;—the miracles that au- 
thenticated his divine mission ;—the ex- 
ample of obedience to God and loye to 
man, which he set, as a shining light, 
before the world forever ;—and, lastly 
and chiefly, his death and resurrection, 
by which the covenant of mercy was 
sealed, and “life and immortality 
brought to light.” . 
**Such,” continued the Hermit, ‘‘ was 
the Mediator, promised through all 
time, to ‘ make reconciliation for iniqui- 
ty,’ to change death into life, and bring 
‘healing on his wings’ to a darkened 
world. Such was tbe last crowning dis- 
pensation of that God of benevolence, in 
whose hands sin and death are but in- 
struments of everlasting good, and who, 
through apparent evil and temporary re- 
tribution, bringing all things ‘out of 
darkness into his marvellous light,’ pro- 
ceeds watchfully and unchangingly to 
the great, final object of his providence 
—the restoration of the whole buman 
race to purity and happiness "ἢ 
Withamind astonished, if not touched, 


posed to have been derived from his master, 
Origen; but it is not easy to ascertain the ex- 
act doctrine of Origen on this subject. In 
the ‘Treatise on Prayer attributed to him, he 
asserts that God the Father alone should be 
invoked—which, suys Bayle, is to ‘ enchérir 
sur les Hérésies des Sociniens.” Notwith- 
standing this, however, and some other indi- 
cations of, what was afterwards called, Arian- 
ism,(sueh as the opinion of the divinity being 
reevived by communication, which Milner 
asserts to have been held by this Father,) 
Origen was one of the authorities quoted by 
Athanasius in support of his high doctrines of 
eo-eternity and co-essentiality. What Priestley 
Says is, perhaps, the best solution of these 
inconsistencies :—** Origen, as well as Clemens 
Alexandrinus, has been thought to favor the 
Arian principles; but he did it only in words; 
and not in ideas.’—Harly Opinions, ce. 
Whatever uncertainty, however, there may ex- 
ist with respect to the opinion of Origen him- 
self on this subject, there is no doubt that the 
doctrines of his immediate followers were, at 
least, Anti-Athanasian. ‘‘So many Bishops 
of Africa,” says Priestley, “were, at this 
period (between the year 255 and 258) Unita- 
rians, that Athanasius says, ‘ The Son of God’ 
—meaning his divinity—‘was scarcely any 
longer preached in the churches.’” 

* This benevolent doctrine—which not only 
goes fr to solve the great problem of moral 
and plysieal evil, but which would, if received 
more generally, tend to soften the spirit of 
uncharitableness, so fatally prevalent among 
Christian sects—was muintained by that great 


763 


by these discourses, I returned to my 
cave, and found tbe lamp, as_ before, 
ready lighted to receive me. The vol 
ume which 1 had heen hitherto studying, 
was replaced by another, which lay open 
upon the table, with a branch of fresh 
palm between its leaves. Though I 
could not doubt to whose gentle and 
guardian hand I was indebted for this 
invisible watchfulness over my studies, 
there was yet a something in it, so like 
spiritual interposition, that it struck me 
with awe ;—and never more than at this 
moment, when, on approaching the vol- 
une, I saw, as the light glistened over 
its silver letters,f that it was the very 
Book of Life of which the Hermit had 
spoken ! 

The midnight hymn of the Christians 
had sounded through the valley, before 
I had yet raised my eyes from that sa- 
cred volume; and the second hour of 
the sun found me again over its pages. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


In this mode of existence I had now 
passed some days ;—my mornings de- 


light of the early Church, Origen, and has not 
wanted supporters among more modern Theo- 
logians. That Tillotson was inclined to thie 
opinion appears from his sermon preached be- 
fore the queen. Paley is supposed to have 
held the same amiable doctrine; and Newton 
(the author of the work on the Prophecies) is 
also among the supporters of it. For a full 
account of the arguments in favor of this opin- 
ion, derived both from reason and the express 
language of Scripture, see Dr. Southwood 
Smith's very interesting work, “On the Divine 
Government.”’ See also Magee on Atonement, 
where the doctrine of the advocates of Uni- 
versal Restoration isthus briefly, and, I believe, 
fairly explained :—‘‘ Beginning with the exist- 
ence of an infinitely powerful, wise, and good 
Being, as the first and fundamental principle of 
rational religion, they pronounce the essence 
of this Being to be love, and from this infer, as 
a demonstrable consequence, that none of the 
creatures formed by such a Being will ever be 
made eternally miserable Since God 
(they say) would act unjustly in inflicting 
eternal misery for temporary crimes, the suffer- 
ings of the wicked can be but remedial, and 
will terminate in a complete purification from 
moral disorder, and in their ultimate restora- 
tion to virtue and happiness. 

t The Codex Cottonianus of the New Testa- 
ment is written in silver letters on a purple 
ground. The Codex Cottonianus of the Sep- 
tuagint version of the Old ‘Testament is sup- 
pesed to be the identical copy that belonged to 
Origen. 


764 


voted to reading, my nights to listening, 
under the wide canopy of heaven, to 
the holy eloquence of Melanius. The 
perseverance with which I inquired, and 
the quickness with which I learned, soon 
succeeded in deceiving my benevolent 
_ instructor, who mistook curiosity for 
zeal, and knowledge for belief. Alas! 
cold, and barren, and earthly was that 
knowledge—the word without the spirit, 
the shape without the life. Even when, 
as arelief from hypocrisy, I persuaded 
myself that I believed, it was but a 
brief delusion, a faith, whose hope 
crumbled at the touch—like the fruit of 
the desert-shrub,* shining and empty ! 

But, though my soul was still dark, 
the good Hermit saw not into its depths. 
The very facility of my belief, which 
might have suggested some doubt of its 
sincerity, was but regarded, by his inno- 
cent zeal, as a more signal triumph of 
the truth. His own ingenuousness led 
him to a ready trust in others; and the 
examples of such conversions as that 
of the philosopher, Justin, who, during 
a walk by the sea-shore, received the 
light into his soul, had prepared him for 
illuminations of the spirit, even more 
rapid than mine. 

During all this time, I neither saw nor 
heard of Alethe ;—norcould my patience 
have endured through so long a priva- 
tion, had not those mute vestiges of her 
presence, that welcomed me every night 
on my return, made me feel that I was 
still living under her gentle influence, 
and that her sympathy hung round every 
step of my progress. Once, too, when 
I ventured to speak her name to Mela- 
nius, though he answered not my inqui- 
ry, there was a smile, I thought of prom- 
ise upon his countenance, which love, 
far more alive than faith, was ready to 
interpret as it desired. 

At length—it was on the sixth or sey- 
enth evening of my solitude, when I lay 
resting at the door of my cave, after the 
study of the day—I was startled by hear- 
ing my name called loudly from the op- 
posite rocks; and looking up, saw, upon 
the cliff near the deserted grottoes, Me- 
lanius and—oh ! I could not doubt —my 
Alethe by his side ! 

Though I had never, since the first 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ceased to flatter myself with the faney — 


that I was still living in her presence, 
the actual sight of her once more made 
me feel for what a long age we had been 
separated. She was clothed allin white, 
and, as she stood in the last remains of 
the sunshine, appeared to my too pro- 
phetic fancy like a parting spirit, whose 
last footsteps on earth that pure glory 
encircled. 

With a delight only to be imagined, 
IT saw them descend the rocks, and, 
placing themselves in the boat, proceed 
directly towards my cave. ΤῸ disguise 
from Melanius the mutual delight with 
which we again met was impossible ;— 


nor did Alethe even attempt to make a °* 


seeret of her joy. Though blushing at 
her own happiness, as little could her 
frank nature conceal it, as the clear 
waters of Ethiopia can hide their gold. 
Every look, every word, bespoke a ful- 
ness of affection, to which, doubtful as 
Τ was of our tenure of happiness, I knew 
not how to respond. 

I was not long, however, left ignorant 
of the bright fate that awaited me; but, 
as we wandered or rested among the 
rocks, learned everything that had been 
arranged since our parting. She had 
made the Hermit, I found, acquainted 
with all that had passed between us ; 
had told him, without reserve, every 
incident of our voyage—the avowals, 
the demonstrations of affection on one 
side, and the deep sentiment that grati- 
tude had awakened on the other. Too 
wise to regard affections so natural with 
severity—knowing that they were of 
heaven, and but made evil by man—the 
good Hermit had heard of our attach- 
ment with pleasure; and, fully satisfied 


-as to the honor and purity of my views, 


by the fidelity with which I had deliy- 
ered my trust into his hands, saw, in 
my affection for the young orphan, but 
a providential resource against that 
friendless solitude in which his death 
must soon leave her. 

As, listening eagerly, I collected these 
particulars from their discourse, I could 
hardly trust my ears. Itseemed a hap- 
piness too great to be true, to be real; 
nor can words convey an idea of the joy, 
the shame, the wonder with which 1 lis- 


night of my return from the desert, |tened, while the holy man himself de- 


* Vide Hamilton's Agyptiaca, 


clared that he awaited but the moment, 


THE EPICURBAN. 


when he should find me worthy of be- 
coming a member of the Christian 


Church, to give me also the hand of 


Alethe in that sacred union, which 
alone sanctifies love, and makes the 
faith, which it pledges, holy. It was 


but yesterday, he added, that his young | 
charge, herself, after a preparation of 


pe and repentance, such as even 
er pure spirit required, had been ad- 
mitted, by the sacred ordinance of bap- 
tism, into the bosom of the faith ;—and 
the white garment she wore, and the 
ring of gold on her finger,* ‘‘ were sym- 
bols,” he added, ‘‘ of that New Life in- 
to which she had been initiated.” 

I raised my eyes to hers as he spoke, 
but withdrew them’ again, dazzled and 
confused. Even her beauty, to my im- 
agination, seemed to have undergone 
some brightening change ; and the con- 
trast between that open and happy 


countenance, and the unblest brow of 


the infidet that stood before her, abash- 
ed me into a sense of unworthiness, and 
almost checked my rapture. 

To that night, however, I look back, 
as an epoch in my existence. It proved 
that sorrow is not the only awakener 
of devotion, but that joy may sometimes 
quicken the holy spark into life. Re- 
turning to my cave, with a heart full, 
even to oppression, of its happiness, I 
could find no other relief to my over- 


charged feelings, than that of throwing | 


myself on my knees, and uttering, for 
the first time in my lite, a heartfelt 
prayer, that if, indeed, there were a Be- 
ing who watched over mankind, he 
would send down one ray of his truth 
into my darkened soul, and make it 
worthy of the blessings, both here and 
hereafter, proffered to it! 

My days now rolled on in a perfect 
dream of happiness. Every hour of the 
morning was welcomed as_ bringing 
nearer and nearer the blest time of sun- 
set, when the Hermit and Alethe never 
failed to visit my now charmed cave, 
where her smile left, at each parting, a 


*See, for the custom among the early 
Christians of wearing white for a few days 
after baptism, Ambros. de Myst.—With respect 
to the ring, the Bishop of Lincoln says, in his 
work on Tertullian, ‘The natural inference 
from these words (ert. de Pudicitid) appears 
to be, that a ring used to be given in baptism; 


765 


\light that lasted till her return. Then, 
our rambles, together, by starlight, over 
the mountain ; our pauses, from time 
to time, to contemplate the wonders of 
ἴδ. bright heaven above us; our re- 
pose by the cistern of the rock; and our 
silent listening, through hours that 
seemed minutes, to the holy eloquence 
of our teacher ;—all, all was happiness 
| of the most heartfelt kind, and such as 
even the doubts, the cold lingering 
|doubts, that still hung, like a mist, 
around my heart, could neither cloud 
nor chill. 

As soon as the moonlight nights re- 
turned, we used to venture into the des- 
ert; and those sands, which had lately 
looked so desolate, in my eyes, now as- 
/sumed even a cheerful and smiling as- 
pect. To the light, innocent heart of 
Alethe, every thing was a source of en- 
joyment. For her, even the desert had 
its jewels and flowers; and, sometimes, 
her delight was to search among the 
sands for those beautiful pebbles of jas- 
pert that abound in them ;—sometimes 


{her eyes would sparkle with pleasure 


on finding, perhaps, a stunted marigold, 
or one of those bitter, scarlet flowers,t 
that lend their dry mockery of ornament 
| to the desert. In all these pursnits and 
| pleasures the good Hermit took a share 
—mingling occasionally with them the 
reflections of a benevolent piety, that 
lent its own cheerful hue to all the 
works of creation, and saw the consol- 
ing truth, ‘‘ God is Love,” written legi- 
bly everywhere. 

Such was, for a few weeks, my bliss- 
| ful life. Ob, mornings of hope! oh, 
/nights of happiness! with what melan- 
_choly pleasure do 1 retrace your flight, 

and how reluctantly pass to the sad 
| events that followed ! 

During this time, in compliance with 
the wishes of Melanius, who seemed un- 
willing that I should become wholly es- 

'tranged from the world, I used occa- 
sionally to pay a visit to the neighbor- 


but I have found no other trace fof such a 
custom.” 

t Vide Clarke. 

ΣΡ Les Mesembryanthemum nodiflorum et 
Zygophyluum ‘coccineum, plantes grasses des 
| deserts, rejetées, ἃ cause de leur acreté, par les 
chameuux, les chéyres, et les gazelles.”’—M. 
| Delile upon the Plants of Egypt. 


766 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ing city, Antinoé,* which, being the 
capital of the Thebaid, is the centre of 
all the luxury of Upper Egypt. But 
here, so changed was my every feeling 
by the all-absorbing passion which now 
possessed me, that I sauntered along, 
wholly uninterested by either the scenes 
or the people that surrounded me, and, 
sighing for that rocky solitude where 
my Alethe breathed, felt this to be the 
wilderness, and that the world. 

Even the thoughts of my own native 
Athens, that at every step were called 
up, by the light Grecian architecture of 
this imperial city, did not awaken one 
single regret in my heart—one wish to 
exchange even an hour of my desert for 
the best luxuries and honors that await- 
ed me in the Garden. 1 saw the arches 
of triumph ;—I walked under the superb 
portico, which encircles the whole city 
with its marble shade ;—I stood on the 
Circus of the Sun, by whose rose-colored 
pillars the mysterious movements of the 
Nile are measured ;—on all these proud 
monuments of glory and art, as well as 
on the gay multitude that enlivened 
them, I looked with an unheeding eye. 
If they awakened in me any thought, it 
was the mournful idea, that, one day, 
like Thebes and Heliopolis, this pa- 
geant would pass away, leaving nothing 
behind but a few mouldering ruins—like 
sea-shells found where the ocean has 
been—to tell that the great tide of Life 
was once there ! 

But, though indifferent thus to all 
that had formerly attracted me, there 
were subjects, once alien to my heart, 
on which it was now most tremblingly 
alive; and some rumors which had 
reached me, in one of my visits to the 
city, of an expected change in the 
policy of the Emperor towards the 
Christians, filled my mind with appre- 
hensions as new as they were dreadful 
to 1110. 

‘The toleration and eyen favor which 
the Christians eujoyed, during the first 
four years of the reign of Valerian, had 
removed from them all fear of a renewal 
of those horrors, which they had experi- 
enced under the rule of his predecessor, 
Decius. Of late, however, some less 
friendly dispositions had manifested 
themselves. The bigots of the cout, 

* Vide Savary and Quatremére. 


taking alarm at the rapid spread of the 
new faith, had succeeded in filling the 
mind of the monarch with that religious 
jealousy, which is the ever-ready parent 
of cruelty and injustice. Among these 
counsellors of evil was Macrianus, the 
| Preetorian Prefect, who was, by birth, 
an Egyptian, and had long made him- 
self notorious—so akin is superstition to 
intolerance—by his addiction to the 
dark practices of demon-worship and 
magic. 

From this minister, who was now 
high in the favor of Valerian, the new 
measures of severity against the Chris- 
tians were expected to emanate. All 
tongues, in all quarters, were busy with 
the news. In the streets, in the public 
gardens, on the steps of the temples, I 
saw, everywhere, groups of inquirers 
collected, and heard the name of Macri- 
anus upon every tongue. It was dread- 
ful, too, to observe, in the countenances 
of those who spoke, the variety of feel- 
ing with which the ramor was discussed, 
| according as they feared or desired its 
-truth—according as they were likely to 
be among the torturers or the victiins. 

Alarmed, though still ignorant of the 
whole extent of the danger, I hurried 
back to the ravine, and, going at once 
to the. grotto of Melanius, detailed to 
him every particular of the intelligence 
I had collected. He listened to me 
with a composure, which I mistook, 
alas! for confidence in his own security ; 
and, naming the hour for our eyening 
walk, retired into his grotto. 

At the accustomed time, accompanied 
by Alethe, he came to my caye. It was 
evident that he had not communicated 
to her the intelligence which I had 
brought, for never hath brow worn such 
happiness as that which now played 
| around hers :—it was, alas! not of this 
earth. Melanius, himself, though com- 
posed, was thoughtful; and the solem- 
nity, almost approaching to melancholy, 
with which he placed the hand of Alethe 
in mine—in the performance, too, of a 
ceremony that ought to have filled my 
heart with joy—saddened and alarmed 
me. This ceremony was our betroth-_ 
ment, the act of plighting our faith to 
each other, which we now solemnized 
ou the rock before the door of my cave, 
in the face of that calm, sunset heaven, 


THE EPICUREAN. 


whose one star stood as our witness. | 
After a blessing from the Hermit upon 
our spousal pledge, I placed the ring— 
the earnest of our future union—on her 
finger; and, in the blush, with which 
she surrendered to me her whole heart 
at that instant, forgot every thing but 
my happiness, and felt secure even 
against tate ! 

We took our accustomed walk, that 
evening, over the rocks and on the 
desert. So bright was the moon—imore 
like the daylight, indeed, of other climes 
—that we could plainly see the tracks 
of the wild antelopes in the sand; and it | 
was not without a slight tremble of 
feeling in his voice, as if some melan- 
choly analogy occurred to him as he 
spoke, that the good Hermit said, “1 
have observed, in the course of my 
walks,* that wherever the track of that 
gentle animal appears, there is, almost 
always, found the foot-print of a beast | 
of prey near it.” He regained, however, 
his usual cheerfulness before we parted, | 
and fixed the following evening for an | 
excursion, on the other side of the} 
ravine, to a point, looking, he. said, | 
“towards that northern region of the | 
desert, where the hosts of the Lord en- 
camped in their departure out of bond- | 
age.” | 

Though, when Alethe was present, all | 
my fears even for herself were forgotten | 
in that perpetual element of happiness, 
which encircled her like the air that she 
breathed, no sooner was I alone, than 
vague terrors and bodings crowded up- 
cnime. In vain did I endeavor to reas- 
on away my fears, by dwelling only on 
the most cheering circumstances—on 
the reverence with which Melanius 
was regarded, even by the Pagans, and 
the inviolate security with which he 
had lived through the most perilous peri- 
ods, not only safe himself, but affording 
sanctuary in the depths of his grottoes 
to others. Though somewhat calmed 
by these considerations, yet, when at 
length I sunk off to sleep, dark, horri- | 
ble dreams took possession of my mind. 
Seenes of death and of torment passed 


* «Je remarquai, avee une réflexion triste, 
quun animal de proie accompagne presque 
toujours les pas de ce joli et fréle individu.” 

“These Christians who sacrificed to idols 
to save themselves were called by various 


jenough for years. 


767 


confusedly before me; and, when I 
awoke, it was with the fearful impres- 
sion that all these horrors were real. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


AT length, the day dawned—that 
dreadful day ! Impatient to be relieved 
from my suspense, I threw myself into 
my boat—the same in which we had 
performed our happy voyage—and, as 
fast as oars could speed me, hurried 
away to the city. I found the suburbs 
silent and solitary, but, as I approached 
the Forum, loud yells, like those of bar- 
barians in combat, struck on my ear, 
and, when [ entered it—great God, what. 
a spectacle presented itself! The im- 
perial edict against the Christians had 
arrived during the night, and already the 
wild fury of bigotry was let loose. 

Under a canopy, in the middle of the 
lorum, was the tribunal of the Gover- 
nor. Two statues—one of Apollo, the 
other of Osiris—stood at the bottom of 
the steps that led up to his judgment- 
seat. Before these idols were shrines, 
to which the devoted Christians were’ 
dragged from all quarters by the sol- 
diers and mob, and there compelled to 
recant, by throwing incense into the 
flame, or, on their refusal, burried away 
to torture and death. It was an appall- 
ing scene ;—the consternation, the cries 


of some of the victims—the pale, silent 
resolution of others ;—the fierce shouts 


of laughter that broke from the multi- 
tude, when the dropping of the frankin- 
cense on the altar proclaimed some de- 
nier of Christ;t and the fiend-like tri- 
umph with which the courageous Con- 
fessors, who avowed their faith, were 


led away to the flames ;—never could 


I have conceived such an assemblage of 
horrors ! 

Though I gazed but fora few min- 
utes, in those minutes I felt and fancied 
Already did the 
form of Alethe appear to flit before me 
through that tumult;—I heard them 
shout her name; her shriek fell on my 
ear; and the very thought so palsied me 


names, Thurijicati, Sacrificati, Mittentes, Ne- 
gatores,’ &c. Baronius mentions a bishop of 
this period, (253.) Marcellinus, who, yielding to 
the dhicata of the Gentiles, threw incense upon 
the altar.—Vide Arnob. contra Gent. lib. vii. 


768 


with terror, that I stood fixed and statue- 
like on the spot. 

Recollecting, however, the fearful 
preciousness of every moment, and 
that—perhaps, at this very instant— 
‘some emissaries of blood might be on 
their way to the Grottoes, I rushed wild- 
ly out of the Forum, and made my way 
to the quay. 

The streets were now crowded ; but 
T ran headlong through the multitude, 
and was already under the portico lead- 
ing down to the river—already saw the 
boat that was to bear me to Alethe— 
when a Centurion stood sternly in my 
path, and I was surrounded and arrest- 
ed by soldiers! It was in vain that I 
implored, that I struggled with them as 
for life, assuring them that I was 
a stranger—that I was an Athen- 
jan —that I was—not. a Christian. 
‘The precipitation of my flight was suf- 
ficient evidence against me, and unre- 
lentingly, and by force, they bore me 
away to the quarters of their Chief. 

It was enough to drive me at once to 
madness! Two hours, two frightful 
hours, was I kept waiting the arrival of 
the Tribune of their Legion*—my brain 
burning with a thousand fears and im- 
aginations, which every passing minute 
made but more likely to be realized. 
All I could collect, too, from the con- 
yersations of those around me, but add- 
ed to the agonizing apprehensions with 
which I was racked. Troops, it was 
said, had been sent in all directions 
through the neighborhood, to bring in 
the rebellious Christians, and make 
them bow before the Gods of the Em- 
pire. With horror, too, I heard of 
Orcus—Oreus, the High Priest of Mem- 
phis—as one of the principal instiga- 
tors of this sanguinary edict, and as here 
present in Antinoé, animating and di- 
recting its execution. 

In this state of torture I remained till 
the arrival of the Tribune. Absorbed 
in my own thoughts, I had not perceived 
his entrance ;—till, hearing a voice, in 
a tone of friendly surprise, exclaim, 
“ Alciphron!’”’ I looked up, and in this 
legionary Chief recognized a young Ro- 
man of rank, who had held a military 
command, the year before, at Athens, 
and was one of the most distinguished 

* A rank, similar to that of Colonel. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 4 


visitors of the Garden. It was no time, 
however, for courtesies:—he was pro- 
ceeding with all cordiality. to greet me, 
but, having heard him order my instant 
release, I could wait for no more. Ac- 
knowledging his kindness but by a grasp 
of the hand, I flew off, like one frantic, 
through the streets, and in a few min- 
utes, was on the river. d 

My sole hope had been to reach the 
Grottoes before any of the detached par- 
ties should arrive, and, by a timely 
flight across the desert, rescue, at least, 
Alethe from their fury. The ill-fated 
delay that had occurred rendered this 
hope almost desperate; but the tran- 
quillity I found everywhere as I pro- 
ceeded down the river, and my fond 
confidence in the sacredness of the Her- 
mit’s retreat, kept my heart from sinking 
altogether under its terrors. 

Between the current and my oars, the 
boat flew, with the speed of the wind, 
along the waters, and I was already 
near the rocks of the ravine, when I 
saw, turning out of the canal into the 
river, a barge crowded with people, and 
glittering with arms! How did I ever 
survive the shock of that sight? The 
oars dropped, as if struck out of my 
hands, into the water, and I sat, help- 
lessly gazing, as that terrific vision ap- 
proached. In a few minutes, the cur- 
rent brought us together ;—and I saw, 
on th; deck of the barge, Alethe herself 
and the Hermit surrounded by soldiers ! 

We were already passing each other, 
when, with a desperate effort, I sprang 
from my boat and lighted upon the edge 
of their vessel. I knew not what I did, 
for despair was my only prompter. 
Snatching at the sword of one of the sol- 
diers, as I stood tottermg on the edge, 
I had succeeded in wresting it out of 
his hands, when, at the same moment, 
I received a thrust of a lance from one 
of his comrades, and fell backward into 
the river. J can just remember rising 
again and making a grasp at the side of 
the vessel;—but the shock, and the 
faintness from my wound, deprived me 
of all consciousness, and a shriek from 
Alethe, as I sank, is all I can recollect 
of what followed. 

Would I had then died !—Yet, no, 
Almighty Being—I should have died in 
darkness, and I haye lived to know Thee ! 


Ὶ 


THE EPICUREAN. 


769 


On returning to my senses, I found 
myself reclined on a couch, in a splen- 
did apartment, the whole appearance of 
which being Grecian, I, for a moment, 
forgot all that had passed, and imagined 
myself in my own home at Athens. But 
too soon the whole dreadful certainty 
flashed upon me; and, starting wildly 
—disabled as I was—from my couch, I 
called loudly, and with the shriek of a 
maniac, vpon Alethe. 

I was in ths house, Τ then found, of 
my friend and disciple, the young Tri- 
bune, who had made the Governor ac- 
quainted with my name and condition, 
and had received me under his roof, 
when brought, bleeding and insensible, 
to Antinoé, From him I now learned 
at once—for I could not wait for details 
—the sum of all that had happened in 
that dreadful interval. Melanius was 
no more —Alethe stillalive, but in prison! 

«“Take me to her’—I had but time 
to say—‘‘take me to her instantly, and 
let me die by her side’—when, nature 
again failing under such shocks, I re- 
lapsed into insensibility. In this state 
1 continued for near an hour, and, on 


recovering, found the Tribune by my | 


side. The horrors, he said, of the Fo- 
rum were, for that day, over,—but what 
the morrow might bring, he shuddered 
to contemplate. His nature, it was 
lain, revolted from the inhuman duties 
in which he was engaged. Touched by 
the agonies he saw me suffer, he, in 
some degree, relieved them, by promis- 
ing that I should, at nightfall, be con- 
veyed to the prison, and, if possible, 
through his influence, gain access to 
Alethe. She might yet, he added, be 
saved, could I succeed in persuading 
her to comply with the terms of the 
edict, and make sacrifice to the Gods. — 
ἐς Otherwise,” said he, ‘there is no 
hope ;—the vindictive Orcus, who has 
resisted even this short respite of mercy, 
will, to-morrow, inexorably demand his 
prey.” 

He then related to me, at my own re- 
quest—though every word was torture 
—all the harrowing details of the pro- 
ceeding before the Tribunal. ‘‘I have 
seen courage,” said he, ‘‘in its noblest 


* The merit of the confession ‘*Christianus 
sun,” or ‘ Christiana sum,’’ was considerably 
enhanced by the clearness aud distinctness 


forms, in the field; but the calm intre- 
ey with which that aged hermit en- 
/dured torments—which it was hardl 
less torment to witness—surpassed all 
that I could have conceived of human 
fortitude !” 

My poor Alethe, too—in describing to 
‘me her conduct, the brave man wept 
like a child. Overwhelmed, he said, at 
first by her apprehensions for my safety, 
/she had given way to a full burst of 
| womanly weakness. But no sooner was 
she brought before the Tribunal, and 
the declaration of her faith was de- 
manded of her, than a spirit almost su- 

ernatuial seemed to animate her whole 
‘form. ‘She raised her eyes,” said he, 
“calmly, but with fervor, to heaven, 
while a blush was the only sign of mor- 
tal feeling on her features :—and the 
clear, sweet, and untrembling voice, 
| with which she pronounced her own 
doom, in the words, ‘ [am ἃ Christian!’* 
sent a thrill of admiration and pity 
throughout the multitude. Her youth, 
| her loveliness, affected all hearts, and a 
\ery of ‘Save the young maiden!’ was 
heard in all directions.” 

The implacable Orcus, however, would 
not hear of mercy.. Resenting, as it ap- 
peared, with all his deadliest rancor, not 
only her own escape from his toils, but 
| the aid with which she had, so fatally to 
his views, assisted mine, he demanded 
loudly and in the name of the insulted 
sanctuary of Isis, her instant death. It 
| was but by the firm intervention of the 
| Governor, who shared the general sym- 
| pathy in her fate, that the delay of an- 
other day was granted to give a chance 
| to the young maiden of yet recalling her 
| confession, and thus affording some pre- 
text for saving her. 

Even in yielding, with evident reluct- 
| ance, to this respite, the Inhuman Priest 
| would yet. accompany it with some 
/mark of his vengeance. Whether for 

the pleasure (observed the Tribune) of 
| mingling mockery with his cruelty, or 
/as a warning to her of the doom she 
| must ultimately expect, he gave orders 
| that there should be tied round her 
i brow one of those chaplets of coral,t 


with which it was pronounced. Pusebius 
{mentions the martyr Vetius as making it 
| Ane pornyy dwvn- 

t Une “de ces couronnes de grain de corail, 


770 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


with which it is the custom of young 
Christian maidens to array themselves 
on the day of their martyrdom ;—‘“‘ and 
thus fearfully adorned,” said he, ‘‘she 
was led away, amidst the gaze of the 
pitying multitude, to prison.” 
With these harrowing details the 
_ short interval till nightfall—every min- 
.ute of which seemed an age—was occu- 
pied. As soon as it grew dark, I was 
placed upon a litter—my wound, though 
not dangerous, requiring such a con- 


veyance—and, under the guidance of 


my friend, I was conducted to the pris- 
on. Through his interest with the 
guard, we were without difficulty ad- 
mitted, and I was borne into the cham- 
ber where the maiden lay immured. 
yen the veteran guardian of the place 
seemed touched with compassion for his 
prisoner, and supposing her to be 
asleep, had the litter placed gently near 
her. She was half reclining, with her 
face hid beneath her hands, upon a 
couch—at the foot of which stood an 
idol, over whose hideous features a lamp 
of naphtha, that hung from the ceiling, 
shed a wild and ghastly glare. On a 
table before the image was a censer, 
with a small vessel of incense beside it 
—one grain of which, thrown volunta- 
rily into the flame, would, even now, 
save that precious life. So strange, so 
fearful was the whole scene, that I 
almost doubted its reality. Alethe! 
my own, happy Alethe! can it, I 
thought, be thou that I look upon? 

She now slowly, and with difficulty, 
raised her head from the couch, on ob- 
serving which, the kind Tribune with- 
drew, and we were left alone. There 
was a paleness, as of death, over her 
features; and those eyes which, when 
last I saw them, were but too bright, 
too happy, for this world, looked dim 
and sunken. In raising herself up, she 
put her hand, as if from pain, to her 
forehead, whose marble hue but ap- 
peared more death-like from those red 
bands that lay so awfully across it. 

After wandering for a minute vaguely, 
her eyes at length rested upon me— 
and, with a shriek, half terror, half joy, 
she sprung from the couch, and sunk 
upon her knees by my side. She had 
dont les vierges martyres ornoient leurs cheveux 
en allant ἃ la mort.’’—Les Martyrs. 


believed me dead; and, even now, 

scarcely trusted her senses. ‘‘ My hus- 

band! my love!” she exclaimed; “oh, 

if thou comest to call me from this 

world, behold I am ready!” In saying | 
thus, she pointed wildly to that ominous 

wreath, and then dropped her head 

down upon my knee, as if an arrow had 

pierced it. 

“Alethe!’’ I cried—terrified to the 
very soul by that mysterious pang— 
and, as if the sound of my voice had re- 
animated her, she looked up, with a 
faint smile, in my face. Her thoughts, 
which had evidently been wandering, 
became collected ; and in her joy at my 
safety, her sorrow at my suffering, she 
forgot entirely the fate that impended 
over herself. Love, innocent love, alone 
occupied all her thoughts; and the 
warmth, the affection, the devotedness, 
with which she spoke—oh how, at any 
other moment, I would have blessed, 
have lingered upon every word ! 

But the time flew fast—that dreadful 
morrow was approaching. Already I/ 
saw her writhing in the hands of the 
torturer—the flames, the racks, the 
wheels, were before my eyes! Half 
frantic with the fear that her resolution 
was fixed, I flung myself from the litter 


‘in an agony of weeping, and supplicated 


her, by the love she bore me, by the 
happiness that awaited us, by her own 
merciful God, who was too good to re- 
quire such a sacrifice—by all that the 
most passionate anxiety could dictate, I 
implored that she would avert from us 
the doom that was coming, and—but 
for once—comply with the vain cere- 
mony demanded of her. 

Shrinking from me, as I spoke—but 
with a look more of sorrow than re- 
proach—‘‘ What, thou, too!” she said 
mournfully—‘‘ thou, into whose inmost 
spirit I had fondly hoped the same light 
had entered as into my own! No, 
never be thou leagued with them who 
would tempt me to ‘make shipwreck of 
my faith!’ Thou, who couldst alone bind 
me to life, use not, I entreat thee, thy 
power; but let me die, as He I serve 
hath commanded—die for the Truth. 
Remember the holy lessons we heard 
together on those nights, those happy 
nights, when both the present and fu- 
ture smiled upon us—when even the 


THE EPICUREAN. 


gilt of eternal life came more welcome 
to my soul, from the glad conviction 
that thou wert to be a sharer in its 
blessings ;—shall I forfeit now that di- 
vine privilege? shall I deny the true 
God, whom we then learned to love ? 
“ΝΟ, my own betrothed,” she con- 
tinued—pointing to the two rings on her 
finger—‘‘ behold these pledges—they 
are both sacred. I should have been as 
true to thee as I am now to heayen,— 
nor in that life to which I am hastening 
shall our love be forgotten. Should the 
baptism of fire, through which I shall 


ass to-morrow, make me worthy to be | 


eard before the throne of Grace, I will 
intercede for thy soul—I will pray that 
it may yet share with mine that ‘in- 
heritance, immortal and undefiled,’ 
which Mercy offers, and that thou—and 
my dear mother—and I——” 

She here dropped ber voice; the mo- 
mentary animation, with which deyo- 
tion and affection had inspired her, yan- 
ished ;—and there came a darkness over 
all her features, a livid darkness—like the 
approach of death—that made me shud- 
der through every limb. Seizing my 
hand convulsively, and looking at me 
with a fearful eagerness, as if anxious 
to hear some consoling assurance from 
my own lips—‘‘Believe me,” she con- 
tinued, ‘‘not all the torments they are 
preparing for me—not even this deep, 
burning pain in my brow, to which they 
will hardly find an equal—could be half 
so dreadful to me as the thought that I 
leave thee, without 2 

Here her voice again failed ; her head 
sunk upon my arm, and—merciful God, 
let me forget what I then felt—I saw 
that she was dying! Whether I ut- 
tered any ery, I know not ;—but the 
Tribune came rushing into the cham 
ber, and, looking on the maiden, said, 
with a face full of horror, “It is but 
too true "ἢ 

He then told me in alow voice, what 
he had just learned from the guardian of 


the prison, that the band round the | 


young Christian’s brow* was—oh horri- 
ble !—a compound of the most deadly 


* We find poisonous crowns mentioned by 
Pliny, wnder the designation of ‘ coronw 
ferales.". Paschalius, too, gives the following 
account of these “ deadly garlands,” as be calls 
them :—‘‘Sed mirum est tam salutare inven- 
tum humanam nequitiam reperisse, quomodo ad 


poison—the hellish invention of Oreus, 
to satiate his vengeance, and make the 
fate of his poor victim secure. My first 
movement was to untie that fatal 
wreath—but it would not come away— 
it would not come away ! 

Roused by the pain, she again looked 
in my face; but, unable to speak, took 
hastily from her bosom the small silver 
cross which she had brought with her 
from my cave. Having pressed it to her 
own lips, she held it anxiously to mine, 
and, seeing me kiss the holy symbol 
with fervor, looked happy, and smiled. 
The agony of death seemed to have 
passed away ;—there came suddenly 
| over her features aheavenly light, some 
share of which I felt descending into 
my own soul, and, in a few minutes 
| more, she expired in my arms. 


Here ends the Manuscript; but, on the outer 
cover is found, in the handwriting of a much 
later period, the following Notice, extracted, 
as itappears, from some Bgyptian martyr- 
ology:— 

ἐς ALCIPHRON—an Epicurean philos- 
opher, converted to Christianity, A. D. 
| 257, by a young Egyptian maiden, who 
| suffered martyrdom in that year. hn- 
mediately upon her death he betook 
himself to the desert, and lived a life, it 
is said, of much holiness and penitence. 
During the persecution under Dioclesian, 
his sufferings for the faith were most 
exemplary; and being at length, at an 
adyanced ave, condemned to hard labor, 
for refusing to comply with an Imperial 
edict, he died at the Brass Mines of Pal- 
estine, A. ἢ. 297.— 

“As Alciphron held the opinions 
maintained since by Arius, his memory 
has not been spared by Athanasian 
writers, who, among other charges, ac- 
cuse him of having been addicted to the 
superstitions of Egypt. For this calum- 
ny, however, there appears to be no 
better foundation than a circumstance, 
recorded by one of his brother monks, 
that there was found, after his death, a 
small metal mirror, like those used in 
the ceremonies of Isis, suspended around 
his neck.” 


nefarios usus traducent. Nempe, repert sunt 
| nefand® coron® harum, qnas dixi, tam salu- 
| brium μὸν nomen quidem et speciem imitatri- 
ces, at re et effectu ferales, atque adeo cupitis, 
cui imponuntur, interfeetrices."—De Coronis. 


712 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


ALCIPHRON: 


A FRAGMENT. 


LETTER I. 


FROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT 
ATHENS. 
WELL may you wonder at my flight 
From those fair Gardens, in whose 
bowers 
Lingers whate’er of wise and bright, 
Of Beauty’s smile or Wisdom’s light, 

Is left to grace this world of ours. 
Well may my comrades, as they roam, 
On such sweet eves as this, inquire 

Why I have left that happy home 
Where all is found that all desire, 
And Time hath wings that never tire ; 

Where bliss, in all the countless shapes, 
That Fancy’s self to bliss hath given, 

Comes clustering round, like road-side 

grapes 
That woo the traveller’s lip, at even; 

Where Wisdom flings not joy away— 

As Pallas in the stream, they say, 

Once flung her flute—but smiling owns 

That woman’s lip can send forth tones 

Worth all the music of those spheres 

So many dream of, but none hears; 

Where Virtue’s self puts on so well 
Her sister Pleasure’s smile, that, loath 

From either nymph apart to dwell, 

We finish by embracing both. 


Yes, such the place of bliss, I own, 
From all whose charms I just have 
flown; 
And even while thus to thee I write, 
And by the Nile’s dark flood recline, 
Fondly, in thought, I wing my flight 
Back to those groves and gardens bright, 
And often think, by this sweet light, 
How lovelily they all must shine ; 
Can see that graceful temple throw 
Down the green slope its lengthen’d 
shade, 
While, on the marble steps below, 
There sits some fair Athenian ma‘d, 


Over some favorite volume bending; 
And, by her side, a youthful sage 

Holds back the ringlets that, descending, 
Would else o’ershadow all the page. 

But hence such thoughts !—nor let me 

grieve 

O’er scenes of joy that I but leave, 

As the bird quits awhile its nest 

To come again with livelier zest. 


And now to tell thee—what I fear 

Thou’lt gravely smile at—why I’m here. 

Though through my life’s short, sunny 

dream, 
I’ve floated without pain or care, 

Like a light leaf, down pleasure’s stream, 
Caught in each sparkling eddy there; 

Though never Mirth awaked a strain 

That my heart echoed not again; 

Yet have I felt, when even most gay, 
Sad thoughts—I knew not whence or 
Suddenly o’er my spirit fly, [why— 

Like clouds, that, ere we’ve time to say 
“How bright the sky is !” shade the 

sky. 

Sometimes so vague, so undefined, 

Were these strange dark’nings of my 

mind— . [ beam’d— 

While naught but joy around me 
So causelessly they’ve come and 

flown, 

That not of life or earth they seem’d, 
But shadows from some world un- 

known. 

More oft, however, ’twas the thought 
How soon that scene, with all its play 
Of life and gladness, must decay— 

Those lips I press’d, the hands I caught— 

Myself —the crowd that mirth had 

brought 
Around me—swept like weeds away ! 


This thought it was that came to shed 
O’er rapture’s hour its worst alloys ; 
And, close as shade with sunshine, wed 


ALOIPHRON, 


773 


a So oe Sa a Lae Sa | a -ον πο a a τ΄ 


Its sadness with my happiest joys. 
Oh, but for this disheart’ning voice, 

Stealing amid our mirth to say 
That all, in which we most rejoice, 

Ere night may be the earth-worm’s 
But for this bitter—only this—[prey ; 
Full as the world is brimm’d with bliss, 
And capable as feels my soul 
Of draining to its dregs the whole, 

Τ should turn earth to heav’n, and be, 
Tf bliss made Gods, a Deity ! 


Thou know’st that night—the very last 
That ’mong my Garden friends I 


pass’d— 
When the School held its feast of mirth 
To celebrate our founder’s birth, 

And all that He in dreams but saw 
When he set Pleasure on the throne 
Of this bright world, and wrote her law 

In human hearts, was felt and 
known— 
Not in unreal dreams, but true 
Substantial joy as pulse e’er knew— 
By hearts and bosoms, that each felt 
Itself the realm where Pleasure dwelt. 


That night, when all our mirth was o’er, 
The minstrels silent, and the feet 
Of the young maidens heard no more— 
So stilly was the time, so sweet, 
Afid such a calm came o’er that scene, 
Where life and revel late had been— 
Lone as the quiet of some bay, 
From which the sea hath ebb’d away— 
That still I linger’d, lost in thought, 
Gazing upon the stars of night, 
Sad and intent, as if I sought 
Some mournful secret in their light ; 
And ask’d them, ’mid that silence, why 
Man, glorious man, alone must die, 
While they, less wonderful than he, 
Shine on through all eternity. 


That night—thou haply may’st forget 
Its loveliness —but ’twas a night 

To make earth’s meanest slave regret 
Leaving a world so soft and bright. 

On one side, in the dark blue sky, 

Lonely and radiant, was the eye 

Of Jove himself, while, on the other, 
’Mong stars that came out one by 

one, [mother 

The young moon—like the Roman 
Among her living jewels—shone. 

«Qh that from yonder orbs,” I thought, 
“Pure and eternal as they are, 


| 


| 


“There could to earth some power be 
brought, 
“ Some charm, with their own essence 
fraught, 
““To make man deathless as a star; 
““ And open to his vast desires 
“Α course, as boundless and sublime 
“As that which waits those comet-fires, 
“That burn and roam throughout 41} 
time!” 


While thoughts like these absorb’d my 
mind, 

That weariness which earthly bliss, 
However sweet, still leaves behind, 

As if to show how earthly ’tis, 
Came lulling o’er me, and I laid 

My limbs at that fair statue’s base— 
That miracle, which Art hath made 

Of all the choice of Nature’s grace— 
To which so oft I’ve knelt and sworn, 

That, could a living maid like her 
Unto this wondering world be born, 

I would, myself, turn worshipper. 


Sleep came then o’er me—and I seem’d 
To be transported far away 

To a bleak desert plain, where gleam’d 
One single, melancholy ray, 

Throughout that darkness dimly shed 
From a small taper in the hand 

Of one, who, pale as are the dead, 
Before me took his spectral stand, 

And said, while, ‘etl a smile 
Came o’er the wanness of his cheek— 

“Go, and beside the sacred Nile 
“You'll find ’th Eternal Life you 

seek.” 


Soon as he spoke these words, the hue 
Of death o’er all his features grew, ‘ 
Like the pale morning, when o’er night 
She gains the victory, full of light; 
While the small torch he held became 
A glory inhis hand, whose flame 
Brighten’d the desert suddenly, 

Even to the far horizon’s line— 
Along whose level I could see 

Gardens and groves, that seem’d to 

shine, 

As if then o’er them freshly play’d 
A vernal rainbow’s rich cascade > 
And musie floated everywhere, 
Circling, as ’twere itself the air, 
And spirits, on whose wings the hue 
Of heaven still linger’d, round me flew, 
Till from all sides such splendors broke, 
That, with the excess οἱ light, 1 woke! 


774 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Such was my dream ;—and, I confess, | Nor eye hath reach’d—oh, blessed 


Though none of all our creedless 
School 
E’er conn’d, believed, or reverenced less 
The fables of the priest-led fool, 
Who tells us of a soul, a mind, 
Separate and pure, within us shrined, 
Which is to live—ah, hope too bright !— 
Forever in yon fields of light ; 
Who fondly thinks the guardian eyes 
Of Gods are on him—as if, blest 
And blooming in their own blue skies, 
Th’ eternal Gods were not too wise 
To let weak man disturb their rest !— 
Though thinking of such creeds as thou 
And all our Garden sages think, 
Yet is there something, I allow, 
In dreams like this—a sort of link 
With worlds unseen, which, from the hour 
I first could lisp my thoughts till now, 
Hath master’d me with spell-like power. 


And who ean tell, as we’re combined 
Of various atoms—some refined, 
Like those that scintillate and play 
Tn the fix’d stars—some, gross as they 
That frown in clouds or sleep in clay— 
Who can be sure, but ’tis the best 
And brightest atoms of our frame, 
Those most akin to stellar flame, 
That shine out thus, when we’re at 
rest ;— 
Ey’n as the stars themselves, whose light 
Comes out but in the silent night. 
Or is it that there lurks, indeed, 
Some truth in Man’s prevailing creed, 
And that our Guardians, from on high, 
Come, in that pause from toil and sin, 
To put the senses’ curtain by, 
And on the wakeful soul lookin ! 


Vain thought !—but yet, howe’er it be, 
Dreams, more than once, haye proved 
Oracles, truer far than Oak, [to me 
Or Doye, or Tripod, ever spoke. 
And ’twas the words—thow’lt hear and 
smile— [speak— 
The words that phantom seem’d .to 
“Go, and beside the sacred Nile 
“Yowl find the Bternal Life yeu 
seek—" 
That, haunting me by night, by day, 
At length, as with the unseen hand 
Of Fate itself, urged me away 
From Athens to this Holy Land ; 
Where, mong the secrets, still untaught, 
The myst’ries that, as yet, nor sun 


thought !— 
May sleep this everlasting one. 


Farewell—when to our Garden friends 
Thou talk’st of the wild dream that sends 
The gayest of their school thus far, 
Wandering beneath Canopus’ star, 
Tell them that, wander where he will, 
Or, howsoe’er they now condemn 
His vague and vain pursuit, he still 
Is worthy of the School and them ;— 
Still, all their own—nor e’er forgets, 
Evn while his heart and soul pursue 
Th’ Eternal Light which never sets, 
The many meteor joys that do, 
But seeks them, hails them with delight, 
Where’er they meet his longing sight. 
And, if his life must wane away, 
Like other lives, at least the day, 
The hour it lasts shall, like a fire 
With incense fed, in sweets expire. 


LETTER II. 
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 
Memphis. 


’TIs true, alas—the myst’ries and the lore 
I came to study on this wondrous shore, 
Are all forgotten in the new delights, 
The strange, wild joys that fill my days 
and nights. 
Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak 
From subterranean temples, those J seek 
Come from the breathing shrines where 
Beauty lives, [ gives. 
And Love, her priest, the soft responses 
Instead of honoring Isis in those rites 
At Coptos held, I hail her, when she 
lights [ stream—- 
Her first young crescent on the holy 
When wandering youths and maidens 
watch her beam, {run, 
And number o’er the nights she hath to 
Ere she again embrace her bridegroom 
sun, [lends 
While o’er some mystic leaf, that dimly 
A clue into past times, the student 
bends, [to tread 
And by its glimmering guidance learns 
Back throneh the shadowy knowledge 
of the dean~ 
The only skill, alas, Z yet ean clain. 
Lies in deciphering some new lovee 
one’s name— [ place, 
Some gentle missive, hinting time and 
In language, soft as Memphian reed can 
trace. 


ALCIPHRON. 


And where—oh where’s the heart that | 
; could withstand [born land, 
Th’ unnumber’d witcheries of this sun- 
Where first young Pleasure’s banner was 
unfurl’d, [world ! | 

And Love hath temples ancient as the 
Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty | 
worn, [adorn; | 
Hides but to win, and shades but to | 
Where that luxurious melancholy, born | 
Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom 
Ralaniioy holy ;—where the bower and | 
tomb {from Death 
Stand side by side, and Pleasure learns 
The instant value of each moment’s | 
breath. 


Couldst thou but see how like a poet’s 
dream [ous stream, 
This lovely land now looks !—the glori- 
That late, between its banks, was seen | 
to glide [side 
*Mong shrines and marble cities, on each 
Glitt'ring like jewels strung along a)! 
chain, [ iain 
Hath now sent forth its waters, and o’er 
And valley, like a giant from his bed 
Rising with outstretch’d limbs, hath | 
grandly spread ; [as clear 
While far as sight can reach, beneath 
And blue a heaven as ever bless’d our 
sphere, {phyry domes, 
Gardens and pillar’d streets, and por- 
And high-built temples, fit to be the 
homes [hour | 
Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, whose | 
Outlasts all time, above the waters tower! 


Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, | 
that make 

One theatre of this vast, peopled lake, 

Where all that Love, Religion, Com- | 
merce gives 

Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. | 

Here, up the steps of temples from the 
wave 

Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 


} 


775 


Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those 
grains 

Of gold, wash’d down by Abyssinian 

Here, where the waters wind into a bay 

Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on 
their way 

To Sais or Bubastus, among beds 

Of lotus flowers, that close above their 
heads, [bower, 

Push their light barks, and there, as in a 

Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; 

Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with 
heat, [most sweet— 

That leaf, from which its waters drink 

While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 

Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 

Is play’d in the cool current by a train 

Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,* 
whose chain [cast, 

Around two conquerors of the world was 

But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 


For oh, believe not them, who dare to 
brand, {land. 

As poor in charms, the women of this 

Though darken’d by that sun, whose 
spirit flows 

Through every vein, and tinges as it goes, 


'’Tis but th’ embrowning of the fruit that 


tells {dwells — 
How rich within the soul of ripeness 
The hue their own dark sanctuaries 
wear, {glimpses there. 
Announcing heaven in_half-caught 
And never yet did tell-tale looks set free 
The secret of young hearts more ten- 
derly. {languid fall 
Such eyes!—long, shadowy, with that 
Of the fringed lids, which may be seeu 
in all [rays— 


| Who live beneath the sun’s too ardent 


Lending such looks as, on their marriage 

days, [ groom’s gaze ; 
Young maids cast down before a bride- 
Then for their grace—mark but the 

nymph-like shapes [ grapes 
Of the young village girls, when carryin 
From 


[TaMBives 


Priests in white garments go, with sa- reen Anthylla, or light urns o 
ered wahds {hands ; owers— [hours, 

And silver cymbals gleaming in their Not our own Sculpture, in her happiest 

While there, rich barks—fresh from those | E’er imaged forth, even at the touch of 
sunny tracts himt 

Far off beyond the sounding cataracts— | Whose touch was life, more luxury of 

Glide, with their precious lading to the limb; [like these, 

Then, canst thou wonder if, ’mid scenes 


sea, 
Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory, | I should forget all graver mysteries, 


* Cleopatra. t Apelles. 


776 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


All lore but Love’s, all secrets but that 
best , [blest ! 
In heaven or earth, the art of being 
Yet are there times—though brief, I 
own, their stay, [selves away— 
Like Summer clouds that shine them- 
Moments of gloom, when even these 
pleasures pall 
Upon my sadd’ning heart, and I recall 
That Garden dream—that promise of a 
power— [life’s hour, 
Oh, were there such !—to lengthen out 
On, on, as through a vista, far away 
Opening before us into endless day ! 
And chiefly o’er my spirit did this 
~ thought [brought 
Come on that evening—bright as ever 
Light’s golden farewell to the world— 
when first 
Th’ eternal pyramids of Memphis burst 
Awfully on my sight—standing sublime 
’Twixt earth and heaven, the watch- 
towers of Time, [hath pass’d 
From whose lone summit, when his reign 
From earth forever, he will look his last ! 


There hung a calm and solemn sunshine 
round [sound 

Those mighty monuments, a hushing 

In the still air that circled them, which 
stole 

Like music of past times into my soul. 

I thought what myriads of the wise, and 
brave, 

And beautiful, had sunk into the grave, 

Since earth first saw these wonders — 
and I said, 

“« Are things eternal only for the Dead ? 

‘‘Hath man no loftier hope than this, 
which dooms 

“‘ His only lasting trophies to be tombs? 

“But ’tis not so—earth, heaven, all na- 
ture shows [ close 

“Ἢρ. may become immortal—may un. 

“The wings within him wrapt, and 
proudly rise, [skies ! 

«“ Redeem’d from earth, a creature of the 


“ And who can say, among the written 
spells {shrines and cells 

‘Prom Hermes’ hand, that, in these 

‘Have, from the Flood, lay hid, there 
may not be 

“Some secret clue to immortality,— 

‘‘Some amulet, whose spell can keep 
life’s fire 


* See Notes on the Epicurean. 


‘“« Awake within us, never to expire ! 
‘OTis known that, on the Hmerald . 
Table,* hid 
‘¢ For ages in yon loftiest pyramid, 
‘<The Thrice-Greatt did himself engrave, 
of old, [less gold. 
“‘The chymie mystery that gives end- 
“ And why may not this mightier secret 
dwell {who can tell 
‘‘Within the same dark chambers? 
“But that those kings, who, by the 
written skill [gold at will, 
“Of th’ Emerald Table, call’d forth 
‘‘And quarries upon quarries heap’d 
and hurl’d, — [stand the world— 
““To build them domes that might out- 
‘Who knows but that the heavenlier - 
art, which shares [ theirs— 
“The life of Gods with man, was also 
“«That they themselves, triumphant o’er 
the power [hour ; 
“ΟΥ̓ fate and death, are living at this 
“ And these, the giant homes they still 
possess, 
‘‘Not tombs, but everlasting palaces, 
‘Within whose depths, hid from the 
world above, [ they love, 
‘ven now they wander, with the few 
‘‘Through subterranean gardens, by a 
light {dawn nor night! 
‘‘Unknown on earth, which hath nor 
“ Hlse, why those deathless structures ? 
why the grand [land ? 
«« And hidden halls, that undermine this 
“Why else hath none of earth e’er 
dared to go [realm below, 
«Through the dark windings of that 
‘Nor aught from heav’n itself, except 
the God [rinths trod ?” 
‘Of Silence, through those endless laby- 
Thus did I dream—wild, wandering 
dreams, I own, 
But such as haunt me ever, if alone, 
Or in that pause, ’twixt joy and joy I be, 
Like a ship hush’d between two waves 
at sea, [the sound 
Then do these spirit whisperings, like 
Of the Dark Future, come appalling 
round ; [me then, 
Nor can I break the trance that holds 
Till high o’er Pleasure’s surge I mount 
again ! 


Even now for new adventure, new de- 
light, {night, 
My heart is on the wing ;—this very 


| The Hermes Trismegistus. 


ALCIPHRON. 


The Temple on that Island, half-way 
o’er [ shore, 
From Memphis’ gardens to the eastern 
Sends up its annual rite* to her, whose 
beams [and dreams ; 
Bring the sweet time of night-flowers 
The nymph, who dips her urn in silent 
lakes, [takes ;— 
And turns to silvery dew each drop it 
Oh, not our Dian of the North, who chains 
In vestal ice the current of young veins, 
But she who haunts the gay Bubastianf 
grove, [heaven above, 
And owns she sees, from her bright 
Nothing on earth to match that heaven 
but Love. [ to-night !— 
Think, then, what bliss will be abroad 
Besides those sparkling nymphs, who 
meet the sight 
Day after day, familiar as the sun, 
Coy buds of beauty, yet unbreathed 
upon, 
And all the hidden loveliness, that lies, 
Shut up, as are the beams of sleeping 
eyes, [shall be 


ε 


Within these twilight shrines—to-night | 


Let loose, like birds, for this festivity ! 


And mark, ’tis nigh; already the sun 
bids 

His evening farewell to the Pyramids, 

As he hath done, age after age, till they 

Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray; 

While their great shadows, stretching 
from the light, 

Look like the first colossal steps of Night, 

Stretching across the valley to invade 

The distant hills of porphyry with their 

’ shade. 

Around, as signals of the setting beam, 

Gay, gilded flags on every house-to 
gleam: [rich arell 

While, hark !—from all the temples a 

of pune fo the Moon—farewell—fare- 
well. 


LETTER 111. 
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 
Memphis. 

THERE is some star—or it may be 

That moon we saw so near last night— 
Which comes athwart my destiny 

Foreyer, with misleading light. 
If for a moment, pure and wise __ [fall 

And calm I feel, there quick doth 

* The great Festival of the Moon. 

t Bubastis, or Isis, was the Diana of the 
£gyptian mythology. 


777 


A spark from some disturbing eyes, 
That through my heart, soul, being flies, 
And makes a wildfire of it all. 

I’ve seen—oh, Cleon, that this earth 

Should e’er have giv’n such beauty 
birth !— , [pass’d 

| That man—but, hold—hear all that 

Since yesternight, from first to last. 


The rising of the Moon, calm, slow, 

i And beautiful, as if she came 

Fresh from the Elysian bowers below, 
Was, with a loud and sweet acclaim, 

Welcomed from every breezy height, 

Where clouds stood waiting for her light. 

And wellmight they who view’d the scene 
Then lit up all around them, say, 

That never yet had Nature been 
Caught sleeping in a lovelier ray, 

Or rivall’d her own noontide face, 

| With purer show of moonlight grace. 


Memphis—still grand, though not the 
same 
Unrivall’d Memphis, that could seize 
From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame, 
And wear it bright through centuries— 
| Now, in the moonshine, that came down 
| Like a last smile upon that crown,— 
Memphis, still grand, among her lakes, 
Her pyramids and sbrines of fire, 
Rose, like a vision, that half breaks ᾿ 
On one who, dreaming still, awakes, 
To musie from some midnight choir : 
While to the west —where gradual sinks 
In the red sands, from Libya roll’d, 
Some mighty column, or fair sphynx, 
That stood in kingly courts of old— 
| It seem’d, as, "mid the pomps that shone 
Thus gayly round him, Time look’d on, 
| Waiting till all, now bright and bless’d, 
| Should sink beneath him like the rest. 


No sooner had the setting sun 

Proclaim’d the festal rite begun, 

And, ’mid their idol’s fullest beams, 
The Egyptian world was all afloat, 

Than I, who live upon these streams, 
Like a young Nile-bird, turn’d my 

boat 

To the fair island, on whose shores, 

Through leafy palms and sycamores, 

Already shone the moving lights 

Of pilgrims hastening to the rites. 

While, far around, like ruby sparks 

Upon the water, lighted barks, 

οὐ every form and kind—from those 
That down Syene’s cataract shoots, 


778 


To the grand, gilded barge, that rows 
To tambour’s beat and breath of flutes, 
And wears at night, in words of flame, 
On the rich prow, its master’s name ;— 
All were alive, and made this sea 
Of cities busy as a bill 
Of summer ants, caught suddenly 
In the overflowing of a rill. 


Landed upon the isle, I soon 
Through marble alleys and small 
groves 
Of that mysterious palm she loves, 
Reach’d the fair Temple of the Moon; 
And there—as slowly through the last 
Dim-lighted vestibule I pass’d— 
Between the porphyry pillars, twined 
With palm and ivy, I could see 
A band of youthful maidens wind, 
In measured walk, half dancingly, 
Round a small shrine, on which was 
placed [ white 
That bird,* whose plumes of black and 
Wear in their hue, by Nature traced, 
A type of the moon’s shadow’d light. 


Tn drapery, like woven snow, [below 
These nymphs were clad; and each, 
The rounded bosom, loosely wore 

A dark blue zone, or bandelet, 
With little silver stars all o’er, 

As are the skies at midnight, set, 
While in their tresses, braided through, 

Sparkled that flower of Egypt’s lakes, 
The silvery lotus, in whose hue 

As much delight the young Moon 
As doth the Day-God to behold [takes, 
The lofty bean-flower's buds of gold. 
And, as they gracefully went round 

The worshipp’d bird, some to the beat 
Of castenets, some to the sound 

Of the shrill sistrum timed their feet ; 
While others, at each step they took, 
A tinkling chain of silver shook. 


They seen’d all fair—but there was one 
On whom the light. had not yet shone, 
Or shone but partly—so downcast 
She held her brow as slow she pass’d. 
And yet to me, there seem’d to dwell 
A charm about that unseen face— 
A something in the shade that fell 
Over that brow’s imagined grace, 
Which won me more than all the best 
Outshining beauties of the rest. 
And her alone my eyes could see, 
BHuehain’d by this sweet mystery ; 


* The Ibis. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


And her alone I watch’d, as round 

She glided o’er that marble ground, 
Stirring not more th’ unconscious air 
Than if a Spirit were moving there, 

Till suddenly, wide open flew 

The Temple’s folding gates, and threw 
A splendor from within, a flood 

Of glory where these maidens stood, 
While, with that light—as if the same 
Rich source gave birth to both—there 
A swell of harmony, as grand [came 
As e’er was born of voice and hand, 
Filling the gorgeous aisles around 
With luxury of light and sound. 


Then was it, by the flash that blazed 
Full o’er her features—oh ’twas then, 
As startingly her eyes she raised, 
But quick let fall their lids again, 
I saw—not Psyche’s self, when first 
Upon the threshold of the skies 
She paused, while heaven’s glory burst 
Newly upon her downcast eyes, 
Could look more beautiful, or blush 
With holier shame, than did this maid, 
Whom now I saw, in all that gush 
Of splendor from the aisles, display’d. 
Never—though well thou know’st how 
much 
l’ve felt the sway of Beauty’s star— 
Never did her bright influence touch 
My soul into its depths so far; 
And had that vision linger’d there 
One minute more, I should have flown, 
Forgetful who I was and where, 
And, at her feet in worship thrown, 
Proffer’d my soul through life her own, 


But, scarcely had that burst of light 
And music broke on ear and sight, 
Than up the aisle the bird took wing, 
As if on heavenly mission sent, 
While after him, with graceful spring, 
Like some unearthly creatures, meant 
To live in that mix’d element [ went; 
Of light and song, the young maids 
And she, who in my heart had thrown 
A spark to burn for life, was flown. 


In yain 1 tried to follow ;—bands 
Of reverend chanters filled the aisle: 
Where’er I sought to pass, their wands 
Motion’d me back, while many a file 
Of sacred nymphs—but ah, not they 
Whom iny eyes look’d for—throng’d the 
way. 
Perplex’d, impatient, ’mid this crowd 
Of faces, lights—the o’erwhelming cloud 


ALCIPHRON. 


Of incense round me, and my blood 
Full of its new-born fire—I stood, 

_ Nor moved, nor breathed, but when I | 

caught 

A glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, | 

Or wreath of lotus, which, I thought, | 

Like those she wore at distance shone. 


But no, ’twas vain—hour after hour, 

Till my heart’s throbbing turn’d to | 
pain, 

And my strain’d eyesight lost its power, 
I sought her thus, but all in vain. 

At length, hot—wilder’d—in despair, 

[ rush’d into the cool night-air, — [look 

And, hurrying, (though with many a 

Back to the busy Temple, ) took 

My way along the moonlight shore, 

And sprung into my boat once more. 


There is a Lake, that to the north 
Of Memphis stretches grandly forth, 
Upon whose silent shore the Dead 
Have a proud City of their own,* | 
With shrines and pyramids o’erspread— | 
Where many an ancient kingly head 
Slumbers, immortalized in stone; 
And where, through marble grots be- 
neath, 
The lifeless, ranged like sacred things, 
Nor wanting aught of life but breath, 
Lie in their painted coverings, 
And on each new successive race, 
That visit their dim haunts below, 
Look with the same unwithering face, | 
They wore three thousand years ago. 
There, Silence, thoughtful God, who 
loves 
The neighborhood of death, in groves 
Of Asphodel lies hid, and weaves 
His hushing spell among the leaves— 
Nor eyer noise disturbs the air, [sound 
Save the low, humming, mournful 
Of priests, within their shrines, at prayer 
For the fresh Dead entomb’d around. 


‘Twas tow’rd this place of death—in 
mood { dark— 
Made up of thoughts, half bright, half 
I now across the shining flood — [bark. 
Unconscious turn’d my light-wing'd 
The form of that young maid, in all 
Its beauty, was before me still; 
And oft I thought, if thus to-eall 
Her image to my mind at will, 
If but the memory of that one 


» 
* peoropolis, or the City of the Dead, to the 
south of Memphis. 


779 


Bright look of hers, forever gone, 
Was to my heart worth all the rest 
Of woman-kind, beheld, possess’d— 
What would it be, if wholly mine, 
Within these arms, as in a shirne, 
Hallow’d by Love, I saw her shine— 


| An idol, worshipp’d by the light 
| Of her own beauties, day and night— 


If ’twas a blessing but to see 
And lose again, what would this be? 


In thoughts like these —but often cross’. 
By darker threads—my mind was lost, 
Till, near that City of the Dead, 
Waked from my trance, I saw o’er- 
Asif by some enchanter bid [head— 
Suddenly from the wave to rise— 
Pyramid over pyramid 
Tower in succession to the skies ; 
While one, aspiring, as if soon [all ; 
*Twould touch the heayens, rose o’er 


| And, on its summit, the white moon 


Rested, as on a pedestal! 


The silence of the lonely tombs [heard 
And templesround, where naught was 

But the high palm-tree’s tufted plumes, 
Shaken, at times, by breeze or bird, 

Form’d a deep contrast to the scene 

Of revel, where 1 late had been; 

To those gay sounds, that still came o’er, 

Faintly, from many a distant shore, 

And th’ unnumber’d lights, that shone 


| Far o’er the flood, from Memphis on 


To the Moon’s Isle and Babylon. 


| My oars were lifted, and my boat 


Lay rock’d upon the rippling stream ;’ 
While my vague thoughts, alike afloat, 
Drifted through many an idle dream, 
With all of which, wild and unfix’d 
As was their aim, that vision mix’d, 
That bright nymph of the Temple— 
now, 
With the same innocence of brow 
She wore within the lighted fane— 
Now kindling, through each pulse and 
vein, 
With passion of such deep-felt fire 
As Gods might glory to inspire ;— 
And now—oh Darkness of the tomb, 
That must eclipse even light like hers! 
Cold, dead, and black’ning, ’mid the 
Of those eternal sepulchres. [gloom 


Searce had I turn’d my eyes away 


From that dark death-place, at the 
thought, 


| When by the sound of dashing spray 


780 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


From a light oar my ear was caught, 
While past me, through the moonlight, 
A little gilded bark that bore [sail’d 
Two female figures, closely veil’d 
And mantled, towards that funeral 
shore. 
They landed—and the boat again 
Put off across the watery plain. 


Shall I confess—to thee I may— 
That never yet hath come the chance 
Of a new music, anew ray [ glance, 
From woman’s voice, from woman’s 
Which—let it find me how it might, 
In joy or grief—I did not bless, 
And wander after, as a light 
Leading to undreamt happiness. 
And chiefly now, when hopes so vain 
Were stirring in my heart and brain, 
When Fancy had allured my soul 
Into a chase, as vague and far 
As would be his, who fix’d his goal 
In the horizon, or some star— 
Any bewilderment, that brought 
More near to earth my _high-flown 
thought— 
The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, 
Less high and heavenly, but more sure, 
Came welcome—and was then to me 
What the first flowery isle must be 
To vagrant birds blown out to sea. 


Quick to the shore I urged my bark, 
And,by the bursts of moonlight, shed 
Between the lofty tombs, could mark 
Those figures, as with hasty tread 
They glided on—till in the shade 
Of a small pyramid, which through 
Some boughs of palm its peak display’d, 
They vanish’d instant from my view. 


I hurried to the spot—no trace 

Of life was in that lonely place ; 

And, had the creed I hold by taught 
Of other worlds, I might have thought 
Some mocking spirits had from thence 
Come in this guise to cheat my sense. 


At length, exploring darkly round 

The Pyramid’s smooth sides, I found 

An iron portal—opening high [prayer 
’Twixt peak and base—and, with a 

To the bliss-loving Moon, whose eye 
Alone beheld me, sprung in there. 

Downward the narrow stairway led 

Through many a duct obscure and dread, 
A labyrinth for mystery made, 

With wanderings onward, backward, 

round, 


And gathering still, where’er it wound, 
But deeper density of shade. 


Scarce had I ask’d myself, “ Can aught 

“That man delights in sojoum 
here ?”— 

When, suddenly, far off, I caught 
A glimpse of light, remote, but clear— 

Whose welcome glimmer seem’d to pour 
From some alcove or cell, that ended 

The long, steep, marble corridor, 
Through which I now, all hope, de- 

scended. 

Never did Spartan to his bride 

With warier foot at midnight glide. 

It seem’d as echo’s self were dead 

In this dark place, so mute my tread. 

Reaching, at length, that light, 1 saw— 
Oh listen to the scene, now raised 

Before my eyes—then guess the awe, 
The still, rapt awe with which I gazed. 

’*Twas a small chapel, lined around 

With the fair, spangling marble, found 

In many a ruin’d shrine that stands 

Half seen above the Libyan sands. 

The walls were richly sculptured o’er, 

And character’d with that dark lore, 

Of times before the Flood, whose key 

Was lost in th’ ‘‘ Universal Sea.” — 

While on the roof was pictured bright 
The Theban beetle, as he shines, 
When the Nile’s mighty flow declines, 

And forth the creature springs to light, 

With life regenerate in his wings :— 

Emblem of vain imaginings ! 

Of a new world, when this is gone, 

In which the spirit still lives on! 


Direct beneath this type, reclined 

On a black granite altar, lay 
A female form, in crystal shrined, 

And looking fresh as if the ray 

Of soul had fled but yesterday. 
While in relief, of silv’ry hue, 

Graved on the altar’s front were seen 
A branch of lotus, broken in two, 

As that fair creature’s life had been, 
And a small bird that from its spray 
Was winging, like her soul, away. 


But brief the glimpse I now could spare, 
To the wild, mystic wonders round ; 
For there was yet one wonder there, 
That held me as by witch’ry bound. 
The lamp, that through the chamber 
Its vivid beam, was at the head [shed 
Of her who on that altar slept ;. 
And near it stood when I first: came— 


ALCIPHRON, 


-- 


Bending her brow, as if she kept 
Sad watch upon its silent flame— 
A female form, as yet so placed 
Between the lamp’s strong glow and 
That I but saw, in outline traced, [me, 
The shadow of her symmetry. 
Yet did my heart—I scarce knew why— 
Even at that shadow’d shape beat high, 
Nor was it long, ere full in sight 
The figure turn’d ; and by the light 
That touch’d her features, as she bent 
Over the crystal monument, 
I saw ’twas she—the same—the same— 
That lately stood before me, bright’- 
ning 
The holy spot, where she but came 
And went again, like summer light- 
ning ! 
poe the crystal, o’er the breast 
Of her who took that silent rest, 
There was a cross of silver lying— 
Another type of that blest home, 
Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying 
Build for us in a world to come :— 
This silver cross the maiden raised 
‘To her pure lips :—then, having gazed 
Some minutes on that tranquil face, 
Sleeping in all death’s mournful grace, 
Upward she turn’d her brow serene, 
As if, intent on heaven, those eyes 
Saw then nor roof nor cloud between 
Their own pure orbits and the skies ; 
And, though her lips no motion made, 
And that fix’d look was all her speech, 
Τ saw that the rapt spirit pray’d 
Deeper within than words could reach. 


Strange power of Innocence, to turn 
To its own hue whate’er comes near, 
And make even vagrant Passion burn 
With purer warmth within its sphere ! 
She who, but one short hour before, 
Had come, like sudden wildfire, o’er 
My heart and brain—whom gladly, even 
From that bright Temple, in the face 
Of those paue ministers of heaven, 
I would have borne, in wild embrace, 
And risk’d all punishment, divine 
And human, but to make her mine ;— 
She, she was now before me, thrown 
By fate itself into my arms— 
There standing, beautiful, alone, 
With naught to guard her, but her 
charms. 
Yet did I, then—did even a breath 


781 


Disturb a scene where thus, beneath 
Farth’s silent covering, Youth and Death 

Held converse through undying love ? 
No—smile and taunt me as thou wilt— 

Though but to gaze thus was delight, 
Yet seem’d it like a wrong, a guilt, 

To win by stealth so pure a sight: 
And ratber than a look profane 

Should then have met those thought- 

ful eyes, 

Or voice or whisper broke the chain 

That link’d her spirit with the skies, 
I would have gladly, in that place, 
From which I watch’d her heayenward 

face, 

Let my heart break, without one beat 
That could disturb a prayer so sweet. 
Gently, as if on every tread, 

My life, my more than life, depended, 
Back through the corridor that led 

To this bless’d scene I now ascended, 
And with slow seeking, and some pain, 
And many a winding tried in vain, 
Emerged to upper air again. 


The sun had freshly risen, and down 
The marble hills of Araby, 

Seatter’d, as from a conqueror’s crown, 
His beams into that living sea. 

There seem’d a glory in his light, 
Newly put on—as if for pride 

Of the high homage paid this night 
To his own Isis, his young bride, 

Now fading feminine away 

In her proud Lord’s superior ray. 


My mind’s first impulse was to fly 
At once from this entangling net— 
New scenes to range, new loves to try, 
Or, in mirth, wine, and luxu 
Of every sense, that night forget. 
But vain the peat apele haeee still, 
I linger’d, without power or will 
To turn my eyes from that dark door 
Which now enclosed her’mong the dead, 
Oft fancying, through the boughs, that 
o’er 
The sunny pile their flickering shed, 
’T was her light form again I saw 
Starting to earth—still pure and bright, 
But wakening, as I hoped, less awe, 
Thus seen by morning's natural light, 
Than in that strange, dim cell at 
night. 


From my parch’d lips, too parch’d to | But no, alas—she ne’er return’d: 


move, 


| Nor yet—though still I watch—nor yet, 


782 


Though the red sun for hours hath 
burn’d, 
And now, in his mid course, hath met 
The peak of that eterna! pile 
He pauses still at noon to bless, 
Standing beneath his downward smile, 
Like a great Spirit, shadowless !— 
Nor yet she comes—while here, alone, 
Saunt’ring through this death-peopled 
place, 
Where no heart beats except my own, 
Or “neath a palm-tree’s shelter thrown, 
By turns 1 watch, and rest, and trace 
These lines, that are to waft to thee 
My last night’s wondrous history. 
Dost thou remember, in that Isle 
Of our own Sea, where thou and I 
Linger’d so long, so happy a while, 
Till all the summer flowers went by— 
How gay it was, when sunset brought 
To the cool Well our favorite maids— 
Some we had won,and some we sought— 
To dance within the fragrant shades, 
And, till the stars went down attune 
Their Fountain Hymnus* to the young 
moon ? 


That time, too—oh, ’tis like a dream— 
When from Seamander’s holy tide 
I sprung as Genius of the Stream, 
And bore away that blooming bride, 
Who thither came, to yield her charms 
(As Phrygian maids are wont, ere 
wed) 
Into the cold Scamander’s arms, 
But met, and welcomed mine, in- 
stead— 
Wondering, as on my neck she fell, 
How river-gods could love so well ! 
Who would have thought that he, who 
roved 
Like the first bees of summer then, 
Rifling each sweet, nor ever loved 
But the free hearts, that loved again, 
Readily as the reed replies 
To the least breath that round it sighs— 
Is the same dreamer who, last night, 
Stood awed and breathless at the sight 
Of one Egyptian girl; and now 
Wanders among these tombs, with brow 
Pale, watchful, sad, as though he just, 
Himself, had risen from out their dust ? 


Yet so it is—and the same thirst 
For something high and pure, above 
* These songs of the Well, as they were 
called by the ancients, are still common in the 
Greek isles. 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


This withering world, which, from the 
st, 
Made me drink deep of woman’s loyve— 
As the one joy, to heaven most near 
Of all our hearts can meet with here— 
Still burns me up, still keeps awake 
A fever naught but death can slake. 


Farewell; whatever may befall— 
Or bright, or dark—thou’lt. know it all. 


LETTER IV. 


FROM ORCUS, HIGH PRIEST OF MEMPHIS, TO 
DECIUS, THE PR-ZTORIAN PREFECT. 
REJOICE, my friend, rejoice :—the youth- 

ful Chief [ belief, 
Of that light Sect which mocks at all 
And, gay and godless, makes the present 
hour 
Its only heaven, isnow within our power. 
Smooth, impious school !—not all the 
weapons aim’d [was framed, 
At priestly creeds, since first a creed 
H’er struck so deep as that sly dart they 
wield, [ing flowers conceal’d. 
The Bacchant’s pointed spear in laugh- 
And oh, ’twere victory to this heart, as 
sweet [ feet 
As any thou canst boast—even when the 
Of thy proud war-steed wade through 
Christian blood, { hood, 
To wrap this scoffer in Faith’s blinding 
And bring him, tamed and prostrate, to 
implore 
The vilest gods even Egypt’ssaints adore. 
What !—do these sages think, to them 
alone [known ? 
The key of this world’s happiness is 
That none but they, who make such 
proud parade {inaid, 
Of Pleasure’s smniling favors, win the 
Or that Religion keeps no secret place, 
No niche, in her dark fanes, for Love to 
grace ? [zest that’s given 
Fools !—did they know how keen the 
To earthly joy, when season’d well with 
heaven ; {hue 
How Piety’s grave mask improves the 
Of Pleasure’s laughing features, half 
seen through, [reach | 
And how the Priest, set aptly within 
Of two rich worlds, traffies for bliss with 
each, [th’ ancient tie 
Would they not, Decius—thou, whom 
'Twixt Sword and Altar makes our best 
ally— {eraft, for ours ? 
Would they not change their ereed, their 


1 The ALCIPHRON,. 
‘Leave the a daylight joys that, in 
their bowers, [blown flowers, 


Languish with too much sun, like o’er- 
Por the yeil’d loves, the blisses undis- 
lay’d [shade ? 
That slyly lurk within the Temple’s 
And, ’stead of haunting the trim Gar- 
den’s school— 
Where cold Philosophy usurps a rule, 
Like the pale moon's, o’er Passion’s 
heaving tide [dom’s pride— 
Till Pleasure’s self is chil’d by Wis- 
Be taught by us, quit shadows for the 
true, 
Substantial joys we sager Priests pur- 
Who, far too wise to theorize on bliss, 
Or Pleasure’s substance for its shade to 
miss, [ this :— 
Preach other worlds, but live for only 
Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round 
us flung, {that hung 
Which, like its type, the golden cloud 
O’er Jupiter’s love-couch its shade be- 
nign, 
Round huinan frailty wraps a veil divine. 


Still less should they presume, weak 
wits, that they 

Alone despise the craft of us who pray ;— 

Still less their creedless vanity deceive 

With the fond thought, that we who 
pray believe. 

Believe !—Apis forbid—forbid it, all 

Ye monster Gods, before whose shrines 
we fall— 

Deities, framed in jest, as if to try 

How far gross Man can vulgarize the 
sky ; [bines 

How far the same low faney that com- 

Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac’s 


signs, [place | 
And turns that Heaven itself into a | 


Of sainted sin and deified disgrace, 
Can bring Olympus even to shame more 
deep, {holds cheap, 
Stock it with things that 
Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen’s sa- 
ered brood, [food— 
Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for 
All, worthy idols of a Faith that sees 
In dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities ! 


Believe !—oh, Decius, thou, who feel’st 
no care [share, 
For things divine, beyond the soldier's 
Who takes on trust the faith for which 
he bleeds, [needs— 
A good, fierce God to swear by, all he 


[sue, | 


earth itself 


783 


| Little canst thou, whose creed around 
thee hangs {the pangs 
Loose as thy summer war-cloak, guess 
Of loathing and self-scorn with which a 
heart, [part — 
Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot’s 
The deep and dire disgust with which I 
wade (trade— 
Through the foul juggling of this holy 
This mud Pe pepe of mystery, where 
the feet, 
At every step, sink deeper in deceit. 
Ob! many a time, when, ’mid the Tem- 
ple’s blaze, 
0’er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise, 
Did 1 not keep still proudly in my mind 
The power this priestcraft gives me o’er 
mankind — 
A lever, of more might, in skilful hand, 
To move this world, than Archimede 
e’er plann’d— [feel 
I should, in vengeance of the shame I 
At my own mockery, crush the slaves 
that kneel [breed 
Besotted round ; and—like that kindred 
Of reverend, well-dressed crocodiles 
they feed, 
At famed Arsinoé*—make my keepers 
bless, [ Holiness. 
| With their last throb, my sharp-fang’d 


Say, is it to be borne, that scoffers, vain 
Of their own freedom from the altar’s 
chain, [blood hast sold, 
‘Should mock thus all that thou thy 
And I my truth, pride, freedom, to up- 
hold ? {Christian sect, 
It must not be:—think’st thou that 
Whose followers, quick as broken waves, 
erect 
Their crests anew and swell into a tide, 
That threats to sweep away our shrines 
of pride— [ spells, even they 
Think’st thou, with all their wondrous 
Would triumph thus, had not the con- 
stant play [way ?— 
Of Wit’s resistless archery clear’d their 
That mocking spirit, worst of all the 
foes, [ knows, 
Our solemn fraud, our mystic mummery 
Whose wounding flash thus ever ’mong 
the signs 
Of a fast-fallng creed, prelusive shines, 


* For the trinkets with which the sacred 
| Crocodiles were ornamented, see the Epicu- 
| rean, chap. x. 


784 


MOORE’S WORKS. 


Threat’ning such change as do the aw- 
ful freaks [breaks. 
Of summer lightning, ere the tempest 


But, to my point—a youth of this vain 
school, coo 
But one, whom Doubt itself hath fail’d to 
Down to that freezing point where 
Priests despair [there— 
Of any spark from th’ altar catching 
Hath, some nights since—it was, me- 
thinks, the night {nual rite— 
That follow’d the full Moon’s great an- 
Through the dark, winding ducts, that 
downward stray [his way, 
To these earth-hidden temples, track’d 
Just at that hour when, round the 
Shrine, and me, [long’st to see, 
The choir of blooming nymphs thou 
Sing their last night-hymn in the Sanc- 
tuary. 
The clangor of the marvellous Gate, that 
stands [but hands 
At the Well’s lowest depth—which none 
Of new, untaught adventurers, from 
above, [to move— 
Who know not the safe path, e’er dare 
Gaye signal that a foot profane was 
nigh [morning’s sky, 
’Twas the Greek youth, who, by that 
Had been δἰ πο ύϑήν curiously wand ring 
round [ground. 
The mighty fanes of our sepulchral 


Instant, th’ Initiate’s Trials were pre- 
pared,— [ dared, 
The Fire, Air, Water; all that Orpheus 
That Plato, that the bright-hair’d Sa- 
mian* pass’d, [at last ? 
With trembling hope, to come to—what, 
Go, ask the dupes of Priesteraft! ques- 
tion him { dim, 
Who, ‘mid terrific sounds and spectres 
Walks at Hleusis; ask of those, who 
brave 
The dazzling miracles of Mithra’s Cave, 
With its seven starry gates; ask all who 
keep [ they weep 
Those terrible night-mysteries, where 
And howl sad dirges to the answering 
breeze, [ties— 
O’er their dead Gods, their mortal Dei- 
Amphibious, hybrid things, that died as 
men, [ gods, again;— 
Drown’d, hang’d, empaled, to rise, as 


* Pythagoras. 


Ask pea) what mighty secret lurks be- 


ow 

This seven-fold mystery—can they tell 
thee? No; 

Gravely they keep that only secret, well 


] | And fairly kept—that they have none to 


tell ; [humbled pride 
And, duped themselves, console their 
By duping thenceforth all mankind be- 
side. 


And such th’ advance in fraud since Or- 
pheus’ time— {lime— 
That earliest master of our craft sub- 
Somany minor Mysteries, imps of fraud, 
From the great Orphic Egg have wing’d 
abroad, [boast, 
That, still t? uphold our Temple’s ancient 
And seem most holy, we must cheat the 
most ; {round 
Work the best miracles, wrap nonsense 
In pomp and darkness, till it seems pro- 
found ; [kind, 
Play on the hopes, the terrors of man- 
With changeful skill; and make the hu- 
man mind 
Like our own Sanctuary, where no ray, 
But by the Priest’s permission, wins its 
way— 
Where through the gloom as wave our 
wizard-rods, 
Monsters, at will, are conjured into Gods; 
While Reason, like a grave-faced mum- 
my, stands, [ bands. 
With her arms swathed in hieroglyphic 
But chiefly in that skill with which we 
use [views, 
Man’s wildest passions for Religion’s 
Yoking them to her car like fiery steeds, 
Lies the main art in which our craft 
succeeds. [whose toil 
And oh! be blest, ye men of yore, 
Hath, for her use, scooped out from 
Hgypt’s soil 
This hidden Paradise, this mine of fanes, 
Gardens, and palaces, where Pleasure 
reigns 
In arich, sunless empire of her own, 
With all earth’s luxuries lighting up her 
throne ;— [mines 
A realm for mystery made, which under- 
The Nile itself, and, ’neath the Twelve 
Great Shrines 
That keep Initiation’s holy rite, 
Spreads its long labyrinths of unearthly 
light, {that run 
A light that knows nochange—its brooks 


ΤΟΣ 


ALCIPHRON, 


785 


Too deep for day, its gardens without 
sun 

Where soul and sense, by turns, are 
charm’d, surprised, 

And all that bard or prophet e’er devised 

For man’s Elysium, priests have realized, 


Here, at this moment—all his trials past, 

And heart and nerve unshrinking to the 
last— 

Our new Initiate roves—as yet left free 

To wander through this realm of mys- 


tery ; 

Feeding on such illusions as prepare 

The soul, like mist o’er waterfalls, to 
wear [ing will, 

All shapes and hues, at Fancy’s vary- 

Through every shifting aspect, vapor 
still ;— [shown, 

Vague glimpses of the Future, vistas 

By scenic skill, into that world un- 
known, 

Which saints and sinners claim alike 
their own; 

And all those other witching, wildering 
arts, [ hearts, 

Illusions, terrors, that make human 


Ay, even the wildest and the hardiest, 


quail 
To any goblin throned behind a veil. 


Yes—such the spells shall haunt his 
eye, his ear, [atmosphere ; 

Mix with his night-dreams, form his 

Till, if our Sage be not tamed down, at 
length, [strength, 

His wit, his wisdom, shorn of all their 

Like Phrygian priests, in honor of the 
shrine— 

If he become not absolutely mine, 

Body and soul, and, like the tame de- 
coy [ploy, 

Which wary hunters of wild doves em- 

Draw converts also, lure his brother 
wits [ flits, 

To the dark cage where his own spirit 

And ‘give us, if not saints, good hypo 
crites— 

Tf I effect not this, then be it said 

The ancient spirit of our craft hath fled, 

Gone with that serpent-god the Cross 
hath chased 

To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste. 

* * * τ * * 


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